Tag Archives: water

by | May 20, 2022 · 10:28 pm

Just A Pair of Leaves…

by Timothy W. Tron, May 2022

The pair stood on the bridge and watched the clear mountain river flow beneath – one the elder to the other. A chill was in the air, it was still early May, but the night air still lingered in the valleys. As they stood watching, a pair of birch leaves floated past. At first, the leaves stayed side by side, as if walking and talking along a trail or ridgeline. It appeared as if they reflected the demeanor of the two friends that morning. Then, as if time sped up for one, a swifter current navigated past rocks, tiny splashes of white water told of the increased flow, and the one leaf went ahead of the other. Meanwhile, the leaf that stayed behind kept its course, steady and true.

The elder was still talking as the other watched the leaves but didn’t say anything. It felt as if God was telling him something silently so his friend wouldn’t be interrupted by what he was saying. In his mind, he knew that time with his friend would be like the leaves. Their walks and talks together were only for a short while. Before long, his friend, long in the years, would soon leave this world behind. Or was it himself? Whatever the case, each man was well aware of life’s end approaching, but it was something that only came up in conversation when there was little else to ponder. Both knew that the day would come for each of them. Like the current speeding up for one, the Spirit shall quicken within our mortal bodies so that we should then rise from our sleep to meet our creator. It was his pleasure to make us, and when we are reunited in heaven, we shall all be given new, glorified bodies – what a day it will be. “And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together.” – Romans 8:17

Yet, as one would become part of eternity, the other would remain behind, steady and true to carry on the faith. It was with this in mind as they found a bench along the river and sat, listening to the songbirds sing of brighter days as the breeze blew the wildflowers that grew in abundance nearby, that the younger of the two mentioned the leaves. After sharing the scene, they both sat for some time. They had found a coffee shack nearby and were both sipping on a hot brew of their choice. It seemed so appropriate. They savored their drinks and, for a moment, sat in silence, relishing in the beauty of God’s creation and discernment.

God created all things for our pleasure. It is up to us to pause long enough to enjoy them. Some moments we wish could last forever, but time flows onward like these mountain streams, and with it, we too will someday pass. It’s not what we leave behind that matters, but hopefully, what others will remember of us will cause them to think of Him, of only Jesus, and for that, we should all proudly say, “Thanks be to God.”

“ Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.” – Revelation 4:11

“But if the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwell in you, he that raised up Christ from the dead shall also quicken your mortal bodies by his Spirit that dwelleth in you.” – Romans 8:11

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by | May 5, 2019 · 7:47 pm

What the Heart Can See…

I watched the river flow past through the raindrops on the windshield. It was one of those chilly Sunday mornings where you wanted to curl up by a fire and drink your bitter brew of choice. From inside the car, you knew it was the river, but from within the dry confines of the vehicle, it made a curious movement of Van Gogh-ish swirls across the glass; blue-greens, washed here and there by hints of sparkling white. There was confusion of the eye such that one could not discern fluidness from the earth. To one who knew better, it was merely the light through the raindrops creating a titillating joyous pattern of life upon the window pane. To the unbelieving, it made no sense. “…By hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye shall see, and shall not perceive:” -Mt.13:14

The pitter-patter soon became a heavy downpour. The comforting sound of rain hitting the car’s metal roof took me back to another time, another place.

The old metal roof of my paternal grandparent’s home was one of the most comforting places on earth. This time of year, the sounds of the afternoon rains would drift across the garden leaves that had just begun to sprout, and dance upon the tin roof. From inside, curled up on your favorite arm of the bedsheet covered old couch, you found your warmth from within. There was a precious ambiance of its own; the safety from without and the soothing wholesomeness of a home surrounded in the love of Christ that flowed within.

Like looking upon a vast landscape, the likes of a view afforded from the mountain top; one can only look upon the breathtaking vastness before you become weary from its expanse. Before long, the intimacy of the holler upon which the Retreat now sits calls, the comfort of that arm of the old bedsheet covered couch in grandma’s front parlor, a humbleness of view and spirit all its own returns; warming, softly caressing. To understand this perspective doesn’t require a formal education, it doesn’t require the memorization of scriptures, it doesn’t take any practiced ritual of faith; it only takes a view from a pure heart; a heart that walks with God.

