Tag Archives: Tron

by | November 18, 2020 · 10:00 pm

A Gathering to Remember

by Timothy W. Tron, Nov. 2020

As the coming holidays approach, Thanksgiving and Christmas, there seems to be a sense of melancholy that has begun to permeate through the din of the incessant roar of this tumult our society has become. In my mind, there is a desire to reach back in my memories and dwell upon a time when life was simpler when the so-called advances in technology had yet to be developed. Because of the threat of lockdowns restricting these beloved reunions, those distant memories have become even more cherished. One such date that comes to mind coincides with a memory that our family holds dear to their heart.

It was the late 1960’s. Back then, we survived without non-stop news coverage, without updates from our social media accounts, and without the fear of dying from a virus, let alone anything else that existed at the time. It’s not to say there wasn’t death nor dying, for there had yet to be the advances we have today in the fields of heart disease and cancer. Both of these maladies took many lives before their time, and still do today, but not nearly as severely as in those days. No, we feared not because we had a faith that was the bedrock of our existence.

That faith was taught to us through our elders, passed down from one generation to the next – a thread of belief that was built upon an unending truth – Christ is indeed the Savior of the world. So, it is in this vein that once more my heart reaches for a well-worn story that is based on an actual event whose legacy has lasted for many years in our family. It is like the cup of an instant drink, void of the liquid to make it real – once the hot water is added, the story being recalled becomes the sustenance that warms our being. Like that beverage, the Spirit enters into our soul, and we are warmed from within to that which is without. Herein lies the beauty.

Looking back through the shadowy fog of time, those distant memories are like the passing clouds overhead. They are here but for a moment, and then cross over the mountaintops before we realize they are gone. As we near the season of holidays and family gatherings, it seems that those ancient days of yesteryear are ever more treasured. Like the value of a tattered cloth that once was held in the dying grasp of a loved one, its price to most would be nothing, but to those who knew its connection to the soul of the other – it becomes a priceless object.

That year when the snow fell around Christmas would become one such moment in time for me.

The classic event which unfolded is still known to this day, by all that attended, as the Sled Hill Christmas. Of all my childhood holiday experiences, it will forever be the most memorable in my mind. To read the entirety of the original story, you can find it online at https://timothywtron.dreamhosters.com/sled-hill-life-more-abundantly/ But this article looks at that event from a different perspective; one of how the warmth of a loving family and faith carried us through what may have been considered just another dark winter.

Like a revival, a truly epic event can only unfold when it is least expected. So it was that overcast December day so many decades ago. Several of us grandkids were staying at Grandpa and Grandma Tron’s house, there on the outskirts of New Harmony, Indiana. The town itself was in the season of slumber. Farming was still the driving industry, and the fields were now silent in their winter sleep. The hay had all been stored in the barns and the silos were filled to capacity with grains and silage to last until the next growing season began.  A feeling of hibernation overtook one’s soul, making those opportunities to warm by the woodstove or to huddle close around a cup of hot chocolate all the more permanent upon the creature within. Gathering with others was the only natural thing to do in a time such as this – it was who we were, it was what we were. In those precious slices of time, we fellowshipped without knowing that’s what it was called. Visiting with others when the work in the fields slowed was just as natural as splitting your firewood by hand – we all did it.

Tron House, New Harmony, Indiana.

When those first few snowflakes began falling the night before what would become the day to remember, we went to bed not expecting anything more than just a typical Midwest December dusting. When we awoke the next morning to the sounds of someone rattling around downstairs in the kitchen, it was as if Christmas had come early. Jumping from underneath the multiple layers of quilts, which weighed nearly as much as another cousin, we raced down the icy narrow stairs from the unheated upstairs bedrooms down to the kitchen where the pot-belly woodstove in Grandma’s kitchen was already red hot. We shivered and shook the remnants of chill from our bones, as our bare feet fought to find the warmth emanating from the scant linoleum floor by the stove. Excitedly, we peeked through the threadbare kitchen curtains that hung over the sink. The window faced grandma’s kitchen garden. Outside, the world was no longer the muddled gray of winter, but instead, was a brilliant whiteness, even in the pre-dawn, early morning hours.

About the time we had settled down around the table, after getting out of our bedclothes, Grandpa came in from the morning milking. We could hear the creaky old porch door slam behind him as he walked down the long back porch, from the barn end, up to the door of the kitchen, where he paused and took off his boots. The confines of that narrow passage clothed in clear plastic, a feeble attempt to thwart the cold winds of winter. The repurposed material was clouded with age, giving off a soft sheer grayness within the tomb of the veranda’s confines. The oft sound of rippling plastic slapping the screen made thoughts of warm summer nights, fresh tomatoes, and fireflies come to mind. Needless to say, those were but a distant rumor as the snow continued to fall.

With all eyes upon his entry, the vacuum of anticipation cut the air, like the cold wind that followed him inside. Snowflakes fell off his outer coat confirming what we already knew. Before he had time to take note of his unexpected audience, the questions began to roll off our lips.

“How deep is it grandpa?”

“Does it look like more’s coming?

“Where are the sleds?”

“Were the cows cold?”

He turned and smiled, looking toward grandma. Victor Tron never was a man of many words, So, when he replied with, “It looks like it’s gonna be good,” rest assured, that was all we needed to know. Grandma already had his breakfast ready, along with ours, and we sat down for an unusually early start of our day. We all instantly grew silent when grandpa bowed his head and reached his hand over to grandma. She grabbed his outstretched weathered hand with hers and we all joined hands and bowed our heads as grandpa said the blessing for the breakfast meal. In my mind, I can still hear that strained voice, barely above a whisper, thank God for what grandpa said was an abundance of blessings. Before us was a meager meal by worldly standards, but to us, it was Heaven sent. For we knew, even as children that every bit of it was from those two pair of withered hands that grasped one another in a love that never ended, even upon their death.

