The Story Continues…

The difficult part about getting to this phace of the story is how to finish it, for it won’t ever be finished.  The new life that began all the way back there in that jail cell on my 40th birthday will never end.  Though this earthly existance will be extinquished one day, that new life will last for an eternity.

But, in an effort to wrap up this writing and to give a status update, there is certainly no better time to type these words than in the early hours of this Christmas morning.  In the fresh moments of this 3rd post-prison Christmas, I am humbled to look back at these 782 days and to be able to trace God’s Hand moving in my life.

Upon my exodus from behind the fences of the prison, I spent a week living in an extended stay hotel in Memphis (for I simply could not bear the thought of being housed with any other person) to be close to and spend time with my boys and my brother.  A glorious week of great meals, laughter and reconnection.

And it was during that week that my interim transportation needs were met.  A great friend with a spare car handed me keys but no time-frame.  One of the huge impediments to my transition was removed in an instant and the weeks of worry about that particular situation were proven to be a complete waste of time – God was on top of things.

November 1st found me traveling to Nashville – this time on my own, with the freedom to stop and go as I saw fit – to begin a new life.  The call to the church mentioned in the last chapter resulted in an interview for a position on the maintenance and janitorial staff of the church.  The interview resulted in a job and the following morning, as I awoke in another extended-stay hotel, I was employed and another impediment and cause for worry was removed.

During my third week in the hotel, one of my fellow workers mentioned a house near him that had just come available for rent.  My boss found out and, in typical fashion, he took the proverbial bull by the horns and, in three days, I was spending my first night in a cozy little house in a small community north of Nashville.  For the first time in almost seven years, I went to bed with no shared walls, quiet so pervasive that it was a little intimidating, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Back to Prison – Part II

Dejected?  Absolutely!  How in the world was this happening….again? 

Confused?  Absolutely!  After trying so hard to do everything right, the lie of an unknown person – apparently someone with an ax to grind – instantly transformed a tolerable situation into pure hell.

But doubting? My faith isn’t as strong as Joseph’s for I did doubt and wonder why.

I was moved from the relative freedom of the annex to the main compound in Nashville, thrown into the smallest cell I have ever seen with one of the biggest men I have ever seen, given only the barest of essentials and left.

A friend went to the annex to pick up my belongings to discover that most of my “free world” clothes had been stolen by staff members.  Stamps were stolen by the mail room.  Phone calls disallowed.

For a month I sat, not knowing why I was there or what my future held.  Every mental picture of life after prison I had conjured during the preceding two years vaporized and I was left with only uncertainly and despair.

On the 33^rd day of this torture, I was shackled wrist and ankle and loaded onto a bus with forty others for the trip back to West Tennessee State Penitentiary – back to where I started all those many months before.  My faith was so weak but, since there was no choice, I started over again. The days were long and the nights were longer.  I was moved from cell to cell, subjected to one cellmate after another, always in a state of flux with no hope for stability of any kind – always fearful that the activities of one of those men would compromise my custody level and thereby lengthen my term.

I tried to secure employment to no avail, finally landing – by default – in the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans for six hours a day for twenty-five cents an hour. As it was with Joseph, the defining quality of these days was idleness, made all the worse coming from a place of responsibility. My nights were also consumed with wondering what was going to happen and why I had been removed from usefulness and productivity.  Every day was consumed with silent prayer asking why I was being punished when I had done nothing wrong.  No answer came but God’s Hand showed Itself.

Discipline

     There was always a ritual to it.  That was something upon which I could count. 

     Whenever I violated a known law of the house there was sure to be a price paid and the payment of that debt always followed a ritual. If at home, I would be immediately sent to my room to await the judgment.  If in public, silence would follow the discovery of the infraction – it was a living silence pregnant with dread – until privacy permitted the ritual.

     The waiting was probably the worst part.  Sure, the paddle or the belt or the hand left a mark and an impression, but the waiting for it seemed cruel and inhuman.  “Let’s just get on with it,” I would silently shout.  Anything would be better than that anticipation of execution of sentence.
It wasn’t until many years later that I was briefed in on the real purpose of the waiting.  It wasn’t to add to my punishment – though that was certainly a by-product.  It was to give my dad time to cool down so the punishment that was deserved could be meted out without the anger or emotion of the moment of the infraction.  It was for my benefit – my safety – my good.

     How much like the Heavenly Father, who never fails to discipline His disciples.  What additional proof is needed to reveal His love and His concern for us than His discipline when we violate His Will and His Law? (Proverbs 3:11-12)

     As for the rest of the ritual?  The spanking was painful but was always followed by prayer.  And, without exception, the relationship between my dad and me was stronger and more vital as a result of those times.  While it surely pained him to punish me – something I never really believed until I was faced with disciplining my own sons – it was for my good.  And in that way my dad modeled the Father.

     I’m thankful for the example dad lived out for me.

     I’m even more thankful that God never lets me off the hook but lovingly punishes me and, by doing so, reveals His love for me and His deep desire that I live His way.

Praise

“And the ransomed of the Lord shall come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” Isaiah 35:10

 We went to comfort, but came away comforted; such was the vigor of her faith– such was the beauty of her …

 Praise

 Her life was just one constant hymn of praise,
Though pain and suffering marked so many days.
                (I’ve never seen Christ’s spirit brighter shine! )
                Weakness chained her body, and confined
It to the limits of her little room;
But naught that life could do could e’er entomb
                Her fervent prayers, or quench her heartfelt praise.
 
God loved her! He sent Christ to take her hand
And give her Royal Escort to the promised land!
                But just before she left, He let her see
                And praise the matchless glories of eternity!
God grant to us in life’s remaining days
A double portion of her victory and praise,
                That when our “call” shall come, the parting hour
                Shall be, like hers, triumphant by Thy power!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Only the Good Things?

Written by A Prodigal, January 21, 2007

---

But he said to her, “You speak as any foolish woman would speak. Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” In all this Job did not sin with his lips. - Job 2:10

Of course, we all love presents – the good things.  It’s just the way we’re built.   As basically and continually selfish creatures, our main goal in life is to avoid the bad and grasp the good.  This is natural and, to a point, socially acceptable.

Because of this selfish nature, we tend to view God as a cosmic Santa.  We crawl up into His lap and spill our list of wants and wishes.  And occasionally He grants us these requests - perhaps not in the magnitude we desire, but He grants them just the same.  Shelter, food, love of family and friends.  He protects and provides.

But there are times when not only do we not get our wish, but something awful, traumatizing and soulfully painful comes into our lives.  We baulk and complain to the Maker of the universe that our order wasn’t properly filled.

But, as the pastor of a dear friend stated recently, “If God gave us all we ever asked for, many of us would be destroyed by our own prayers.”  Instead, we must ask with Job, “Should we only take good things from God?”  And that “good” as defined by us and our very limited perspective.  We must trust our Creator that breathed life into us to give us what we need and not always what we want.  What parent has ignored the need for medicine in favor of the ice cream requested by the child?

As parents, we know better.  Shouldn’t we assign the same ability – at the very least – to God?

---

For more Ponderings, click here

06:30

Devotions are done.  The pod is waking up.  Next door, clearly audible through the heating vent, there is another discussion about who stole who’s soup – fifteen cents is almost an hour’s pay for some.  The alert tones on the guard’s radio is hitting more frequently as the compound wakes up and the radio traffic picks up.

Outside my sliver of window the rain from the previous evening continues to pour and the weather prognosticators are predicting its continuation throughout the day.  Overall, it promises to be a nasty day for most of the Mid-South.

Inside my cell, things are still relatively quiet.  I’m up and dressed. Last minute packing is done.  My cellmate is still asleep and won’t wake up until the doors open and I leave for breakfast.

So here I sit, on my bunk, waiting for someone else to tell me it’s time to start the day.  I wonder what it will be like when I am able to begin the day when I’m ready?  When I can open my own door and eat breakfast when I choose?  When I have to actually decide what clothes to wear?

I’m ready to find out.  I’m ready for the doors to open and for the day to move along.

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

Never Give Up

Written by A Prodigal, January 20, 2007.

---

But Joseph said to them, “Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God?   Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today. -Genesis 50:19-20

We end Genesis where we began: God is in control.  And here, right at the end, is the most startling and conclusive evidence of that fact.  Let’s review:

Jacob deceives Isaac and steals his brother’s blessing.  In fear for his life, he flees to his mother’s family where he marries and is blessed with eleven sons, 10 of whom conspire against the eleventh, the impetuous and somewhat insensitive Joseph.  They end up selling him to a group of Midianite traders on their way to Egypt believing they are finally done with his silly dreams.

But somewhere along the way, whether sitting in the well, on the desert trip to Egypt, or maybe on the auction block, Joseph becomes a man.  A man of God.  God’s instrument.

So here, at the end of the story, we see God’s purpose – the salvation of His nation.

Our lesson?  From the very worst the world and Satan throw at us; from the divorces and the bankruptcies;  from the addictions and prison terms; from the layoffs and the insensitivity of bosses and fellow workers; from the isolation from loved ones and seasons of apparent uselessness; what the world means for harm, God can – and will – redeem for our good and His glory.