“For this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed; lest at any time they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them. But blessed are your eyes, for they see: and your ears, for they hear.”-Mt. 13:15-16

Each day the believer walks in a world that is not his own. Around them, those who live for the here, the now, force their way into our conversation, our conscious, and our lives. They live non-stop practicing sin; unforgiven, uncaring, and most often, boastful of their earthly accomplishments. One motivational speaker, I recall from college, a man, speaking from his worldly experiences, once told our Electrical Engineering class, “Good things come to those who wait, rather, success is measured by what is left behind by those who hustle.” His point; take it all and leave the spoils to the losers. When we focus on that lifestyle, of hard-driven, climbing the ladder of success, we lose sight of what is most important. From the faith perspective, it is easy to see. As Jesus taught, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into heaven. This mindset can often lead to the blindness, “eyes they have closed,” to which Jesus referred in the scripture. Their hearts become hardened like stone, and soon, they can no longer afford to comprehend sayings of faith and belief. It becomes like a foreign language, one that they cannot comprehend. The world becomes tainted by their hearts that have waxed grossed.

They-the believers in Christ Jesus- see this world through eternal eyes, those that see with a purpose, unlike our sister and brethren who live for the mere existence from day to day. It is not a braggadocious offering, rather, an objective view. The mere existence of tactile images, visions of grandeur, splendid beauty that eyes pure of heart can conceive; these are just a few of the blessings that come with the heart that follows Jesus.

“But these things are seen by the unbeliever just as well,” you might say.

Yes, they may be seen in a certain light, but the believer, the one who truly walks by faith, sees these from the perspective as coming from the hand of God. A creation seen by our eyes that more than speaks to us visually, but also reaches inside us and strikes a chord to our spirit, enriching our being in such a way that we come closer to Him; the Father. Through this means, the Holy Spirit indwells in us, and we become one with Him. Those who don’t know have closed their eyes to the truth, and as such, are merely hollow vessels, constantly trying to fill their void with whatever great, new concept sweeping the globe. This emptiness haunts them until they pass into eternity, lost in their sin, forever seeking what they will never find.

Yet, it is there for all for the asking.

This morning, as my eyes were inspired by the collage of colors sweeping across my simple windshield, in my heart, God was playing an orchestra of thoughts and emotions. To explain this to the one with a waxen heart is merely to express the words of detail, but to the believer, the conceptualization of the moment whispers of their own fruitful living and a time when they too might have felt a common connection.

Jesus told his disciples when they sought to understand his parables, “For verily I say unto you, That many prophets and righteous men have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.”

We can walk in this world, but we may never see this world as those who are of this world. It is our responsibility as Christ-followers to share the truth, and allow those who are lost to find Him.

Those who chose to ignore the truth face grave consequences. As Jesus once more explained to his disciples after the sharing of the parables, “So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.”- Mt. 13:49-50.

Seek the Master’s hand, confess your sins at the foot of the cross, and invite Him into your heart.

You will be forever changed.

Thanks be to God. o

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by | September 16, 2018 · 8:28 pm

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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by | April 16, 2018 · 9:21 pm

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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by | March 24, 2018 · 9:45 pm

Winter of our Content

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
And whose hope is the Lord.
8 For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters,
Which spreads out its roots by the river,
And will not fear[b] when heat comes;
But its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought,
Nor will cease from yielding fruit.” – Jeremiah 17:7-9

Sitting on the bank of the river, below me swirls the cold waters of winter. The fluid motion spins by, never stopping, never ceasing its continual movement. Like time passing, there but for a moment then gone. Around where I sit there is only the stark, gray reminder of winter. Life has not yet returned to the branches of yonder bough; death in slumber.

It has been a long week.

My mind ponders as the countless days pass, from one seeming earthly struggle to the next, one never ceasing, nor stopping to give pause. All around me, others seem to be facing similar earthly challenges and trials; cancer, sickness, and stress. Like the tributary before me, they come in waves, sometimes flooding all that we are. We become overwhelmed with what we must do in order to survive from day to day until there is nothing left of who we are. All that was the light seems all but extinguished. Too often, in our weakness, we feel we must carry it all on our own. It is in these moments, we as Christians must remind ourselves and those around us, we are not alone. As the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” Yes, we are not alone, if only we will allow the Holy Spirit to walk with us.

As these thoughts flow through my head, there passes within the never-ending stream, a dark figure; a solitary oak leaf. It tumbles helplessly along. Its greenery long since faded into the bitter winds of autumn. Now, caught in the chaotic turbulence, it is helpless to choose its path; rather, the substance of which it is now part controls its destiny.