Victor Tron Sr.

 Grandpa’s first milking was at 3:00 AM and he usually finished up around 5:00 AM. His second milking was at 3:00 PM, every day of his life. He never took a vacation that I could remember. Usually exhausted from rising early, he would routinely drift off to sleep no matter where he sat, so finding time to talk with him was rare. He milked the cows until that night he died peacefully in his sleep, never to milk again. What we didn’t know as children, was how precious those few moments were with him when we were able to visit, especially that snowy morning on a cold December day so many years ago.

As soon as we were able to clear the table and bundle up, we were headed out the door. Eventually, someone asked if we could check out sled hill. An okay was given and like a herd of young calves heading for new pasture, we bolted out the back gate. Past the woodpile where grandpa’s ax and splitting log were shrouded in snow we raced. Heading for the opening to the lane, we quickly found ourselves wading through the knee-deep snow toward the iconic destination; Sled Hill. Past the milking barn, the bullpen, and Ms. Wolf’s house we trudged. Each one of these structures held a plethora of memories and stories that one could sit for hours and share. Like a life of living, their collections, like the holdings of stockpiled hay for the winter, waiting for one to return and use for the giving.

The bushes along the Labyrinth were blanketed in a sweet frosting of white. Our panted breaths billowed before us and were quickly whisked away in the falling snow.  In our rush to find out how well the sledding was going to be, we didn’t realize how hard the snow was continuing to fall. Nor did we realize how deep the snow had already gotten since sunrise. In the overcast grayness of the day, it all seemed like a dream, even when it was live.

Labyrinth, New Harmony, Indiana

As the story, “Sled Hill: Life More Abundantly,” conveys, the rest of the day was a multitude of adventures and excitement. With each passing moment, the tempo of the day’s delight reached a fevered pitch. The enthusiasm of the children soon bubbled over into those of the adults, igniting in them the feelings of youth. Gone were the aches and pains of age. The adrenaline of living purged those boundaries of limitations that had kept them hostage. Soon, parents, Aunts, and Uncles were joining in the merriment of sliding down the hill so aptly named.

As the sky began to darken as night approached, the thrill of the day and the feeling of being one with something greater than ourselves overwhelmed us. Fearing that it would end in darkness, the men created torches on the fly from used old tin cans (which we also used as drinking vessels), nailing them to poles and placing them along the sled run, all the way to the top of the hill. What started out as child’s play quickly turned into a major production. In essence, a cow pasture had turned into our own ski-slope far removed from any mountaintop.

When the last vestiges of daylight gave way to darkness, there along the sled run was a perfect row of home-made flaming lights shedding an ambient glow of warmth. Off to the side, a pile of wood was set afire and a massive bonfire became the gathering spot between runs down the hill. There we regained strength to carry on from food and drink the family had brought in at a moment’s notice. There, the entire family that was able to make it collected. The sentinel image that remains with me to this day was seeing both grandpa and grandma’s faces glowing in the reflection of the firelight. To know that grandpa had a milking coming at 03:00 AM, and yet, he was here foregoing precious sleep, standing alongside us kids around the bonfire said something more that than words could fathom. Even then, the whispers of the children could be heard, “Look, even grandpa and grandma are here.” The statement was a confirmation of the significance of that moment in time, one that made a profound statement on all that were present.

That night, once our bodies had been worn to a frazzle. There was barely enough strength to make it back to the house. As we pulled off our wet, nearly frozen clothing and briefly warmed by the fire, a numbness of exhaustion began to overtake us. The enormous featherbed never looked so welcoming. Shortly thereafter, after our bedtime prayers were said, there was little more than the sweet, “Goodnight children,” from grandma as she tucked us under the pile of quilts before we fell asleep.

For once in a lifetime, there was no sweeter sleep.

As the snow continued to fall outside that night, there was a warmth within that was more than physical – a love that transcends all understanding. There was something created that day that would last forever in the hearts of those who had been privileged to experience it. It became an inexplicable thread of life that would weave its way into our souls which would become part of who we were. The similarity of a feeling such as this can only compare to that of Christ’s disciples.

Like those followers of Jesus who had walked and talked with Christ after his resurrection, they too had a story to share. One that was so inexplicable, so earth-shattering that they would live the rest of their lives pursuing the mission to share it with all that would hear, even unto the point of death. It was who they were.

As we go forward in this holiday season, let us come together as a family, and may the hope of Christ, and Christmas be with you, until the end of time. May it someday become who you are as well.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 28, 2018 · 7:33 pm

Breathtaking Review of “The Light in the Darkness” by Peter Younghusband

What follows is one of the most beautifully written and thoughtful reviews I have ever had. Peter Younghusband, of Australia,  is one of the best reviewers I’ve had the pleasure to meet and to have review my work. He fully appreciates and understands how this God-inspired work will hopefully inspire others to seek Him. I gladly proclaim Peter as a brother in Christ.

Enjoy,

Brilliant, Powerful, Epic, Divinely Inspired! It is definitely the most spirit-filled novel I have ever Read! Highly Impressive!

This sequel has been highly anticipated and I am so glad has finally here! It was such a joy to read Bruecke to Heaven again in preparation for this. I would suggest anyone do this as this second novel follows so well from the previous. After its cliffhanger ending, you are instantly immersed in the continuing events of the Tron family and other characters.