Our job? Emulate Joseph, patiently endure and never, never, never give up.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Perfect Faith

“Without faith it is impossible to please him; for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” Hebrews 11:6

The shield of God is very real today
I know His ear bends low whene’er I pray;
                But, Oh, when darkness comes, and there’s no light,
                May I then walk by faith instead of sight!

How easy to believe when all is well,
And life has only loveliness to sell!
                But is my Father pleased to see my trust
                When every earthly crutch has turned to dust?

The shield of God is very real today;
I am convinced He hears me as I pray;
                But when the fiery furnace must be trod,
                May I, by faith, behold the Son of God!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

October 23, 2007, 05:30

October 23, 2007
05:30

OK, so I didn’t see you at 2230.  I really didn’t expect sleep to come but it did and I have no memory of the night.  The hours passed unnoticed and without incident.  I don’t even remember hearing the jingling keys of the third shift officer as he made his rounds.  Amazing!   And now, awake in these early morning hours – the best time of the day in prison – the cell and the pod are still silent as a tomb.  Most are sleeping.  No one’s running their mouth.  It’s my time with God in the stillness of the day.  Why should today be any different than all the others that went before?  In fact, of all the days spent in this place, this is the one day that thanksgiving is the most appropriate, from my perspective anyway.

Just a few more hours……….

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

Father’s Day Thoughts

Written Father’s Day, 2005, for the weekly church newsletter………………

---

General Douglas MacArthur wrote, “By profession I am a Soldier, and I am proud of that fact.  But I am prouder to be a Father.  My hope is that my son, when I am gone, will remember me, not from battle, but in the home, repeating with him one simple prayer, ‘Our Father, which art in Heaven…..’”

We look forward to a record attendance, comprised of a great host of Fathers bringing their families to the House of God.

“But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord!”  Joshua 24:15

TEN COMMANDMENTS FOR YOUR CHILD

1.       Thou shalt love thy child with all thy heart and soul and strength, but wisely in thy mind.

2.       Thou shalt think of thy child not as someone belonging to thee but as a person.

3.       Thou shalt regard his respect and love not as something to be demanded, but as something to be worth earning.

4.       Every time thou art out of patience with thy child’s immaturity and blunderings thou shalt call to mind some childish adventure and mistakes which attended thine own coming of age.

Don’t Be Afraid

Written by A Prodigal January 19, 2007

---

Then he said, “I am God, the God of your father; do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for I will make of you a great nation there.  Genesis 46:3

Don’t be afraid.  God spoke to Jacob, while was on the road moving his whole life to a strange country and away from the land of promise.

As the Psalmist would pray centuries later, God searched Jacob’s heart and knew his anxious thoughts. (Psalms 139:23)  And right in the middle of the night and the anxiety, God spoke those wonderful words: Don’t be afraid.

How many times has He done this for me?  For you?  Moreover, how many times has He tried but found us distracted or disinterested.  He wants to speak His peace to us in the very midst of our storm.

Will we listen?

Will we trust?

---

For more Ponderings, click here

The Land of Beginning Again

Scattered throughout the notes and writings of my dad was found this poem by Louise Fletcher. He quoted pieces of it during phones conversations. He inserted lines of it in correspondence. He used it in sermons and lectures.

And, of course, I know why….

He longed – as many of us do – to be able to retrace the years and redo the things he did wrong and enjoy more the precious things taken for granted. It seems a bit unfair that we are not able to realize the intrinsic value of the truly important things until it is too late.

Well, that’s not entirely true, for today my dad is in that land of beginning again. No heartaches, no tears. No broken relationships to be lamented. No regrets and failures. He’s there and I’m going for I, too, have my regrets.

One day, like all of us, we will come upon that Land all unawares – I wonder if we will be prepared…….

---

I wish that there were some wonderful place Called the Land of Beginning Again

Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches And all of our selfish grief

Could be dropped like a shabby old coat by the door And never be put on again.

 

I wish we could come on it all unaware Like the hunter who finds a lost trail

And I wish that the one whom our blindness has done The greatest injustice of all

Could be at the gates like an old friend that waits For the comrade he’s gladdest to hail.

21:30

The fare on Monday night television is a yawner.  Or perhaps I’m just not able to focus on it – my cellmate seems enthralled by something he’s watching.  For whatever the reason – distraction or poor writing and show selection – it’s high time I just give in and try to pass this night like the 1948 nights that have gone before – asleep. 

It’s a schedule that has worked for me for these years.  Early to bed – well, to sleep; since there is nowhere else to sit in this cell, most of my time in here is spent in bed – and early to rise.  The fan I have mounted right over my head effectively drowns out the residual noise from the neighbors, the pod and the cellmate so sleep has rarely been a problem during these many nights in this unnatural situation.  Sleep generally comes shortly after I decide to yield to it and that is usually around this time of night.  Why change the routine tonight just because it’s the last night, right?

Early to rise for that is about the only time of the day that I can even begin to focus on the reading of the Word of God and prayer.  Those quiet moments at the beginning of the day, before the commotion of the day gets wound up, set the tone for the day and, I firmly believe, is the reason I have not completely lost my sanity during this sentence.

So, for the very last time ever, I turn my TV off, switch off the reading light, intiate the noise masking device and roll over toward the wall.  All the time knowing that sleep would be an impossibility tonight.  Too much on my mind.  Too much to anticipate.  Too many unknowns and uncertainties to think about.

I’ll surely see you in an hour.

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

…and their eyes were opened…..

They walked the dusty road that day and everything was different.  The familiar route was strange.  The entire scene faded to gray.  And they were sure that their lives – or what was left of their lives – would be somehow less.

The appearance of the tag-along stranger failed to arouse any interest.  The conversation, bothersome and annoying initially, ramped up as they relived the past few days while educating this new companion.

And suddenly everything changed again.  Suddenly their eyes were opened…..

And the fact that eyes had to be opened speaks volumes.  A need for opening indicates a closure.  These men – these believers – had had their eyes (and hearts) closed:

Closed by history;
Closed by experience;
Closed by despair;
Closed by hopelessness;
Closed by unrealized dreams;
Closed by disappointments.

But then their eyes were opened and they saw the Lord, standing in their midst, risen, vital and divine.  And the closed opened and that ordinary little road down to the insignificant little town of Emmaus became the center of the universe as the Creator conversed with the created.

But how does that affect us today?  How does the fact that their eyes were opened help us?  How can we have our closed lives opened?

20:30

Here we go again.  Same routine repeated all through the day.  The call gets shouted that it’s lock down time.  Failing to plan ahead – not a big priority here – the mad rush to get to the ice machine, score one last cigarette, bum a soup or a chili or a popcorn from a neighbor, and finish up the phone call causes the normal pandemonium of the day to seem like the calm of the tomb. 

Finally, all last-minute errands having been completed, everyone scurries for the cell doors – to be caught outside the cell after the officer makes his door-slamming rounds is not a wise move.  Doors clang shut.  Another night of hyper-confinement begins.

Cellmates move around the cell, chronically in each other’s way in the tight space.  Personal matters concluded, lights turned off, and televisions are turned on, headphones donned and each one enters the relative – and blessed – silence of his own thoughts.

But tonight mine are not silent.  They’re roaring.  Sleep’s going to be tough tonight.

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

God’s Instrument

Penned by A Prodigal on January 18, 2007, from a prison cell.

---

And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life.  Genesis 45:5

God’s instrument.  Joy in a far away land.  Joseph was able to see the fulfillment of God’s plan and the reason for all his trouble.  He was blessed in this way.

Not all of us will be able to see and determine why we face the trials and tests that enter our lives.  But we can know, as with Joseph, that God has a plan and a purpose and will use each and every one to fulfill that plan.

There is nothing God can’t do with a surrendered life.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Preference

“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”  Psalms 91:1

Incline my heart continually toward Thee, O God.  May I seek Thy favor in every desire, and make only that which is of Thee my everlasting….

 Let me not be rich in this world’s goods,
                But let me know a wealth of quiet woods
Where I may rest enthroned upon a log,
                And listen to the whisperings of God!

 Let me never feel the kiss of fame,
                Or swell with pride at popular acclaim;
For these are transient glories doomed to dust…
                But grant me please, instead, a child’s pure trust. 

Let me never know a life of ease,
                Sodden with the pelf of vanities;
But let me do some unobtrusive thing
                To soothe a hurt, or cause a heart to sing!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

19:30

Still an hour until lockdown and I’m hiding in my cell.  Not that I am necessarily afraid of what or who is on the other side of the door, but I just don’t want to deal with the questions, false well-wishes and barely veiled jealousy of those who would visit.

There are a few I want to see for the last time.  There are a few to whom I will (and have) pass on the personal belongings I have decided not to take with me from this place.  There are a few that I will miss, think and worry about, and pray for after I’m gone.  But, by and large, there is no one I want to see or listen to or deal with so I’m locked in my cell a full hour before I have to be.

Thank the Lord that this is the last night. 

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

Prison to Palace

Written by A Prodigal from a prison cell – January 17. 2007.