Sometimes, in my moments of weakness, I feel like the leaf.

There was a time when it too was part of the greenness of life; that of the tree that stood beside the stream. There, the life was good. It had no worries, but the waters below beckoned. Knowing not what it missed, the solitary leaf yearned for the mystery of what flowed beneath. On the tree, the leaf had sustenance from the roots that supped the life-giving force. There was no fear in the time of draught, no fear of the world around it. But as we often find in our youth, we are not content with the sanctuary in which we were raised. Like a taboo darkness, the leaf wanted to be free of this safety of which it was reared. When the strong storm winds blew, the leaf wished for its release so that it might be free. One night, when the flashes of lightning thrashed around the sturdy tree, the leaf was finally granted the sole desire; it was set free.

Torn from what seemed like its bondage, it was loosed into the world.

From whence it came it departed and was never to return. Soon the leaf too late realized that without the nourishment of the father tree, there was no hope, no life eternal. Lost, the foliage joined the others who also were blown as the gusts of unseen forces tossed them to and fro. His greenery soon turned to a golden hue, brilliant as the sun; the last rays of hope escaping. In his mistaken glory, he pranced about joyously celebrating the new life of earthly gratification. However, after a couple days, brown stains began to appear on his body. Before he knew it, the leaf’s brown spots connected. To his horror, his flesh had turned to the color of the soil. The countless days of life abundant, those living in the home that taught the precepts of faith now were gone, forgotten as the lost ones ran from all that they had known seeking the fleshly desires of the earth. For it is written, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” The leaf too late found, like those around him, had been mistaken and given up on what that had been promised. Lost in their sin, they now gave up and scattered neither knowing whence they were going, nor whence they came. In their desire to be of the earth, they had unknowingly succumbed to the desires of their flesh. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; Who can know it?” Many of the leaf’s friends, those that had joined in his revelries had now succumbed to the earth, lying in repose as their bodies began to decay, becoming one with the earth from which they came; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Yet, the lone leaf had not forgotten the bidding, that it had wished so long ago.

Haplessly, the leaf was finally blown one morning into the waters below the tree from which it once called home. At first, the leaf fought to remain afloat, fearing to sink below the surface. But eventually, its dried skin became full of the cold wetness and began to sink. As he floated down, the world above began to fade, and he could feel his life beginning to pass. As that former life began to ebb, the water began to swirl him around. The light of the sun sparkled upon the waters, casting colors of every hue about him as the current pushed him on. Suddenly, he was no longer alone, but part of a greater body of being than ever before. There was a renewed sense of hope, a life-force from within, the fluidness of the spirit, began to flow. As the leaf became one with the water, he was made anew. Together, the leaf and the crystal waters were made one. His Baptism had been complete, and now, he was one with the Father. As he floated along, he no longer cared to whence he may go, only that he may do the will of the Father who hath sent him. For once, the leaf had found the glory for which he had so long ago sought but could not know; truly to be one with the Father.

And so there he was, passing before me as I sat that evening, as the sun slowly sat beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaf eventually tumbled and tossed along in the current until it faded from my view into the shadowed bend of the yon waters.

Somewhere in the distance a night bird called.

Soon spring would come, but for now, the winter of our content has arrived.

Thanks be to God.

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by | June 30, 2017 · 9:44 am

Misty Mountains…

“Land that drinks in the rain often falling on it and that produces a crop useful to those for whom it is farmed receive the blessing of God. But land that produces thorns and thistles is worthless and is in danger of being cursed. In the end it will be burned.” – Hebrews 6:7-8

This morning we awoke to a gentle rain falling outside our window. The birds call to one another as they bustle to and fro, carrying on as if nothing changes, their nests protected as they have built them to withstand far greater storms. The water, our life-giving source, soaks into the earth; grass and plants drinking in the coolness, their colors being revived.

Standing looking down at the reflection in the pools of water below the bridge, the clear blue sky of yesterday reflected back. Below the surface boulders, dark crevices, and fissures of time lay hidden. The medium, water, danced about, laughing against the rocks, its voice playing a melody to the ears, a chorus written by only the Master’s hand. Like the presence of God, water, our life source, can take may forms.

Our footsteps walked along well-worn paths, crisscrossed by a network of root, vines, and stones; constantly reaching upward, our climb was an ascent on a nearby peak. Walking in the surroundings of antiquity, time only passes to our awareness, a brief instant to our audience, the granite artifacts of eons gone by. Water has eroded their sharpness, smoothing them to a pleasing shape; soft and gentle. Along the stone surface, cracks and fissures are made; the footholds in time. Generations of life hath searched out the multitude of instances from which their web of limbs and root may find sustenance amongst the precious soil, so sparsely found here on the mountain.