If any reader considers that Julia, Rebecca, Peter, Marik, Berg, Arktos, Jacob, Anna, Jean Paul, Albert, have been through enough, well, Tron does not let them off lightly in this novel. In fact, everything is upped and intensified. The darkness of the demonic forces is wrapped around them tighter than in the previous novel and they are further challenged in their faith and relationship with God. But God is faithful and they are strengthened by God’s intervention in direct and indirect ways. Their bruecke (bridge) to heaven remains intact and is even strengthened further.

Tron sets up five plots arcs running concurrently. There is Arktos, Peter, Marik, Berg, Galack, Jakob and Anna on one quest, while Jean Paul and Albert on another. Julia, her daughters and the rest of the Vaudois community are still surviving in the upper levels of the mountains deciding to train and send out evangelists with the Word. We have Dabria and Lucier on their spiritual quest and later in the novel, Lucier is mandated to continue on his own then we have a new character, a hermit and his she-wolf, Lukos, tending to the physical and spiritual needs of a character from the first novel that readers will have to guess his identity until this is revealed later in the novel. This plagued me until I worked it out and was pleasantly surprised!. All these plot arcs deepen the mystery and suspense, action and adventure and totally absorb you. In each of the arcs, you wonder what is going to happen next. You become more endeared to these characters and share their emotions with them as if you are there.

Speaking of Lukos, the she-wolf, Tron has her as a side plot and if read just on its own, he proves himself as a competent author of animal fiction. This was one of the many highlights of this novel. I loved Lukos and the relationship she had with her master, the hermit, and as the novel progressed, with the one that the hermit was healing back to health. Lukos plays an important role throughout this novel and she becomes just another of the many characters that you become endeared to. Tron has developed this animal and her recognition of the spiritual and human realm very well without coming across as if Lukos is more than an animal.

This novel is so much more infused with spiritual aspects and the Spirit of God than the previous. When I read of the spiritual warfare that Tron portrays here, it is surreal in the sense that we do not experience it in real life to this extent but it does show that it is attainable and available to us now as it has always been. Tron simply shows that it is due to having a pure heart towards God, in submission and trust in Him alone. But more importantly, through the Tron family characters, namely Arktos, Jakob, Jean Paul, Tron shows such a simple and proven way to do this and that is to live out our faith, exercise it if you will. It is just as the Word says,

“22 But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. 23 For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror; 24 for he observes himself, goes away and immediately forgets what kind of man he was. 25 But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does. [James 1:22-25 New King James Version (NKJV)]”

Another aspect that Tron shows in this spiritual warfare is that these same characters do not rely on their own strength but on God and God alone, and He responds not just by His power, but by His Spirit in many signs and wonders and the infilling and flow of His Presence and Power when they are in prayer, seeking His guidance and direction or when involved in attacks from the many forms of the demonic. Another aspect that supports this is when Arktos admits that he has placed all his hope in an artefact (glowing stone) infused with spiritual power and is surprised when God does not use it when Arktos commands the stone to express its power upon his command.

“He continued to pray something would change or at least give them a sign, for he had put all his hopes on this stone providing them with the power to slay as many of the Viscount’s guard as possible, yet nothing happened.
It was then, as the last thought had passed, like a cloud overhead, when he realised his error.
Puting his hopes in the stone…..and not God.
He had once again been putting his faith in something other than God the Father. He asked for forgiveness, knowing too well the scriptures that warned of such foolishness, the multitudes who awaited Moses descent from the mount were proof of that.”

And once he had accepted God’s forgiveness, God acted on Arktos’s plan and delivered them from their adversary.

Tron delivers this with enough action and adventure, suspense and thrills while being extremely entertaining and does not detract from the lessons of spiritual warfare he wants to deliver in this narrative. I pray that readers will not compartmentalize these, leaving them in the confines of this novel and character traits but realise that this is how we need to be living.

When I look at the various forms of the demonic that the various members of the Tron family were confronted with, it all boils down to this same factor mentioned above, being submitted to God, trusting in Him and obedient to His Word, practising a lifestyle of prayer, being doers of the Word by living out their faith and applying the principles that God has structured the Bible in how to live. And yet there are specific principles used for each to defeat this evil and its perpetrators throughout this novel and its predecessor such as:

-quoting specific Bible (verses) appropriate to the situation at hand,
-putting on the Armour of God (Ephesians 6: 10-20),
-singing songs based on the Psalms and others while under the Anointing of the Spirit (as Jakob did),
-playing musical instruments (again as Jakob did with the Lyra while under the anointing of the Spirit).
-walking in the Spirit. Physically as well as spiritually. Many examples of this through Jakob, Arktos, Jean Paul, Lucier. However, the most noted are Jakob and Arktos. They both had overcome their human frailty, their fears and looked past their physical senses. They acted solely in total obedience to God’s prompting and guidance.

Tron is very competent at describing and showing what this demonic looks like as the reader experiences all the evilness that accompanies it. His description is not short, shallow or implied. It is in your face, and explicit. It is shown through Shamus, and Pope Lucius III, the former being possessed by the spirit of a fallen angel, Semyaza, while the latter is oppressed by the demonic and fueled by his own greed and pride.

Shining through all this as well as its predecessor is the Sovereignty of God. Tron is encouraging us to consider this in every aspect of our lives as we live out His Word. God is Sovereign and any outcome is His if we are living according to His precepts and direction and are in His will. He has everything under control despite our wavering faith, sense of hopelessness, or our finite vision (not physical only) that is incapable of seeing the whole picture of our circumstances and its future. Just as in our lives, God will not leave nor forsake us and when He gives us a quest, mission or task, He will not allow the enemy to thwart our attempts. Tron has portrayed this truth almost as if all these Biblical principles are fabricated as part of a purely fantasy novel.