---

So Pharaoh said to Joseph, “Since God has shown you all this, there is no one so discerning and wise as you. You shall be over my house, and all my people shall order themselves as you command; only with regard to the throne will I be greater than you.”Genesis 41:39-40

From the prison to the palace.  God’s faithfulness and perfect timing works in a life committed to Him!

“Two years later….”  I’ve done twenty-four months in prison (more than that actually) but I deserved to be there.  Joseph didn’t!  I can’t imagine his fight to stay faithful to and focused on God in the face of such injustice and through such a lengthy internment.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Praying for You

“As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.”  Isaiah 66:13

What a priceless gift is heart-sympathy–the love of Christ manifested! It seemed to clothe her with indefinable beauty as she whispered, We’re….

Praying For You

 

This morning as I sat in church

                I was almost unaware

Of the services in progress–

                So worn was I with care.

When a precious saint beside me,

                With spirit kind and true,

Clasped my hand, and whispered,

                “We’re praying, dear, for you.”

 

Her words a balm of healing,

                Banished my despair,

And they warmed my heart within me

                As the sunlight warms the air.

I thought of the Father’s promise

                In His sacred Word so true,

“As one whom his mother comforteth,

                So will I comfort you.”

 

How often on life’s weary road

                Have I failed to take the hand

Of that struggling soul beside me,

                Showing that I understand?

May Christ’s love so melt my nature,

                All His sympathy endue,

‘Til I’ll clasp that hand and whisper,
                 I’m praying, friend, for you! “

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

18:30

 O, the joys of being able to cook for myself again. 

Cooking is something I’ve always enjoyed.  Working in the kitchen, even if it is not the best equipped kitchen in the world, is a pleasure I have sorely missed over the past few years.  And, back when I was able to cook whenever I wanted, I took it for granted just like so many others things from the past.

The condition and quality – not to mention the quantity – of the food served inside the fence has already been described.  So it should come as no surprise to anyone that, in order to supplement my diet and not starve to death, I regularly purchase items from the small commissary list provided by the prison and cook in the cell.

And it’s an adventure.  Dicing a summer sausage with a spork is fun.  Thinking up new combinations using chili pouches, the aforementioned summer sausages, tuna, Ramen noodle soups, salsa and burrito wraps is a challenge.  Finding a bowl that would fit down inside my hot pot so the mixture could simmer was almost impossible.

But if prison does anything for you, it teaches you to improvise, be resourceful, and to use the items at hand for purposes surely never intended by their manufacturers.  Adapt and overcome may well be part of the Marine motto but it applies equally to the prison inmate.  Survival demands it.

So, as the last day of my prison life winds down, I break out my spork and a summer sausage and begin the process of making my last meal here.

Thanks be to God!

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

Kindness

Written by A Prodigal January 16, 2007, from the prison cell.

---

“But the Lord was with Joseph and showed him kindness….”
Genesis 39:21a

Even in the darkest days, I’ve always been able to trace God’s hand in the situation, showing His kindness to me.  Joseph was a man of integrity doing what was right even when it was unpopular or met with disapproval from those around him.

And though his integrity landed him in prison, we know that this was all part of the Divine design – a stepping stone to the palace; a proving ground for young Joseph to be taught the lessons he would need later.

May I always be such a man of integrity.  Though my past is marred, my future can be marked by God’s presence and kindness.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

17:30

Count finally cleared at ten minutes to five and, while most of the men in the pod are running to the chow hall for the evening swill, I am making a bee line for the showers, thanking God with every step that this will be the very last time I will have to do this here.

For the uninitiated, a housing unit contains two separate and distinct pods.  Each pod is self contained and is composed of sixty-four 2-man cells, eight shower stalls – one of which is supposed to be reserved for the handicapped, 7 telephones, one ice machine, one microwave, and 128 men, most of whom apparently had no training at home on any subject.

The showers, the topic at hand for this hour’s segment, are each about thirty inches wide and five feet long.  At varying heights on a side wall, situated almost as far as you can get from the door, is a shower head.  The heads are not adjustable and have been wound down so tightly that you literally have to move around to get your entire body wet.  And, since the spray is so fine, if the water temperature is not approaching the scald point, by the time the droplets get to you they have cooled to the point of being frigid.  (There’s a way around that involving the top of a shampoo bottle with the neck adjusted to fit the head – this narrows the stream of water so you can actually get clean in there.)

Some stalls are better than others – lower heads and less mist – so the demand for those is huge.  Consequently, on this night – this last night here – I am skipping dinner (a usual practice) to snag one of the good stalls.  With shower shoes donned (I’m ready to lose those things for good), a well-engineered shower spray reducer and my shampoo and soap in hand, I make my way across the pod, through the stream of dinner-bound men, and suffer through the last one of these.

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

A Simple Task

Written by A Prodigal on January 15, 2007.

---

He answered, “Here I am.” Genesis 37:13b

Joseph would never have believed how that day would turn out.  How his agreement to perform that errand for his aging father would change his life.  How that paternal request fulfilled an eternal plan.

Joseph was an instrument of God’s but his edges were rough.  His dreams were gifts from above but the ability to harness them for God’s purposes would require many difficult miles, many lonely days and nights, many heart breaking setbacks and times of utter discouragement.  Little did he know, as he set out to find had brothers, that he was stepping into God’s crucible and fulfilling his divine destiny.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Isn’t He Worthy?

Written by A Prodigal on January 14, 2007.

---

So Jacob said to his household and to all who were with him, “Put away the foreign gods that are among you, and purify yourselves, and change your clothes; then come, let us go up to Bethel, that I may make an altar there to the God who answered me in the day of my distress and has been with me wherever I have gone.”  Genesis 35:2-3

What an entourage!  Jacob, two wives, two concubines, eleven sons, unnumbered servants, and herds….oh, what a sight that caravan must have been.

What an obstacle!  An estranged brother with four hundred men.  Jacob just knew all he had – all he had worked for for all those years was about to be slaughtered in the desert.  Seems to be somewhat prophetic – the future Israelite nation with Laban chasing them down from behind and Esau blocking their way.  Deliverance was surely needed.

What a brother!  The years had mellowed Esau and tempered his anger.  No slaughter – only forgiveness and acceptance – awaited Jacob there.

What a God!  Guiding, directing, providing, protecting.

Jacob’s response?  Obedience – “go to the city of Bethel and live there” – and worship.

His orders to his family ring true today:

·         Step away from anything you’ve put ahead of God.

·         Seek forgiveness – internal cleanliness – for any offence that lies between you and a Holy God.

·         Make yourselves presentable for God is to be honored above all others.

Isn’t He worthy?

Hasn’t He helped you during you times of trouble?

Hasn’t He been with you wherever you’ve gone?

---

For more Ponderings, click here

The Way Out

We all desire a way out – of our situations, of our heartaches, of the pain of life.  We search for ways to dull the pain, rectify the situations and mask the heartaches.  It’s only natural that we should do this.  Discomfort always brings on a desire for change.  It’s where the change is sought that is crucial.

I read this recently in an old Preachers’ Magazine of my dad’s.  It seemed appropriate and on point so I share it here:

“Philosophy says, ‘Think your way out.’ 

Pleasure says, ‘Drink your way out.’ 

Politics says, ‘Legislate your way out.’ 

Science says, ‘ Invent your way out.’ 

Militarism says, ‘Fight your way out.’ 

The Bible says, ‘Pray your way out,’ for Jesus says, ‘I AM the Way out.’”

Thank God He made a way of escape for us.  Praise His Dear Name.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

The Snooze Button

---

With the daily newscasts screaming the reports of the unspeakable acts of violence – murder, suicide, child molestation, rape, kidnapping, etc. – on top of the reports of the anguish and distress among the nations of the world, eruption of civil wars, terrorists on the loose and threats of nuclear attack made weekly on neighboring countries as well as the United States and Israel, it is astounding to realize that the church is asleep!!  We have been lulled to sleep by the powerful influence of materialism, comfort and ease and idleness.

St. Paul wrote to the church at Rome (Romans 13:11-12): “Knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.  The night is far spent and the day is at hand.”

Paul is crying out to us, “Wake up!!”  The answer to the problems of this storm-ravaged world is Christ the Lord, but this message cannot be sounded by a church that sleeps!

Again, St. Paul blows the trumpet when he says, “Awake thou that sleepest and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light.”  Ephesians 5:14.

Don’t hit the “snooze button.”  See you in church.

Pastor Bill

---

During my years in prison, my father wrote articles for his monthly church newsletter.  They each touched my heart, and those of the members of his church during that time; so much so that I want to share them with you.  May God continue to use the words of my father to minister through these pages and this medium.

With Us

Written by A Prodigal, January 13, 2007.

---

I will be with you. -Genesis 31:3b

Sweeter words were never spoken.  To know that God will be with us through our days and trials and journeys – as He was with Jacob – is the ultimate assurance.

He went to bed as Jacob and awoke as Israel.  He retired with two healthy hips and arose with a limp.  As Paul’s thorn, Jacob’s hip served as a reminder – not only to him but to the nation down through history – that God is God and is in control of our lives.  Every time Jacob stood, for the rest of his life, he was reminded of that night – the night he met with God.  We all have those reminders, those “bad joints”, those thorns which serve to take us back to our encounter with the Creator of the Universe.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Treasure

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  Matt 6:19-21.