Like those plants seeking life, we often find ourselves seeking the truth. Hidden amid the overload of worldly information, like the solid, formidable stone edifices we pass, our hands touching briefly the cool, firmness; a reality; a truth; we seek out this permanence in life. Yet, many cannot find their way. They have become blinded by the incessant tirade of the information with which we are flooded in each waking moment. The progress of mankind is measured by one’s ability to grasp the technology of the day. We place flat panels of information in every room. In the back of our minds, there has been placed a fear of losing touch, a fear of missing the headlines of the moment. We carry with us devices with which we can remain engaged, even when we cannot be near those screens of connectivity. Can we not live without this constant feeding of noise? Can we not leave it behind, and for once, return to the truth that lies before us since the creation? “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and I will bring you back from captivity…” “Knock, and the door shall be opened.”

Sitting upon the monolithic granite peak, we look out at the vastness that lay before us. In the nearby distance, the mountain they call Grandfather stands; close, dark, and vigilant. We can almost reach out and touch him, his closeness comforting. Before we can think, the scene before us begins to change. Around us, the void between fills with the fluidness of life. Clouds roll through, a mist of the life source we watched and listened to only minutes before now takes flight and passes us by; its destination unknown to us, directed by the Master’s touch. Wisps of whiteness, cool refreshing to our skin, blankets the world below. Closing your eyes, you can soak in the bliss. The whisper of sound surrounds us and tells us to release those burdens we have left behind. Blinkingly, we open our eyes to a new reality. Where once stood the solid image of Grandfather, there is nothingness; he is gone, obscured by the cloud in which we now sit. Surrounded by the whiteness of truth, we are closer to God’s face than before, treading where only Angels tread.

Sound, like the images before us, is gone.

Here there are no voices from man’s world to disrupt our blessing, only the closeness of Him.

There is only so much we can understand and which we can absorb through the senses with which we were given. Our comprehension is as it was intended. We are presented with the world from which we came, as ashes, we have been born, the breath of life given to us through our nostrils, the Spirit. We live as one with that which we are born to live, on God’s earth. Here we are only passing through so that someday, we shall share the heavenly abode with Him. Here, we are only temporary guests in a world in which He created.

In tiny glimpses, in what we can relate, we are shown the majesty of what awaits beyond. Moment by moment, we become more aware of what will await us in eternity, should we choose to do so. It is all up to us. We were given the free will with which to choose.

We can seek the truth, or allow the world to tell us what is granite stone and what is not.

The choice is ours.

Like water that can reflect a clear blue sky, or suddenly take the form of a white mist, shrouding even the most majestic mountain, His magnificence is beyond our human comprehension, as is our ability to know what lieth beyond heaven’s gates. We need not fear Him if we come to know Him, and in the end, it is up to us to choose.

Seek him with all your heart, knock and the door to eternity shall be opened.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 7, 2016 · 9:12 pm

Drink Up…

“Jesus answered and said to her, “Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, 14 but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.”-John 4:13-14
20160406_164931

The spring of the year seems to heighten our awareness of the world around us in so many ways. Walking outside the door this morning after the night’s rain, there was a freshness to the crisp air that brushed past the tiny pink blossoms of the bushes blooming in the front yard. The birds were welcoming as well as the dawning of the day had yet to reach its horizon. There was a sense of urgency, a sense of something to come; everything being so vibrant and alive, at least to those who are in the frame of mind to recognize it. If you have sipped of the well of everlasting life, there is something special about days like this. Please don’t take this sort of rejoicing as someone trying to sound overly righteous, it is simply an exhaltation of the glory of the Father.

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me, And let us exalt His name together.”-Psalms 34-3

Sadly, many will not care or will not bother to take the time to notice. Their minds are clouded with the frusttrations and worries facing them in the coming days as they madly dash for the car, expecting it to start and be on their way before the ignition switch is even turned. They continually drink from the resevoir of the secular world where the water jug is never big enough to hold all the fluid to sustain their family. They continally try to seek ways to bring bigger and stronger storage jugs to the well in which to carry back the fluid that only provides momentary satisfaction, then it is gone as quickly as it passes their lips. There is never any sweetness to their life. They seek to fill the void with one worldy substitute after another. Some turn to addictions that never produce the peace they seek until they ultimately find their life lost to the very thing they used to replace God; their worldly obsessions.