After reading both novels this is the impressions I have experienced:

-I have been entertained immensely,

-My faith and relationship with God has been strengthened and uplifted,

-Tron has not deviated from established Biblical doctrine, and his content will not, lead a non-believer astray or promote false doctrine,

-He writing and content honours God and portrays God as He is from the many character traits outlined in the Bible (Deliverer, Provider, Redeemer, Sovereign, Healer, Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscience, Warrior, Conqueror,

-His writing does not encourage worship of the created (eg angels, man, animals) but of the Creator (God) instead.

-it promotes the power and practice of prayer as a lifestyle and to an unadulterated relationship with God

Christians know the power of the Word and of the Spirit in transforming the spirit of unregenerate man. Tron shows this very powerfully in the conversion of Lucier. It is one of the most descriptive conversions I have read for a while. Then seeing him have a heart after God reminds me very much of the Psalmist, David, including Lucier’s Godly remorse at his adultery and how he dealt with this spiritually. His remorse is tender, sincere, heartfelt and it is tangible as you read it. It is not directed at himself but at God and it reminded me so much like David the Psalmist felt when he wrote to God in Psalm 51:4,

“Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight”

It struck me as how it should be and needs to be whenever a Christian falls into sin, no matter what type.

Julia’s reaction to Lucier’s confession is just as tender, sincere and heartfelt. Both of their reactions to this sin is devoid of any of the usual human emotions we experience today that can become stumbling blocks to being restored to God. But then again, this situation described by Tron shows the work of the Spirit in the hearts and minds of these two and their submission and obedience to Him.

I have not singled out this situation as the only time such reactions towards human shortcomings and sin are in these novels. It is an example that shows how we can have such a humble, tender, submitted and pure relationship with God when we fall to sin or allow our humanness to take over. It is described by Tron as not idealistic or unrealistic. It resonated with me and was very relatable. And so it should be to all who read this novel.

Once this novel took off after the first chapter, I was totally absorbed and on the edge of my seat, figuratively speaking, and I was exhausted many times throughout. Despite the frustration of having to stop reading to either return from lunch or to and from work, this was a blessing as it gave me time to reflect on the spiritual side of the many topics that uplifted me, encouraged me to know Jesus better and to have a tender heart towards Him. I must confess, the relationship Tron described between the Vaudois characters towards each other and them towards God, convicted me and I found myself having some conversations with God regarding this.

There is definitely the power and presence of God in this novel. I said similar in my review of Bruecke to Heaven:

“I knew when I read the description of this book that I would be blessed and that this book is unique and special. This book has not let me down. I finished this speechless due to being in awe of everything related to it. Truly, this book is inspired by God and many times, I could feel His presence with me. I have had that with only a few books. I will never forget this book. It really does have a profound effect on how you see God and how you have experienced Him. It has made me want more of Him and a desire to increase my faith and always be in His will.”

I can apply the same here in this novel.

When I finished this novel, I posted this on Facebook and Goodreads,

“Words cannot express how brilliant, how powerful, how epic, how divinely inspired this novel is! It is definitely the most spirit-filled novel I have ever read.”

I said that the first novel, Bruecke to Heaven, was special and unique, but now this novel takes it to the next level and this series is so unique, so special, it has impacted me like no other novel! Spiritually uplifting like no other Christian novel has!

This is one highly impressive novel. But then if it reflects the power of God, His Word and the character of God, then we can expect nothing less!

Truly, an unforgettable novel and one that has impacted me like no other, together with its predecessor, Bruecke to Heaven.

Highly recommended.

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by | November 2, 2017 · 8:57 pm

The Pre-Reformation Celebration…Lux Lucet in Tenebris

“But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light;” – 1 Peter 2:9

This morning’s scripture was heavy on my mind as my little blue car ascended the mountainside.

Just two days ago, the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation was celebrated. The tiny footnote of those that had gone on before that had made that day, 500 years ago possible was barely mentioned, if at all. For those to know the truth, the light must have been passed from the Apostolic times until that date, but by whom? The truth was made known in Peter’s writing which, if the rest of the story were known, would make perfect sense. For to know the truth, the Word of God becomes all that much more significant.

Where once inhabitants of the remote mountain valleys were known simply as barbarians, they eventually, by the grace of God, became known by another, which eventually made them targets for centuries to come. Their firm belief in the Word of God, their strict adherence to its every letter would lead them to be Apostolic in belief, but make them an object of aberration by the corrupted state Church because of their faith’s immovable tolerance for anything beyond the truth, the way, and the light of Jesus Christ. They would be sought for annihilation, purposeful extinction by the Church of Rome. In essence, theirs was the holocaust of the Alps.

The people of whom I speak are those of the Waldensian Valleys, located in the Cottien Region of the Alps situated in the northwest corner of Italy. They became a people, known as the “People of the Bible,” because of their memorization and preservation of its original content. Their families, generation after generation, would pass down these teachings until they would become one with them. In a sense, they would become a “holy nation” without borders, without a king, without a distinct leader. They would turn from pagan worship to that of the most ardent believers of Christianity; truly, they were called of the darkness and into the light, yes, the most marvelous light.

Although many shunned the spotlight of notoriety, they would become preachers, missionaries, and evangelists of the Word.  Their ordination was by God, a royal priesthood if any. Yes, they were chosen by God for a reason, for a purpose, for a time, and thanks be to God, I have been blessed to have been born into that lineage, to which I now try to uphold some substance, some modicum of forbearance of what those that gave their lives so vividly upheld in their time. We are called into a time such as this to carry on the truth, to shed light upon the world wherever we may go.