We don’t think about it often – it’s an underlying assumption we tend to have here in America – but we tend to move through our lives in a bubble of perceived security. We are protected by law enforcement agencies, dead bolts and alarm companies. Doors and windows, gates and fences, bars and watchdogs give us a sense of security and safety and promote the existence of the bubble of belief that we, along with all our stuff, are safe and untouchable.

Recently, however, I joined the ranks of the owners of busted bubbles. A little over two weeks ago I returned home from work at the end of the day only to walk into a crime scene. A brick through a window and an involuntary transfer of possession of several thousand dollars worth of property had occurred and, like the window, my bubble of perceived security was shattered. Anger. Apprehension. Helplessness. Vulnerability. All these flooded my mind and heart as I surveyed the scene.

And a quandary – how could I restore my sense of security and protect my property?

Questions

Written by A Prodigal on September 4, 2006.

---

We all have questions.  And questions are OK.

We ask why the baby had to be born with that defect.  Noah asked about the boat in the desert.

We ask about the death of a young husband and father.  David wondered how long he would have to live in the cave.

We ask about the pain the affair of a spouse caused.  Joseph questioned his prison sentence.

We ponder the tsunami waves that devastate whole nations.  The disciples were perplexed over the death of Jesus.

We question the tests we face and their length.  Jesus felt forsaken on the cross.

We all have questioned and nowhere in all of Scripture are questions condemned if asked in sincerity and earnest.

Habakkuk gives us an example.  He had questions.  He was appalled at the sad state of affairs in Judah.  Depravity, immorality, and idol worship ruled the day.  Habakkuk wanted to know what God was going to do about it.

And God answered.  The Babylonians were coming.

This answer only prompted another question – why use such a wicked, heathen people as the tool to judge Judah’s sin?

Only This

“He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”  Psalms 91: 11

 

My sight is so limited I cannot see beyond the next curve in the road, or over the next hill; so Heavenly Father, I would beseech Thee….

 

Only This

 

No favor would I ask, my God, of Thee

                But only that Thy Presence still shall lead,

And that Thy tender love o’ershadow me

                Though paths be rough and cause my feet to bleed.

 

I have no right to pray for carefree days,

                (Thy earthly life was marred with so much pain),

But by Thy grace and comfort, I can praise

                Through darkest vales, as well as sunlit plain.

 

There may await some mount of sacrifice

                Where I must put the knife to all I love;

But this I know, an angel can provide

                The offering that cometh from above!

 

There is a peace in knowing Thou dost care,

                Though all the winds of Satan ‘round me blow.

No favor then I ask but just to share

                The love of Christ that will not let me go!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Micah’s Message

Written by A Prodigal on September 2, 2006.

---

It’s a Saturday morning, well into year number five of this exile.  I’m not on the top of the world this morning – not by a long shot.  Despite my most well-intentioned efforts to remain positive –numerous writers have opined that it’s a choice – I am anything but positive this morning.

I feel abandoned by those I need the most.  Taken for granted by those I try to help.  Unloved by the very ones I love more than life itself.

Maybe it’s that I just have too much time on my hands – too much time to think.  Too much time for the enemy of my soul to plant pessimistic, defeated, the “glass-is-half-empty” , “things-will-never-get-any-better” thoughts.  It’s the same with any prison, I reckon, whether physical, emotional, relational, or psychological.  Too much time to spend dwelling on the negative side of things.

And once you embark on that road, anxiety begets anxiety and you can so easily find yourself completely devoid of all hope.

The people of Judah living under the reign of good King Hezekiah were no doubt feeling the same way.  From without, under siege by the Assyrian army which had already routed and relocated the nation of Israel.  From within, exploited and oppressed by the wealthy, the rulers and the false prophets.  The light of hope was flickering – like mine is this morning.

September 11, 2002 – II

On that fateful day for America – September 11, 2001 – I was fresh out of jail and sitting at my brother’s house, thanks to some friends who bailed me out.

As my Dad wrote this letter a year later, I was back in the bowels of the county jail beginning my prison term.

---

9-11!!!!

Dear Son,

I hope you are OK!  Haven’t heard from  you yet, but maybe they moved you – maybe I’ll hear something today….

This is a day of remembrance for the arrack on America.  Big ceremonies at New York and Washington.  So man killed and now we are on the brink of another war with Iraq.

I have written “Thank You” cards to your brother and sister-in-law and your aunt for their help and generosity while I was down there.  Also, a birthday card to my brother.  He’ll be 72 this Sunday.  His wife is in France with her children which has left my brother alone.  He doesn’t do well alone.  I worry about his wife flying with the nation on “high alert” for terrorist attacks.

I’m anxious to hear from you, Son.  Whenever it’s possible.  I weep day and night over you and your Mother….and your boys.

Gotta run get these cards in the mail.  I love you, Son.  No matter what!!!

Dad

---

A father’s love is an amazing thing!!!!!

---

For more of the Prodigal’s Mail, click here.

When Answers Don’t Come Quickly

Written by A Prodigal on September 1, 2006.

---

“…always pray and never give up!” – Luke 18:1b

Is there any doubt that God desires and rewards our faith?

Are you ever prone to question why some situations arise and then just hang on – like a parasite threatening to suck the life and faith and joy out of you?  Does it ever seen like the heavens are brass bouncing your prayers right back at you?  Are you ever tempted to call it quits, throw in the towel and surrender?

Well, take a lesson from Hannah.  She knew all about it.  She had the dream of every woman of her day – to give birth to a son.  A simple, normal, natural, God-given desire.  The yardstick by which self-worth was measured.  But she couldn’t conceive.  She remained childless – in spite of her husband’s love and attention – in a society where the barren were shunned – a disgrace.

And, as if that weren’t bad enough, her “rival”, her husband’s other wife, gave her a hard time over it.  Ridicule and insults were Hannah’s lot.  Sound familiar?  Know the feeling?

Well, look at how she handled it.  You think she was ever hurt?  Of course.  Who wouldn’t be?  Angry?  Surely!  Verse 7 sees her provoked to tears.  Discouraged?  Probably!  Verse 8 finds her husband asking why she is so downhearted.

But lose her faith?  Not a chance!  She remained true.  She continued to pray.  She continued to believe.  She never gave up.  She trusted God.

Miracles

“The natural man received not the things of the spirit…”
I Corinthians 2:14

No miracles? Not to the blind of heart who still attempt to explain away the manger, and scoff at the empty tomb. Not for the self-righteous and the self-sufficient. Only the pure in heart see God; only the righteous behold His ….

Miracles

Many say the time of miracles is past–
That God is somehow limited in power today;
The Hand that guides the course of myriad worlds
No longer heals the sick, or stoops to save!
They think God’s love has changed with fleeting years;
So they languish hopeless in their sin and fears.

But Oh, they are in error to be sure.
God changes not! His power is just the same!
The blood of Christ still heals the sin-sick soul.
Transforms the life, and breaks each fettering chain.
These miracles are real to all who seek
Redemption in the fount of Calvary.

God is the same! He heals, and saves, and keeps–
I know, for He has done as much for me!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

September 11, 2002 – I

9/11/02

Dear One,

It was good to see you again last night, but broke my heart to see you in so much pain.

On the way home, I was listening to Family Life and someone quoted this: “After you have suffered a little while, God will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.”  No reference was given, so I got my Bible out to find it and in less than three minutes there it was!  I Peter 5:10b.  Claim it for your own.  God longs to restore all good things to you, His precious child.  He will not keep you in the “fiery furnace” one minute longer than you need to be there to learn what He so longs to teach you.  Have Him search your heart and purge all the anger and bitterness out.  I’m praying with you and for you.

Keep strong and hold firm to all that you know is real.  God loves you perfectly.

Remember the three Hebrew children prayed, “We know you can, God, but even if you don’t we will still not bow down….”  He can and will in His timing and you can.

You are loved…….

---

She didn’t know it when she wrote this note – had no way of knowing…..none of us did – that the “little while” would last so long.  But, in the end, I realized how perfect His timing was.  He knew – of course He did – just when all the pieces that would make up my new life would be ready to be pulled together.

And it’s a beautiful thing.  I praise Him for His “not yet”s and His “it’s time”s.

Praise His Dear Name.

---

For more of the Prodigal’s Mail, click here.

Distracted

Written by A Prodigal on August 31, 2006.

---

Early this morning while in the midst of my quiet time with the Lord, an interrupting thought intruded.  About a coat, of all things – a coat recently lost to me.

It was a great coat.  Black and waist length.  Zip-out lining that doubled as a windbreaker.  Pockets everywhere and Velcro take-ups at the cuffs.  I loved that coat.  And it was taken away from me!

I can’t explain why that thought entered my mind as I was reading the end of Isaiah, but it did.  A beautiful coat lost forever.  But the coat is only the tip of the iceberg; for once the Enemy starts me down that particular road, other things cascade in my mind.  A motorcycle with the paint job I designed.  A brand new riding lawn mower – hardly used.  The beautiful acreage.

And not only material things, but my family, my church, my career.  Gone – all gone.  Taken from me for a stupid mistake.