We all fall short of the glory of God, but we can become one with the Father if we only seek to drink from the well of His sustenance.

The water from the well analogy is purposeful in that we often seek what cannot sate our insatiable desires.

Once we choose to drink from the water of life everlasting, suddenly the world in which we live takes on an entirely new meaning. Our eyes become opened to untold beauty we beforehand had hurridly passed in the race to achieve more,… day-after-day. It when we begin to drink in the nectar of life as God had intended. Glimpses of heaven on earth begin to tug at our heart strings. We cannot share the pictures before us quickly enough before they are gone; the fleeting clouds rimmed with sunlight so brilliant, it is as if angels are standing behind them praising at the very foot of God almighty; sweet moments of the song bird, serenading in a chorus of blissful melodies at the break of dawn; skies so blue, their very essence substantiates the presence of God watching over us all.

Yes, there is a dipper of liquid so refreshing you will never need another sip, for the rest of your life.

It is up to us to choose to take it.

Knock and the door will be opened.

Seek and yea shall find.

Choose Jesus.

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by | March 5, 2016 · 10:01 pm

Go Gentle Into the Frozen Abyss…

 

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

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

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

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

That was number one: the leaking valve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lessons are often learned for a reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, this is it.”

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

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

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

I only had one choice at this point.

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

None of us knew the dangers of deep water diving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back down into the black hole, I climbed. I looked to my wife once more and before going 20160303_132913under said, “Call someone if I don’t come back up.”

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

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

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

20160303_132921Down, down I went, feeling pipes and valves as I along the way toward the ultimate goal, the main valve. The air in my chest didn’t seem to matter anymore as a special numbness began to overwhelm my consciousness.

 

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

Water rushed past my frozen fingers; turned the handle.

Water still rushing.

Followed the pipe further; turned another handle; nothing.

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

The water stopped flowing.

“Must find the surface.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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by | January 26, 2016 · 9:55 pm

Seek and You Will Find…

In the distance, the mountains call.

“Seek and you will find…”imagesQ53ZSJ8P

The fluid movement of the gulf stream pushes against my will. Below me, the sands swirl in undulating patterns, to and fro, as the current continues to empty the back bay. My air is nearly depleted, but I push on, stretching the limits of my endurance until the forbearance of life thrusts me up, bursting through the surface just as my lungs explode in a forceful exhalation of water and breath, then immediately sucking life back through my snorkel.

I lay there, floating, drifting on the current, waiting.

In the distance, the mountains call.

“Knock and it will be opened unto you…”

Replenished, I dive, driving my fins against the current until I glide along the bottom. The world around me is foreign yet intriguing. In the back of my mind, I keep watch for danger; sharks, rays and jellyfish that constantly appear and then disappear like spirits in the night. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, as my heart beats in my ears. There, over in the next bend lies the conch shell I’ve been searching. Just as my fingers grasp the treasure, the pains return. Too soon, the air is gone once again and I must return to the other place.

images0VGE58ZGA silence of beauty awaits me back on the surface. The bounty nestled safely in my dive pouch. Nearby a small tiger shark appears, approaching in a curious manner, then darts away. My hand reaches for the knife strapped to my thigh, more of a comfort than anything, the feeling of the cold hard steel is assuring. I try to relax again.

Drifting effortlessly once more, my breathing is measured but calm. Off in the distance, the sound of a boat motor tilling through waves reaches my ears. The alien noise does not belong. Like myself, we’re intruders in this realm, yet we’ve come nonetheless.

In the distance, the mountains call.

“For everyone who asks, receives…”

379274_4161269401680_615774015_nBelow, the clouds obscure the lower reaches of the valleys. From my vantage point, I can see snow capped peaks, jagged, unapproachable and daunting. The air is pure and clean up here. There is no want of breath, no self-depleting pangs of oxygen other than those that consume the body at altitudes beyond your own physical abilities. I look around and my eyes cannot believe the grandeur of this place. My time here is limited, like that below the surface of the Gulf, yet something draws me; a destiny I cannot explain.

The treasure is not below as I once believed; no, it is above.

Somewhere, a mountain calls, somewhere I must go.

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” – Matthew 7:7-8

 

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by | October 19, 2015 · 8:49 pm

Living Water…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May your heart become a river, this I pray.

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