My fervent prayer is that I may be able to continue to be a light to those around me in all that I do, each, and every day until my last breath on this earth.

Lux Lucet in Tenebris, The Light Shine in the Darkness.

Thanks be to God.

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by | August 11, 2017 · 8:04 pm

Day 3: Baziglia: A Day Unlike Any Other…

The coolness of the morning still lingered as they pulled into the parking lot. A small, unassuming building built partly of stone with stucco façade shouldered a small sign indicating it was the museum. The structure stood in the shadows of the granite walls nearby, its contents holding memories that were etched into the surrounding mountain. On a dark night, when the wind blows through the recesses of stone, if you listen close, you might hear the screams of the dying; martyrs whose blood became the seeds of the Reformation.

The doors and windows of the little heritage center were still shut, it was obviously closed. There was no disappointment. Nearby, the sound of the crashing water beckoned. History on gallery walls could wait, there was much to see today, much more. The four men spilled out of the van, grabbing their walking gear and backpacks in preparation for what lay ahead. Glancing back across the threshold of the valley, there in the right-hand bend of the river were familiar peaks; the Baziglia stood tallest.  The sun was just beginning to kiss its peak. The mountain’s history was well known to each of the four. They had all studied about the last stand made by Henri Arnaud during the Glorious Return, and the remnants of the thousand-strong fighting force that departed the shores of Lake Geneva on August 16th, 1689.

There on that peak the glowed with the morning sunrise, 300 of the surviving Waldensian warriors resisted the onrushing force of over 24,000 soldiers and Catholic mercenaries. Lasting through the winter on what God had provided when they found potatoes while digging trenches for their ramparts, they withstood an onslaught of firepower from cannons that had literally surrounded the summit. Obliterating their defenses, the soldiers prepared to scale the steep walls the next morning to claim their prize; capturing the heretics and ending their resistance, once and for all. That evening, Arnaud and his men prayed yet again for divine intervention. Within a few hours, a great fog fell upon the mountain top, obscuring the bonfires of the celebrating forces below. The amber glow of the hangman’s gallows faded as the shroud grew thicker, eventually totally erasing any sign of light from the valley beneath. The fog was so thick you could not see your hand in front of your face. Captain Paulat Tron, one of the ten original officers appointed by Arnaud when they left Switzerland, had grown up in the area. He came to Arnaud at that moment and said, “I can lead the men out of here, Lord willing. It was on this mountain that I first learned to walk, and here that God hath delivered me unto this day to save us if it be His will.” Later, that night, Arnaud and his men, led by Captain Tron, crawled on their hands and knees, blindly following the one before the other, as they slipped past the sleeping enemy. Their path was nothing more than goat trails carved into the rock, on precipices that fell thousands of feet away below. One slip would have meant certain death. By the grace of God, they survived, and when the next morning’s sunrise began to light the mountain peak, much like this day, Arnaud and his men were seen crawling along the opposite peak, like ants, safely escaping once again. This was the moment the Duke of Savoy finally realized that the hand of God was with the Waldensians, those people of the valleys that had felt his wrath for so long. It was then that the Duke sent his army to unite with the heretics and resist the Papal authority. It was then, at that moment, the persecutions finally ended, once and for all.

Freedom would come, slowly.

Like newborns learning to walk, they would eventually find a new world of unfettered faith, one that would allow them the freedom to make decisions meant to appeal to their Christian goodness, while forfeiting the strict tenants that had previously kept them separate from the world around them. Choices that seemed minor at the time would eventually affect their heritage for centuries to come. Sadly, their choices would be the very thing that would force many to leave, or give up their ancient faith.

Freedom wasn’t free.

As cramped legs were stretched and arrangements made for the rendezvous later that afternoon, one of the men paused on the bridge that crossed the raging torrent. His mind reflecting upon that memory of the past as he watched the sunrise slowly encompass the rest of the historic peak before him. He himself, another Tron, had only recently learned of his ancestor’s heroic legacy. Its revelation had been another miraculous moment in his life; one that had already been blessed beyond measure. But this day was not intent upon reliving the past, for it was a day of firsts, another day of discovery. United with two traveling companions, they continued their ascent into the Baziglia valley. Passing a fountain tank made of granite slabs, they saw bottles of wine and beer placed by others that had already started their hike earlier in the day; celebratory drinks for the return. Their reason for being there would become clear, but only later that day.

They passed through the small village of ancient stone cottages. Their construction could easily be placed within the first millennium. One might close his eyes and open them thinking he had been transported back to medieval times. Through narrow cart paths, the trail wound until they turned the switch back and quickly realized they had already climbed to a height above the small cluster of homes below. Stone roofs and tiny gardens with boxes of flowers of all colors hailed up at them from beneath. Dark figures of wood and rock made a picturesque background to the bouquet that seemed to grow in abundance wherever one looked. The trail was rocky but lined by tall grasses, some of which had been recently cut and lay upon the hard stone making it slippery in spots. As the foot slipped on stone, the body could feel the strain. The climb already starting to tax leg muscles that would need every ounce of strength this day. Heartbeats increased as did the breathing, each matching the excitement for wanting to see what stood around the next bend. The air was refreshing, even cool, but with the rigors of the climb, tiny beads of perspiration began to find their way along one’s hatband. One of the men that had been there the year before mentioned that they would soon reach a point where the ancient village of Col De Magne would appear as if out of nowhere. Sure enough, before there was time to consider the pace, they came upon a rise in the ground, and there it lay before them, the deserted remains of Col De Magne; an even more ancient village than the one through which they had already passed. It was now uninhabited save for a couple of buildings where shepherds claimed temporary shelter.