But, in His faithfulness, as I’m careening down that wide highway of regret heading toward the only destination – depression – God provides a place to turn around.  As I open my daily devotional book to check out the thought for the day, the Scripture sears my mind: “Forgetting those things which are behind…”  And I realize how senseless it is for me to lament over those things.  They’re gone.  Worrying won’t restore them to me.  Fretting won’t bring them back.  Being depressed only ruins today – it does nothing to alter the past.

If I believe that my sins are forgiven and are lying somewhere at the bottom of His sea of forgetfulness – and I do…. 
If I believe He makes all things new – and I do…… 
If I believe that He who began a good work will be faithful to complete it – and I do….. 
Then all I must do is “reach forth unto those things which are ahead” and keep the ultimate prize in sight.

He can restore the lost things if He chooses but, regardless, I choose to press toward the mark.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

My Trial

“For he made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.” II Corinthians 5:21

 

The Son of God made atonement for the sin of the world upon His death on the cross, yet before He made that supreme sacrifice, He underwent that ignominious, farcical trial which was….

 

My Trial

 

He suffered so, my Saviour, in those hours of woe–

                ‘Tis onerous for us to vaguely know

                Salvation’s crucial cost;

But He, the precious Son of God,

Whose footsteps to the judgment trod,

                Faced that cruel, unreasoning mob,

                And then the Cross!

 

The High Priests knew, and Pilate reasoned too,

“I find no fault in this just Man, I vow!”

                And taking water, he began to wash his hands,

                To cleanse his guilt, but in that awful land

He washes them through endless ages, and

                No doubt, he washes now.

 

The question comes: WHO was on trial that day,

Before they led the Son of God away?

                And as I kneel and questioningly pray, the answer comes;

                Not Jesus, not the Holy One so fair,

                Was being tried by vengeful sinners there,

But those High Priests, and Pilate, yes, and-l..-

                Was tried before my Saviour went to die!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

 

 

Back to Prison – Part I

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.  (II Corinthians 4:8-9)

 

Dejected?  Surely!

 

Confused?  Probably!

 

But doubting? Never!

 

Joseph maintained his faith and started over again. Those were days and weeks and months of idleness, made all the worse coming from his place of responsibility. His nights were consumed with wondering what was going to happen and why he had been removed from usefulness and productivity.  Surely he remembered the meals in Potiphar’s house (meals he had planned) as he ate the prison gruel.  Certainly, lying on the straw mat, he thought of the soft bed he so recently had had.  He probably asked God more than once why he was being punished when he had done nothing wrong.  And Potiphar’s wife?  How long before forgiveness replaced the resentment?

 

But he waited on and trusted in his God.  And God did not disappoint—God made him a success.  A successful inmate; now there is an apparent oxymoron.  But God caused the jailer to take notice of Joseph, and, before you know it, Joseph was running the jail!

Lord, Keep Me Low

“If we have forgotten the name of our God, or stretched out our hands to a strange God; Shall not God search this out? For He knoweth the secrets of the heart.”  Psalms 44:20, 21

 

With the attitude of a heart ever on its knees because Thou art all worthy- because Thou hast done the “exceeding abundantly” for me….

 

Lord, Keep Me Low

 

Lord, keep me low, but ever looking up,

                If needs must be, through constant pain and tears,

Lest I forget Thy tender, patient love–

                Thy miracles throughout the trying years!

 

Lord, keep me sheltered in that “secret place,”

                When Satan as a lion would ensnare;

Sheltered, yes, but filled with the living grace

                That sees my brother’s need, and proves I care.

 

O Saviour, may I love Thee with a single heart–

                No will but Thine my life to regulate;

So broken to the yoke of love divine

                 I shall be small enough to enter that “strait gate!”

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Fourth Anniversary

Written by A Prodigal on August 30, 2006.

---

Was my arm too short to ransom you?  Do I lack the strength to rescue you? – Isaiah 50:7

Four years.  To the day.  Forty-eight months I have been praying for this to end.  I’ve asked and sought and knocked.  I’ve fasted and prayed.  I’ve praised God in advance of His deliverance.  Over and over, day after day, month after month for the past four years.

And yet I am still here.  Still in my prison.

Daniel was in the lion’s den overnight.  Jonah sat in the fish-jail for a few days.  Even Joseph was released and elevated after a couple of years.

So my question is the obvious one – the human one.  Why me?  Why can’t deliverance come for me?

Today, as I read this verse again – for I’ve read it many times during these years – my focus changed.

His arm is not too short.  He does not lack the strength to save.  He protected Daniel, and delivered Jonah and Joseph.

The key is He did it in His time.  His plan and purposes are higher than we can comprehend (Isaiah 55:8-9).  He sees what is hidden from us.

If we truly believe Romans 8:28, and in the power of God, then wherever we are, is where He has placed us for His glory and our ultimate benefit.

So I relax.  I embrace Philippians 4:11, and am content to wait for His time.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

16:30

Count time – the last four o’clock count.  That feels strange to write.  That tomorrow at this time I will be somewhere else, with someone else, away from here, doesn’t seem real yet.

I’m still on the bunk for there’s nowhere else to go – no other options.  The TV news is on but I can’t focus on it.  Mentally I’m trying to rush through the stages – the predictable and endless cycle of stages – that still stand in the way of my departure.  It’s repeated itself so many times that it’s all not even in the memory anymore.  It’s just a habit.  When the door slammed at 1530, the timer in my head started and, without checking the watch, I know it’s about time for count to clear.  I’ll hear the alert tone sound over the officer’s radio – will that sound ever leave me? – and then he’ll open the doors. 

The mental  alarm is screaming at me and it occurs to me that the significance of this day may be interfering with the accuracy of it.  But, according to my watch, it’s dead on.  Count is late clearing – the geniuses are at work again.  The standing joke is that count time only ends on time if the officers’ boot laces are not so tight to prevent them from having access to their toes.

Whatever the problem, I wish they’d hurry up.  There are still several stages awaiting before I can lay down and try to go to sleep, and this count thing is holding me up. 

I’m ready to get started!

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

Everything New

Written by A Prodigal on August 1, 2006.

---

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” – Revelation 21:5a

As I sit at my desk in the early morning, enjoying my quiet time while it is indeed quiet, my Bible-reading took me past this verse.  Something stopped me there.

I looked up from this promise and into the faces of some of those precious people I love – and, I am saddened to say, hurt – the most.  Their pictures are taped to the wall over my little desk.

My three wonderful boys.  I’ve missed a third of their lives and have caused deep wounds in their souls and psyches that only God can heal.  “I’m making everything new.”

My Dad.  In so many ways I have followed in his footsteps – not all of those steps should have been traced – and have shared the pain he experienced.  The pain of loss and separation and isolation.  And I have disappointed and hurt him.  “I’m making everything new.”

My dear Mother.  Ravaged by Alzheimer’s, that horrible disease, leaving only a walking shell of the amazing woman who raised me and kept our home together for so many years.  “I’m making everything new.”

My dear Mother. I claim this promise this morning.  As the sun breaks the shell of the night and announces the beginning of a new day, my Lord is making everything new!

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Little Things

“The little foxes spoil the vines.”  Song Of Solomon 2:15

 

This scripture pertinently reminds us that, in the realm of the spiritual, there really are no….

 

 

Little Things

 

The worldly pleasures I once sought

Have lost their charm, and tempt me not–

                Desire for them has taken wings;

And yet I sadly must confess

Upon my knees, with real distress

                That I still fail in little things.

 

I never could deliberately

Walk counter to God’s will for me,

                Or yield to conscious sin;

But sometimes I have left undone

The little things that might have won

                A needy soul to Him.

 

The Holy Spirit doth remind,

“The little foxes spoil the vine,”

                And make it fruitless, too;

So help me, Lord, to watch and pray–

To be more faithful day by day

                In even little things for You!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

September 10, 2002

September 10, 2002

Dearest One,

I have prayed for you today and have asked the Lord for His wisdom and His words to be transmitted via this letter.  One feels so helpless in any human effort to offer a ray of hope and encouragement when a loved one is going through the “dark night of the soul”.  My prayer is that you will be able to view whatever you must face with words or Joseph ringing in your ears: “Satan meant this for evil, but God means it for my good.”

Our painful experiences can reveal God to us in new ways.  God’s love doesn’t guarantee us a shelter from difficult experiences that are necessary for our spiritual growth.  Love permits pain.  We don’t want it that way, but love and delay are compatible.  When we fail somewhere along the way to trust in God, we often get ourselves in places of difficulty and impossibility.  When a thing is impossible, then we who are so prone to move things by the force of our being can say, “Lord it has to be You.  I am utterly helpless and absolutely nothing.”  At that point of complete surrender, releasing all that we are, ever have been, and ever hope to be, we can trust His love.  We can come through difficult experiences stronger in faith and hope as we learn that God is there for us in our loss and our deepest sorrow.  What we allow Christ to do in our situation makes the difference.  When we have the right priorities, God will enable us to do what needs to be done.  Ask yourself, what am I struggling with?  Whatever it may be, give it to Jesus.  Trust in His timing and His previsions.  This may require giving up dreams and aspirations, being crucified with Christ, and learning the fellowship of His suffering, but Jesus must be Lord of all or He can’t be Lord at all.  If there is even one thing we are holding as more precious than He, anything which is outside the approval of His character and His Word, then we are still that far from His being able to bless our lives with His abundance and power over evil.  He will never over-ride our will, but our will sometimes over-rides His ability to bless us.