The rise in the ground was covered with all manner of wild flowers, interspersed amongst the native grasses. Above it all, the clear blue bird sky breathed life into everything beneath. The rush of the torrent down the hill echoed off the granite walls of Baziglia as the whispers of the past called between stone walls of the abandoned village. Like spirits inviting their guests, the open doors and windows seemed to call to them. They crossed a crystal-clear stream, treading lightly on rocks to keep their feet from getting wet, and walked down the hill in a setting so beautiful it almost seemed surreal. Once upon a time, there were children running along this path, chasing one another in play, enjoying the beauty of the moment, knowing that days like this were few and far between. Nearby, sheep would be grazing on the lush summer grasses. The icy grip of winter would leave them wanting more of the lazy days of plenty, and remind them of the harshness of the world in which they lived. They were well suited for this life, but one couldn’t help to think that once in a while, there was a respite for even the most ardent student of puritanism.

It was almost too much to pass, as the three men were inspired around each turn. The distance ahead seemed to be negligible, nor matter.

We find in life, we are much like this time as well. In our youth, we are intrigued by the beauty of the world. The nature that surrounds us is almost too appealing to deny its existence, so we chase one scenic vista after another, failing to realize as life passes by, we are taking in what lies on the surface without revealing the truth behind what is beneath. We linger in places momentarily when we should consider them with more resolution; instead, we admire them only in passing. If we were to look deeper, we would find what awaits us in those higher realms of consciousness are far greater than what we first consider the greatest spectacle in our time.

One of the men, realizing there was too much to dismiss, stayed behind to capture more of the lost village. Meanwhile, the other two continued on, pushed by something within. Like drifting leaves upon the wind, they passed the tiny hamlet to the next bend in the valley. Each traveling separate, they found themselves exploring one rock outpost after another. Seemingly, without trying, they found themselves reunited and began their climb together again. As they walked, they shared in the Glory of God on this day and how it was so inspiring to see all that they had already seen, not even thinking of what lay ahead.

As the pair crested a small ridge, the ice pack of the winter still lay frozen before them, like a giant glacier. Azure blue water swirled in a pool below the waterfall that flowed beneath the white layer of ice above. Beneath the still water, they took a drink, refreshing themselves with the bounty God had provided. The twenty-third Psalm came to mind, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside still waters…” They paused to drink from the pool, sipping from the life-giving fluid and refreshing their tiring bodies. They pushed on, for each new turn brought more amazing revelations.

Not long after, they closed in at the base of the last, and tallest climb, they gave pause. High above where they stood, tiny figures climbed toward the peak. “The bottles in the trough must be theirs,” one of the men said to the other. “Yep,” the other nodded in reply. As their eyes followed the trail between the climbing party above them and to where they stood, they reflected upon the daunting task. Looking high into the sky overhead they thought out loud, “Could they do it,” they asked each other? The waterfalls that now surrounded them whispered back, “Go tell it on the Mountain.”

“Yes, let’s do it,” they told one another.

When we finally awaken to what matters most in life, for some, it is too late. There are many that would never make it beyond the still water. There would be many that would never make it to the deserted village. So many become distracted and lost in life that they give up before they even get started. We see them wandering in a world in which they cannot escape. When we try to reach out to them, it is as if they can’t understand the words we say to them, so foreign is the concept of what awaits them in the eternal life, so caught up are they now in this worldly life. When Jesus found the two men on the road to Emmaus, he opened their minds so that they could comprehend all he had to tell them, and so it is with us.

When the men pushed onward, it is like when we are finally conscious of what we must do to reach that heavenly land we all seek to find in the life hereafter. The fortunate ones accept Christ and find that they too can become one with our maker, and when we do, the mountain top is only just the beginning. Climbing the ascent, their lungs ached for more breathe as their legs burnt like fire, but they pushed onward. No great triumph ever comes without a sacrifice, and so the same can be said of our salvation; each has a price to be paid. Christ gave all so that we might have life eternal, and so likewise, the men pushed on through the pain, knowing that what awaited would be worth the momentary strains that momentarily pressed upon their bodies.

Push, pant, pause, breath; push, pant, pause, breath; slowly, they ascend the mountain, slowly, the valley below grows more and more distant.

Yet, when the goal seemed so close, there was one last raging torrent. Unlike any seen before, this one’s ferocity seemed unmatched by the others. It roared within massive boulders seemingly uncut by the eroding forces of nature. Frothing through the gap between them and the reachable summit, there seemed no easy way. “Would they have to try to cross this maddening force?”

“There must be a way,” one of the men said to the other.

“If it’s the Lord’s will, then yes, there surely is,” replied the other.

“Let me descend this ridge and see, and I’ll let you know,” he said, disappearing below the other.

The man left behind watching his companion vanish below the brilliant pasture grasses. His legs were beginning to feel the strain of the climb. “There’s not much gas left in the tank,” he thought to himself. “If nothing else, we have already achieved more this day than I had ever asked. If it is God’s will, then we will find our way to that nearing summit, but if not, I’m content to end my journey here.” He breathed a sigh and leaned on his walking stick, drinking in the beauty that enveloped everything around him.

His thoughts were soon interrupted.

“There’s a bridge,” came the cry from below.

“Serious”

“Yeah, come on, we can make it.”

Finally, when there seems to be nothing left in the legs, they reach the peak, one last torrent crossed, they achingly climb that last ridge, and there before them a vista that seems to stretch to the ends of the earth. There were no words, no pictures that could capture what lay at their feet; all of God’s creation spread out before them.

Standing there in that place, they could only think of Jesus and the scene of Satan’s temptation on the mountain. “Then the devil, taking Him up on a high mountain, showed Him[d] all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time. 6 And the devil said to Him, “All this authority I will give You, and their glory; for this has been delivered to me, and I give it to whomever I wish. 7 Therefore, if You will worship before me, all will be Yours. 8 And Jesus answered and said to him, “Get behind Me, Satan![e] For[f] it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and Him only you shall serve.’ ””” – Luke 4:5-8

There before them, lay all of God’s creation, a beautiful, magnificent display of the grandeur of our Heavenly Father; and only Him shall we worship.

The men sit and eat, as raptors soar before them, like dancers putting on a show for their guests. On the distant peaks, in snow covered shadows, mountain goats play, romping back and forth in the white and brown terrain. Not far from them, ferrets chase one another. The green grasses full of vibrant wild flowers laugh as the world up there seems so close to Heaven. The men feel the hand of God upon them and soon realize, their time there is nearly spent. The precious memory that this place would put upon their minds would be cherished for years to come. The inspiration alone would come back to them, again and again, whenever the world would seem too much.

For a just a few minutes that day, two men found themselves closer than ever before to God. If only for a brief moment, God had revealed to them the glory that awaits each of us when we reach our heavenly home.

A mere blink of an eye in the realm of eternal time, a glimpse of what can be ours when we choose the path of righteousness. A picnic with God for two sojourners who never imagined nor expected that they would find themselves on top of a mountain dining with their Heavenly Father that day, but yet, there they were.

And for just a few minutes, on a day unlike any other, they were all the more blessed.

Thanks be to God.

Watch a video of their experience by clicking here: God’s Grandeur

 

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by | June 5, 2016 · 9:38 pm

New Sacred Ground…

“In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread Till you return to the ground, For out of it you were taken; For dust you are, And to dust you shall return.”- Genesis 3:19

They come for many reasons.

For each person, the journey is different as the unique story which made their life.

Today was unlike any other I’ve known to date at the Trail. The call came in while we were still in route back 20151012_090530from the farm yesterday. Our trip had been shortened by events that caused us to return earlier than expected. I was thankful in a way. The work had been hot, non-stop, grueling, and dirty; cleaning out twenty plus years of accumulation in our farm’s barn. In addition, we mowed, bush hogged and weedeated to add to the toil. So when we piled into the sweltering truck (yes, there was no working A/C) we were somewhat thankful to be returning. It wasn’t with complete satisfaction that we were leaving, still knowing there was much more to be done, but we would be back in a couple days to try to finish. Nobody ever said God’s work was easy.

The request had been from guests staying at the B&B in Glen Alpine if they could spread the ashes of their family members who were of Waldensian ancestry at the Trail of Faith. We were honored to be able to accommodate their wishes for their loved ones. It had been as the founding fathers of the Trail had one day hoped, that their creation of a place that would someday become more than a history lesson; that it would someday be a place people would consider sacred enough to connect it to the real valleys. Today was another one of those confirming moments.

When I pulled up to the closed front gate with a couple minutes to spare, the family was already parked and patiently waiting. Some had already begun searching for suitable places where to present their final resting place for their beloved. The skies overhead appeared threatening. They had called for rain, but for now, it waited. God was surely with us.

As I began unlocking and opening up various parts of the exhibits, they began sharing with me the history and story behind those who had passed. The photograph of the deceased they showed me was like so many taken in the days of black and white film. Both of the parents were dressed in their Sunday finest. They looked at me from that distant past, as if to say, “We’re gone, but with you even now.”

There were a son and daughter with their respective families in attendance. Each had a unique perspective and what was even more enlightening, was that they had been to the very valleys where their families had lived. As they shared with me the tales of travel and touring, I couldn’t help think of brother Barry and his wife Sharyn, who were there at this very moment walking those same trails and high peaks that this family was now conveying with me from their memory. As we moved from one exhibit to the next, their voices would speak of the exact place that existed and what they experienced during those visits. Through their voices, in my minds eye I could feel our altitude extend to those of the Alps and in my mind, we were there. The overcast sky added to the feeling of being in another place and time.

Each day I live vicariously through Sharyn’s email updates but my hunger to be there in those Waldensian valleys grows with each passing moment Today’s visitors only added to that fever to travel. It was almost as if God was telling me how much more there was yet to come after the ordeal of our current move. But the parallel goes beyond a relocation of a terrestrial homestead; yes, there is so much more to come in that Heavenly home. In all that we do, there is so much to learn so that when we are of the moment, we can drink in ever more so that the precious time allowed becomes amplified. Yes, there is so much more to come after this life. In many ways, it is precisely how our faith develops with our walk with Christ. The more we understand, the more we can comprehend not only in the Word but from every experience in our journey. Our hunger for God’s word should be just as fervent

They thanked me for the time and faith with which I shared, but the day’s blessing was when I told them how I wasn’t even supposed to be there if my itinerary had gone as planned. It was another Godly moment, and another one of His plans come to fruition in more ways than we could ever imagine. Yes, in many respects, their visit was a confirmation but in more than one aspect. They had found a resting place suitable for their loved ones, but what is more, we found a special connection to a place so very far away, to a place that I have yet to trod upon that sacred ground. Now, from this day forward, as each day awaits me at the Trail, I can feel as if part of that real valley is with me through the new ground spread from the ashes of a life well lived in a place that I can only hope to someday see in person.

One step at a time, one day at a time, we continue on. When our time is right, the Master calls us home but until then, if we follow Him, our pathway will be lit by His lamp and with that light, our lives become so much greater and brighter.

Tomorrow, we continue on our path to reach a new home.

One step and one leap of faith we carry on.