The 11th Son – Part II

 

I began working for the Agency, a branch of the Military Department of the State of Tennessee shortly after arriving in Nashville; January 27, 2004, to be precise.  After initially serving as a low-level functionary and technician in a position where my equipment calibration duties extended to include vacuuming offices and cleaning restrooms (perfect jobs for inmates in most people’s opinion), I was eventually moved into one of the five main directorates and assigned to the director of the division as an Administrative Assistant.

 

As the months passed, my list of duties and responsibilities increased, so much so that by March 1, 2005, I had been hired on as a full-time State employee with all the benefits that brings.  Not bad for a guy who returns to and sleeps at a prison each night.

 

I felt like I had arrived!

 

Since beginning my life in prison, I had been considering what life would look like upon my exit from behind the fence.  It’s not easy to find employment with a felony record.  And my situation was a bit worse than most since I had no real skill or experience in any field other than Law, and that door was closed forever.  I hate to admit I had been worrying about it, but how I would support myself had definitely been on my mind.

 

Now, however, after being hired in March of 2005, and satisfactorily completing my probationary period on September 1^st of the same year, I finally began to picture my life after prison as a State employee.  I finally felt I could mark that concern off the list of things to worry about.

Surrounded

Read 2 Chronicles 13

Any military strategist would have to agree – this battle could not be won.

The army of Judah, impressive in its own right, was overwhelmingly out-manned and out-maneuvered.  You would think four hundred thousand soldiers would be sufficient to win the day.  Any commander would feel confident – even self-sufficient – engaging the enemy with almost half a million men.

Well, you would until you arrived at the battlefield to find the opponent had two for every one of yours.  Eight hundred thousand men.  And not just in front of you, but behind you, sitting in ambush, as well.  What a sight that must have been.  How demoralizing.  Your vast army dwarfed.  Your sure victory snatched away.  What’s the use – let’s give up and go home.

That’s what we’re tempted to do, isn’t it?  The enemy shows up with its overwhelming resources and surrounds us.  They arrive with their promises and enticements and we suddenly feel weak and insignificant.  We believe it would be better to give a little ground than to be annihilated.

So we compromise.  We do give a little ground.  We drop back and try to regroup, not appreciating the slipperiness of that particular slope.  Not realizing that that was our opponent’s battle plan all along.

Let Me Be Still

“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalms 46:10

 

This is God’s prescription for fretfulness! No rest or peace anywhere in all the world outside of Him, so ….

 

Let Me Be Still

Let me be still, dear Lord, and rest my soul in Thee;

Nor fret, nor murmur at the trials that come.

Thou hast permitted them, and so I must believe

They are Thy precious will, and Lord, “Thy will be done. “

 

Let me be still, dear Lord, and trust though it would seem

Prayer is a futile effort with a wound so deep;

I have an Advocate in Thee before my Father’s throne–

That Thou art praying for me, makes my trust complete.

 

Let me “be still and know” that Thou art God

Who loves me with an everlasting love, and come what may

Thou art my strength, Thy grace that saves will keep,

Though every mooring of my life be swept away!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

 

The 11th Son – Part I

This is a familiar story.  It’s the story of Joseph; he of the many-colored coat fame.  It is a story of a young man whose life was turned on its head for the purpose and the glory of God.

 

He was the eleventh son of the father, but the first son of the mother.  The mother was the favorite wife, so the eleventh son took first place in the father’s heart.  All the blessings, all the privileges, all the father’s love and a beautiful robe were given to the son.  And neither the doting father nor the privileged son bothered to keep quiet about it.  Always, flaunting, always dreaming, always in the face of ten brothers.

 

So envy was born in ten hearts, and that envy turned to hate.  That hate birthed a conspiracy.  No doubt you know the story of ambush, beating, slave traders and bloody robes; of a father’s grief, and the brothers’ guilt.  But God had a salvation plan; a rescue mission only God could conceive.

 

Joseph didn’t deserve the treatment his brothers gave.  Maybe he could have been a bit more discreet; could have saved the treasured coat for special occasions; could have pondered his dreams in his heart rather than broadcast them to his brothers.  But even considering all of that, he didn’t deserve to be sold, chained, enslaved, marched through the desert, probably beaten, surely deprived of water and nourishment, and placed on the block for auction.  But by all accounts, even if a bit prideful, he was a good boy, a dutiful son, and a God-fearing man.  So why did this seventeen year old have his life turned upside down in the desert that day?  Hold to that question for a moment.

What Goes Around, Comes Around

“But Laban said to him, “If you will allow me to say so, I have learned by divination that the LORD has blessed me because of you;”  Genesis 30:27

What goes around, comes around.  A trite little saying that is generally thrown out upon the realization that someone has gotten the best of us.  Whether in a business deal or a realtionship, in our opinion, those who do wrong by us deserve a revisitation of that wrong.  We may very well be either powerless to affect the situation or we simply choose not to resort to retaliation.  But our sense of fair play almost requires that the “comes around” follow the “going”.

And, trite though it may seem, this idea is Scriptural.  The reaping always….always….follows the sowing.  In some form or another, we harvest – sometimes unwillingly or unwittingly – the fruit of our actions.  Examples of this are seen throughout the Bible.

David sowed adultry and reaped heartache.  Solomon planted excess and reaped near insanity and loss of a kingdom.  Joseph’s brothers sowed murder and deception and reaped half a lifetime of guilt and remorse.  Jacob sowed trickery and deception only to reap in kind.

Judging

“With what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” Matthew 7:2

 

“Judge” and “Grudge” are identical twins. They are usually seen together. We seldom judge critically those we really love. May the Lord deliver us from ….

 

Judging

We dare not, must not, judge our fellowman;

Our eyes see but the surface of his deeds.

‘Tis Christ’s prerogative–for He alone

Perceives the motive, and the heart’s deep needs.

 

With endless patience, like a warning bell,

He cautions us to love both friend and foe;

If we usurp His judgment, we shall merit HIS–

For grudges held are as toward Him, you know!

 

There is no healing in an unforgiving heart;

It’s fervent zeal, though seeming from above,

Is parched and barren–yes, a fruitless thing–

That none can cure but God, for “God is LOVE!”

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Back to the Beginning

How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart?  How long will my enemy triumph over me?  Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.  Give light to my eyes or I will sleep in death; my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall.  But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.  I will sing to the Lord for He has been good to me.  (Psalm 13)

 

So now we’re back to where we started; back to the beginning; back to March 14, 2006;   back to the day when my world turns upside down again.

 

But first, maybe another small detour is in order.

---

Go on to Chapter 50…

Navigate here for the Deception Home Page.

15:30

As has been the case for the past 1948 days, at precisely 1530, the door to the cell is slammed shut and once again we’re caged up so we can be counted.  What was a humiliating and depressing event five years ago is now just overlooked as one more thing with which to deal.  Funny what you can get used to. 

And since this is my last afternoon count time, I guess it’s only natural to reflect back to that first day.  Alone in that freezing cell in the damp basement of the Shelby County jail, confused, in shock from the events of the day, the past but a memory, the present a haze and the future uncertain.

My only clothes were those I was wearing.  No sheets.  No blanket.  No pillow.  No toothbrush.  No hot water.  Cold sandwiches on stale bread and lukewarm fruit drink.  Awakened every hour for count and bed check.

It was a long night.

Now that is only a memory, the long ago beginning of what is now finally ending – but the first step in a long journey that is now winding down.  Thank God.  I’m weary.

So I sit here on my bunk with most of my worldly belongings around me in plastic bags and try to focus on a book to take me through the next few minutes.  But focusing is impossible – there’s too much to think about; too many possibilities and issues, all of which will hit me square in the face within the next few hours.

Maybe I should just pray…….

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

September 8, 2002

September 8, 2002

My Dear Son,

It was so good to hear your voice this morning.  You seemed so distant.  Now I feel we can be in touch.

I went to the Christian Book Store and bought several Christian novels.  I followed the rules and had the store ship them.  Then I realized that you had no Bible so I included a little one.

I hope these items will keep your mind on things of God and will provide and give hours of enjoyment.

Son, I wish you could know how much I love you.  You will someday!!

I have asked some of the prayer warriors to keep you in their prayers.  We have many in our Sunday School class.

I am putting my faith in God!!!  You are His child and He wants you to trust Him and He wants you to be with Him in the eternity.  I plan to be there!!!  You must do the same!!!

In heaven all will be wonderful – no more tears – we all have to be there!!

I love you dearly!

Mom

---

Mom took great care of me during the early years of my incarceration.  When Alzheimer’s took her from me, my step-dad stepped in and carried on.  Even during the times when I was close to despair, the weekly dose of encouragement helped me through.

I was – and still am – very blessed.

---

For more of the Prodigal’s Mail, click here.