Prayers for strength, wisdom, traveling mercies, good health, and guidance in the days to come.

Thanks be to God.

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by | October 18, 2015 · 10:02 pm

Power of Prayer…

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

In God’s time, we shall see.

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

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

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

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

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

And then came Friday.

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

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

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

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

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

All we have to do is believe, and pray.

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by | November 29, 2014 · 5:09 am

To Uncle Bill…

Uncle Bill and Aunt NormaEarlier this evening I received word that my Uncle Bill had passed, he was 97.

My first impression from the news was sadness mixed with joy; joy, for knowing that his soul was now with the Lord above and that it could only bring thankfulness and blessings to our memories of him. I could also take comfort that his struggles with his recent medical problems were now over.

The past year or so had been difficult for him and the family with his health issues. It seemed his age had finally caught up with him and that he was finally susceptible to the medical problems that face most elderly people. Up to then, he had led an abundantly healthy life. As long as I could recall, he and my Aunt Norma would walk every day. This was as much of their daily routine as was their morning devotional and prayer. Like Grandma and Grandpa Tron, they would rise early before dawn and sit at the kitchen table reading God’s Word and praying together, a scene as beautiful as life itself.

Unfortunately, we never got to see enough of him and Aunt Norma.

I could never recall them living close, rather always far away. When they would come home to New Harmony for visits, the family would all come into Grandpa and Grandma’s house to fellowship with our distant family. I could recall how my dad would seem to straighten up a bit more and our acts of foolishness would be less tolerated, for after all, Aunt Norma and Uncle Bill were coming. I could probably tell you without knowing they were coming to visit, just based on how everyone seemed to primp, tidy and prepare as if we were being inspected. The irony of it all was that neither Uncle Bill or Aunt Norma were at all bothered by what they saw and could care less how well we dressed or straight we sat at the table, rather, they looked at us to see within ourselves for who we were and what our souls had to say about us. Yes, they were probably the first people I had known that exhibited the characteristic of what it is to be truly Christian, for they carried themselves as such. Their devotion to their faith was not only lip service, it was factual. The adherence to the Sabbath was strict and obedient. In essence, if there were anything that caused us to walk taller and tighten our belts was their straight and narrow path upon which they walked, which caused us to want to do the same. Whenever a Sunday school lesson would ask, “Who in your life would you say are your Christian mentors,” Aunt Norma and Uncle Bill would be the first people to come to mind; that was their legacy. I can safely say that many in our family feel the same way.

So, for many years as my life continued on, I would occasionally hear of them moving to this place or that, but eventually they finally settled down and retired in Florida.

As my own life’s travels carried me from one place to another, I eventually found myself living on the outside looking in, having also moved away from New Harmony, something I would have never have imagined as a child.

Now I too had become a distant relative.

As life’s journey carried on, I was eventually able to begin attending classes at the University of Florida in Gainesville. An added benefit to my school location was that I finally found myself living within easy traveling distance to Aunt Norma and Uncle Bill’s house. So, when time allowed, I would stop by and visit them in Punta Gorda on my journeys to and from college. On our visits, we would always withdraw to the back of the house, in their Florida room, where we would sit and look out at the beautiful lake behind their home. Like some folks sit around the TV and visit, we would sit idly admiring the living scenery before us as a tranquility of peacefulness would settle upon our hearts. The soft-spoken voice of Uncle Bill would add to the passive serenity before us as we sat and discussed the myriad of tales life had presented since our last visit. Uncle Bill would always take the time to listen to my current plights and struggles and would offer gentle advice while Aunt Norma would listen and agree as we talked. I always found myself inspired from our visits, no matter how much confusion was in my life. In all my journeys, I still cherish those visits knowing they are now part of my collective memory.

On one of my trips, I spent the night and had more time to visit than normal. By chance, I reviewed the items in the bookshelf in the room in which I was staying. Besides numerous Bibles, I also found countless volumes of quarterly Bible study guides with important verses and sayings underlined or highlighted. I was struck by the depth of devotion and intensity of worship the notes in these pamphlets represented. Again, I was reminded of the sincerity of my Aunt and Uncle’s faith and how deeply compassionate their lives had been being devoted to God and the work to which they were called. During that same visit, they took me by their church where they had worked tirelessly for many years creating a food bank and clothes exchange for the less fortunate in their area. Their travels away from home were limited in part due to their commitment to the church. I recall once when I asked about them visiting New Harmony and their daughter who lived in the northeast they replied that they had trouble getting away from the food bank since it was hard to find enough volunteers to man the store while they were away. I was confounded at this but realized they were so devoted to their belief that it was unthinkable for them to leave something they felt called to lead. Once again, I had to admire them for their obligation.

Ninety-seven years is a long, prosperous life to live. I know my cousins, Sarita and Robert, will miss their father. I know Aunt Norma will never be the same without Uncle Bill by her side. For all of these family members and more I ask the Lord to look over them and provide them the comfort they will need in the coming days and weeks ahead. I am very remiss about not writing that letter to Uncle Bill before he passed. He wasn’t one to read emails, so I had planned to write him a letter and print it out then mail it the old fashioned way. Just this past weekend I thought of it again and realized time was quickly passing for us all. Yet, now I know he knows all I had to tell and more and again, for that I am grateful.

So this evening, as I reflect over the far too few times in life we had to spend together, I realize that my Uncle Bill was more than an elder of the family, he was our spiritual leader as well. His and Aunt Norma’s legacy will live on through the rest of us and for that I know we will always be thankful.

May God bless you and keep you Uncle Bill; till we meet again at the Eastern Gate,

– love your nephew, Timothy.

 

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