Jesus Wept

Tears are not a sign of weakness, for the strongest Man who ever lived wept! He knew the utter desolation of loss by death; the bitter disappointment of rejection; “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” — yes ….

Jesus Wept

(John 11:35)

 

My Jesus wept; not only at the tomb

                Where Lazarus, His friend, lay cold in death,

But I am sure that often in the gloom

                Of lonely nights of prayer my Saviour wept.

 

He wept for every grief that down the years

                Would cause our hearts to bleed at utter loss;

He wept to share each burden of our tears–

                But through them, He saw victory at the Cross!

 

My Jesus wept! My Saviour, and my Lord!

                Oh, may no callous pride destroy the spring

Of my heart’s love that fosters sweet accord–

                That humbly weeps, and pardons everything!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

14:30

I’m in the cell and I’m thinking about tomorrow – about leaving this place…..finally. And as I think about walking through that gate into freedom, my mind turns to the many times I have been the one left behind as friends have made this transition.

Rob left in April of 2004. The big galoot, weight-lifter, the maker-upper of words like flink (to replace flinch and jerk) and fringe (used as the combination of cringe and fear). The one of our group most plagued with Attention Deficit Disorder, but good as gold and willing to do whatever he could to help a friend.

Billy followed Rob through the gate a month later. If you read “A Life of Deception” through, you will be introduced to Billy more properly and completely, but he has been there for me during these years and, even as I write this, he is still helping and encouraging me.

Michael left. Brad left. Anthony left. Big Whitsey left. Dirty left. So many have left and I’ve had to stay.

And now it’s my turn and I think about those who will remain after I leave tomorrow.

Chris will stay for a while. He’s a good friend and one of the very best guitarists I’ve ever met. I know how he feels.

Wes was my cellmate for nine months and has become a real friend and encourager, even as he remains. Another twenty-four months and he’ll follow me, but for now he stays. I know how he feels.

Lane moved into my cell after Wes was transferred to Northeast. He was only there for three months before his custody level improved and he was able to move to a minimum security complex, but his friendship remains and though he is saddled with a life sentence, I pray for him that the Parole Board will allow him to leave the prison in another few years.

Charles. Mouse. Larry and Andre. They all remain and I feel for them.

And so another hour passes and the moment I’ve been waiting for is that much closer.

---

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

September 4, 2002

This is the first of this sort of give and take.  I received another wonderful letter from my dad the very day after receiving the prior.  My response, included here, was to both of the letters.

Obviously, I wasn’t able to make a copy of this letter before I sent it from the jail.  I found this letter among my dad’s effects after his death last May.  What a shock to actually stumble across this box filled with my letters.

---

September 4, 2002

Dear Son,

I hope all is well today… Oh, mercy!  I can’t bear thinking of you locked up like an animal in a cage….

I was thinking of St. Paul writing his many letters from prison that the world is reading today, including Romans 8:28.  I was thinking of the “all things” in that promise.

I think of those wonderful biscuits that your Mamaw used to make for the family.  Her children and Papaw would beg her to make them (along with tomato gravy).

I used to watch her making them.  I have thought how terrible it would have been to try to eat each ingredient by itself.  But she added all the parts and “worked them together”, then heated them at just the right temperature for just the right amount of time.  The result was amazing!!  Everyone scrambled for them (even the eggs…HA!) when she called, “Biscuits are ready – get them while they’re hot!”  I can just hear her!

If You Could See

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”  Isaiah 55:9

 

How limited is our understanding of the forces that mold the character of others; how minute is our perception of the compulsions that mar or distinguish a human life … but

 

If You Could See

 

If you could see, like God can see,

                Beneath the strut and show of things,

Your eyes would weep for struggling souls,

                Who know not of Christ’s “Healing Wings.”

 

If you could see, like God can see

                The pressures that are daily borne

By those about–and yes, the pain

                That has become a bitter thorn ….

 

If you could see, like God can see,

                Beneath the artificial smile,

The heart that hungers for His peace

                But falsely searches mile on mile ….

 

If you could see like God can see,

                The motive back of every deed,

You would be slower to condemn

                That one whose ways you cannot read ….

 

You would not criticize or judge

                The faults you wish you could erase;

But plead the Blood to your own heart–

                And Christ’s forgiving grace!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Dad – Part III

The next several years were spent wandering; moving from one treatment center to the next; one hospital to the next; borrowing money from family and friends with no ability to repay.

 

At one point he was sleeping under a bridge in Nashville.  Desperate, he called one of his few remaining friends—the pastor of the small Nazarene church in Danville, Virginia, we had attended during my high school days.  Rick drove all night, picked up my father and took him back to Danville.  He housed him, fed him, gave him work, and got him help.

 

His dark years were over.  He had finally reached the bottom and made the decision that nothing was worth going through that dark tunnel again.

 

As I write this, nineteen years later, my father has enjoyed those years; sober and helping others.  Now, all these years later, he is back in the ministry, preaching the gospel, exhorting people to turn to Christ and to let Him change their lives.

 

I hate the lost years.  I hate what I saw my mother go through trying to keep my brother and me clothed and fed.  I hate that I lost those years with my father.

The Master Weaver

The Master Weaver is at work in the world. He is actively weaving the tapestry of eternity. What looks disjointed and awkward from our side of the veil, will make perfect sense when we see it from the other side. We will see that indeed all things work together for good.  We will trace the connections made in situations that baffle and amaze  us here.

We will see a level of grace given to the cancer patient so it becomes a ministry opportunity rather than a death sentence.

We will see that a job loss requiring the launch of a new & never-before-comtemplated career had the effect of moving a life across the highways of a nation and planting a testimony within the hearts of others.

We will see a military activation that has the potential to generate a spirit of fear but deepens the faith of a family instead.

We will see that it was our loving Heavenly Father taking the unexpected from the human point of view & turning them into those “all things” happenings of a life committed to Him into the good & beautiful.

I don’t know about you but I’m anxious to see His Tapestry.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Scoundrels Accepted

Penned January 11, 2007

---

Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”  Genesis 28:15

Conspiracy, fraud, deceit, manipulation.  Not the recipe you would expect for the custodian of God’s promise.

But God has His purpose and His plan in everything.  And here, to preserve Jacob’s life, Rebekah manipulated Isaac into sending Jacob to her family home to find a wife.  This far off country was where Jacob would become Israel and a great nation would come from his loins.

I don’t understand how and why God can use the scoundrels of the world to achieve His ends but this is certainly a common theme.

Thank God, because I’m one of those scoundrels.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Dad – Part II

Years later, as a senior in high school, I was caught breaking the rules—at this point I don’t remember what I’d done—and was, as customary, sent to my room to await punishment.  On that day, however, my father turned the tables on me.  He lay across the bed and made me spank him.  I never forgot that and, for quite a few years after that, strictly adhered to the rules of the house.

 

More years passed.  Pastorates came and went.  The evangelistic field was entered and left.  My college days morphed into law school days.  Then the bomb detonated.  My father’s life of deception was exposed in an instant and nothing was ever the same again.

 

While in the midst of a revival in Kirkwood, Missouri, my father—not for the first time, I discovered later—stepped to the pulpit to preach completely intoxicated.  Feigning an illness, he excused himself and returned to his hotel room.  Unlike the other instances, however, several of those in attendance that night were physicians at and employees of a alcoholic treatment center located there.  They recognized the problem, confronted my father with their diagnosis, and graciously offered to provide treatment if he would only consent.

The Choice is Mine

Written January 10, 2007, from Cell 9B15 at West Tennessee State Penitentiary…..

---

“…do not be afraid, for I am with you…” Genesis 26:24b

I’m surrounded.  Every minute of every day it bombards me.  It slaps me in the face as the guards shake the door in the morning for count time.  I endure it as I await the breakfast line.  As school begins the officers’ attitudes are fraught with it.  The other inmates are consumed with it.  And usually even those with whom I talk on the phone allow it to invade their thoughts about their life.

So what do I do?  I can allow myself to be sweep away by the tidal wave of negativity.  I can allow my mind to stagnate in this sewer of idleness and apathy.  Or I can choose to buck the trend – fight the tide.

And so I choose.  No more negativity.  It’s so easy to be dragged down into that pit, seeing everything from the pessimistic side, always complaining and whining.  But not only is that an incredibly unattractive personality trait serving to alienate even the most loyal and stalwart allies, it diminishes God Who cares for us and provides and protects.  It comes back to being thankful in all circumstances.  Content and joyful because we know beyond the shadow of any doubt whatsoever that He has our very best interest at heart and all things will work together for our ultimate good.

---

For more Ponderings, click here

If They Could Speak

“Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.” I Corinthians 2:9

Surely we would sense afresh the wisdom of God, and see His rainbow through our tears …

    

If They Could Speak

If those dear ones we loved and lost

Could penetrate the veil,

And speak a word of comfort

To us they loved so well;

They would bid us dry our tears,

And eagerly await

Our turn to cross that river

That leads to Heaven’s gate.

They would tell us that the dreaded death

Is but an open door

That carries us from pain and toil

To rest forevermore…

They would tell us that, could they return

Upon an angel’s wing–

They would not, for ’tis rapture there

In the Presence of the King!

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Dad – Part I

SON.  BROTHER.  STUDENT.  MARINE.  PREACHER. 

 

HUSBAND.  FATHER.  DISCIPLINARIAN.  PASTOR. 

 

EVANGELIST.  ALCOHOLIC.  EX-HUSDAND.

 

 

My Father has been called many things in his life, but it wasn’t until five years ago—after years of estrangement and pain—that he really became my Dad.

 

I really do not know where to start his story—in its entirety, it would fill reams.  But some background is necessary to give you a feel for how dramatically his life has impacted mine in both negative and positive ways.

 

I always idolized my father.  He was a man’s man.  Big and strong—not the strength built up in a gym, but a natural strength.  He was born with it.  It was genetic.  I always admired that about him and wished that I had taken after him in that regard.  I, instead, inherited my body type from my mother—slender with very little natural muscle mass.  I inherited something far darker from my father—a finely honed ability to deceive.

September 3, 2002

I had only been at the jail for a week.  On August 30th, I appeared in court and began my sentence.  This was the first letter I received.  My father wrote the first of what would turn out to be a long string of letters.  And this one, just like all the ones that were to follow encouraged and calmed.  He, more than any other person in my life at that time, knew what it was like to be away from those he loved and confined to a facility.

To know that he knew, understood and cared was therapeutic.

---

September 3, 2002

My Dearest Son-

     Your brother gave me the details of your lock-up. Glad you at least have a private cell. This is an answer to prayer.

I have put off writing for a day or so – just don’t know what to say – and that’s unusual for me. Ha!

13:30

Movement stops. It happens every day around this time and serves to keep us off the yard – from moving around at all really – during shift change. (Remember what Paul Harvey said about showing up at a prison around shift change?  We’ll just let that one lay where it is for now.)

Anyway, some days I remain at work through this time, not that there is ever any work to do, but it keeps me out of the pod for another few minutes, but today I returned to the unit before movement stopped so I could retreat to the relative quietness of my cell and think of what is waiting tomorrow.

Everything I can think of has been done in preparation of the grand exodus.  Everyone has been contacted and all is arranged.  Andy and my boys will be here in the morning.  A change of clothes will be available to get me out of these State-issued things as quickly as possible.  A little cash will be in an envelope with my Drivers’ License.  Everything else will have to wait.  Right now I just lay here in this little cell, listen to the commotion on the other side of the door and think about the life that awaits.

---

 Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

 

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

The Unchangeable

The LORD spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the people of Israel, saying: You shall eat no fat of ox or sheep or goat. The fat of an animal that died or was torn by wild animals may be put to any other use, but you must not eat it. If any one of you eats the fat from an animal of which an offering by fire may be made to the LORD, you who eat it shall be cut off from your kin. You must not eat any blood whatever, either of bird or of animal, in any of your settlements. Any one of you who eats any blood shall be cut off from your kin.  Leviticus 7:22-27

There are some things you just don’t do.  Don’t ever wear your sandles in front of the burning bush – just ask Moses.  Don’t stretch out your hand to steady the Ark of the Covenant – consult with Uzzah.  Don’t beat the Miracle Mule – talk to Balak.  Don’t do it the way you think best, follow God’s instructions – try to find Nadab and Abihu, they will testify to that.

We’ve gotten a bit too relaxed when it comes to things of God.  I remember when my Dad would turn down invitations to Sunday lunch if the meal was to be in a restaurant.  There were certain clothes you just didn’t wear in the church and eating or drinking in the sanctuary was a bad thing.

12:30

Count cleared on time – around quarter to twelve – and, as usual for a weekday, I have already eaten the poor excuse for cuisine and am back at work.  Actually the chicken and dumplings the food service serves on every fourth Monday is not that bad of a dish by prison standards.  Served with cornbread and a couple of glasses of cold milk, it is a meal I relish and even look forward to since the normal, everyday fare in so substandard.

But even as I ate that meal today, my mind was not really on the food as much as the knowledge that it would be the last meal I would ever eat in this place.  The last tray of either undercooked or burned food; the last line I would wait in for food in quite a while – sorry Morrison’s and Piccadilly, I will eat where I can be waited upon by a paid employee, in the home of family or friends, or absolutely alone in wherever I happen to be living; the last meal wondering if I’m sitting in the seat to which someone else has secretly laid claim and who may suddenly appear and decide to make an issue of the matter. 

The last time.  Still a bit difficult to wrap my poor little befuddled brain around that one.

---

Go on to 13:30

Visit The Last Twenty-Three Page for more.

If

 

“No manner of hurt was found upon him, because he believed in His God.” Daniel 6:23

 

 God “tries” us to prove us – - that we might prove Him. Only thus can we understand that inexplicable….

 

  

If

If you never were faced with the wild sea’s embrace,

And the enemy’s shout in your ears,

Would you ever “stand still” to behold with a thrill

 God’s pathway that saves from your fears?

 

  

If you never were out in the dark den of doubt,

With the lions tossing their manes,

How then could you guess God’s angel could bless

 By using miraculous chains?

    

If you never were caught in that furnace white-hot

Of suffering beyond strength to bear,

Could you quite understand how real is the Hand

And the Presence that comforts you there?

---

For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

Also, please subscribe below for weekly updates on this site.

Amanda Clarke

I have great confidence in you; I take great pride in you.  I am greatly encouraged; in all our troubles my joy knows no bounds. (II Corinthians 7:4)

 

I want you to know how much I am struggling for you…. My purpose is that they may be encouraged in heart and unified in love…  (Colossians 2:1a; 2a)

 

Earlier I introduced you to Aunt Ruth and attempted to describe the impact she has had on my life.  Amanda is my mother’s other sibling. 

 

Aunt Amanda and I have been close since my childhood.  Usually living within the same State, and her only child just two months younger than I, resulted in frequent and lengthy visits during my early years.

 

However, that is not what prompts me to include her in this story.  Her inclusion here results from a piece of common ground we share.  For a large block of each of our lives we lived out a form of religion without possessing the substance of it.

 

Each of our fathers were Nazarene ministers.  Each of us suffered disillusionment and disappointment when we realized our “perfect” earthly fathers—idolized and, in some ways, worshipped by us—were not perfect but, in fact, had feet of clay.  Each of them failed, falling victim to the attack of Satan, and left a wide swath of pain and confusion in their wake.

July 30, 2002

My precious mother passed away December 22, 2008.  The awful disease with which she suffered for so long finally claimed her life.  In many ways those of us that knew her best and loved her most mourned for her long before she finally breathed her last breathe and, while we gathered with heavy hearts to pay our last respects, our sadness was more for our loss than for her passing.  You see, we all know exactly where Mom is and we have faith that we will see her again.  The only requirement is that we “stay on track.”

This letter was written to her son in jail.  Her heart was broken even as Alheimers’ stole her physical ability and mental capacity.  But though obviously affected by this disease, the message rings true and the love shows through.

I love my Mother.  And the present tense is used there on purpose, for she lives on with our mutual Savior.

---

July 30, 2002

Dearest Son,

My thoughts and prayers are constantly with you.  I pray while I play the piano, I pray for you as I do my daily chores, I pray you will get your life back someday and I believe you will.  The way I look at this whole matter is that God had to bring to you your knees before He could pick you up and put you back in track.  God doesn’t waste anything.

Memorials

and command them, ‘Take twelve stones from here out of the middle of the Jordan, from the place where the priests’ feet stood, carry them over with you, and lay them down in the place where you camp tonight.’” – Joshua 4:3

We humans love our memorials.  Whether it’s to mark the final resting place of a loved one, the completion of some great task, or a time in history we choose to commemorate and honor, we build memorials and return there to remember the lives lost, successes achieved and victories won.

But what about the lessons learned?  What about the discipline developed out of financial mistakes?  What about the sobriety accrued after some tragic consequence?  What about the faith found from a time of trial or testing?

God establishes memorials in our lives.  That’s what He was doing with the river stones.  The Red Sea crossing was a miracle but memories were short – what inspired an overwhelming sense of awe yesterday becomes dull and ordinary today.

God wanted to make sure the future generations remembered the miraculous flood-stage crossing of the Jordan, so He commanded the retrieval of twelve stones from the middle of the river.  Not just any stone would do.  Only stones worn smooth by the sand and water of the river.  Only stones impossible to obtain in any normal manner.

Yes, God establishes memorials in our lives.  Sometimes it is made of stones from a river.  Sometimes it’s years from a life.  And not the edge of a river or a life, but from right in the middle.

Remember.  Honor.  Learn.  Teach.

Memorials are valuable.  What’s yours made of?  More importantly, what are you doing with them?

---

For more Ponderings, click here.

Which Way?

We were past it before our brains realized what we had seen.  “Was that really a….?”  We had to see it again to be sure.

And there was no easy way to get back to it.  We were leaving a friend’s house, turning onto an interstate overpass, traffic was relatively heavy and it was a mile or so before I could safely negotiate the U-turn and return to the scene.

But we returned to the site of the sighting and, sure enough, there it was – a question mark with a directional arrow below it.  It was as if it were directing all those on that road with any question whatsoever to follow the sign for the answers they sought.