Rock Writers’ Guild

Bill Snyder became aware of his surroundings as the rays of the morning sun filtered through the leaves of the ancient elm tree that blanketed the northeast corner of the Boston Common casting an abstract silhouette upon the statue of Crispus Attucks. There was’nt any width or depth nor height to Bill’s exsistence anymore, as to gage what was reality and what was’nt. He just drifted from one shadow into another. Just different shades of gray blending together into a collage of events that he did not seem to have any control over anymore. As the cobwebs melted, the throbing pain of an absessed tooth jolted him back into reality.

He sat upright on the marble bench he had been lying on and became aware of the pedestrians as they diligently passed him, all oblivious to his situation. The distance that separated them was of a different dimension and could not be mesured by inches or feet, but rather by a spiritual wall built high on fear and shame, viewed with disdain and mistrust from the outside world, obscuring Bill and giving him anonymity and safety.

All the goals and aspirations he had once held in his youth had been smashed and bloodied and torn from his hands by the circumstances of life. His dreams lay just out of reach taunting him and egging him on. Like a prize fighter who had run out of time. Battles lost and scars deepened but the will goes on out of sheer stamina.

He stood up and surveyed the bushes that were planted alongside him looking for the demon that had left him behind in this condition. Finding an empty bottle with just enough wine in the corner’s to help deaden the pain and give him enough life until he could panhandle the price of another bottle. It seemed to Bill that he had been walking on the fringes of insanity for a long time now and only the drugs and alcohol had kept him from falling head first into the pit.

“Heres to the edge”. Bill said out loud to Crispus who stared back at him in stony silence as Bill drained the dregs of the bottle directly onto his throbbing tooth. It no longer seemed strange to Bill that the only friend he had left was this granite statue of a black patriot killed in the Boston Massacre of 1770.

Bill tossed the empty wine bottle under the elm tree and stumbled towards Tremont Street. The citizens of Boston were aware of him now as they glided towards the curb to avoid him, annoyed by the distraction he was causing as he slipped into their uniformed exsistence.

“Got a quarter,” Bill muttered, the words dry and unfamilar, as he approached two men walking towards him. They shook their heads no in unison as they sidestepped around him without slowing their pace.

“Hey man got a quarter? Its been days since I had a meal ,” Bill lied as he zeroed in on a baldheaded man who slipped Bill a dollar without making eye contact.

“Hey thanks alot,”Bill called after him as he stuck the bill into his pocket. His tooth starting to throb again as if in anticipation of the relief that was coming.

Joe Rossi was greeting at the door which was typical for a friday or saturday night. He was an astute business man with political clout, a mover and shaker in Northend politics. He instantly recognized Liz and Bill and rolled out the red carpet.

Bill Snyder loved the attention accorded him. The recognition of being assoiated with powerful people like Jim Kelly and the influence and stature of being known around political circles as affilated with the Sullivans served to bring an aura of respectability and success. Better then being known as a denizen of the counter culture, Bill pondered, thinking of John Kelly’s backsliding reputation. Hippie Beads, long hair and sit ins were not on the golden boy’s agenda. Expensive automobiles, fine clothing and political appointments, that’s what Bill Snyder’s fortunes were made of.

Liz Kelly wore a black chiffon dress, low cut and revealing, a double strand of pearls graced her delicate neck. Bill was mesmerized by her genteel beauty. She was enchanting amidst the soft glow of candle light that encircled her. Her eyes, shielded behind designer glasses sparkled and danced like emerald fire flies. A mural of a Venice canal unfolded behind her, transporting them onto another continent and into another time.

“I love this restaurant, its so charming and romantic!” Liz Kelly exclaimed, her delicate complexion flushed with excitement.”I just adore the murals and statuary, they are so authentic. Liz was bubbling over with enthusiasm, eager to share some exciting news, and Bill had sensed the electricity the moment she had gotten into the car.

 ”After I graduate from Wellesley in June,” Liz grined,”I’m going to Rome for advanced studies at the prestigious Vatican Art Institute. I will be studying the Italian Renaissance period, frescos, mosaics and painting restoration.”

“Rome? for how long?”

“Six months, its quite an honor, Monsignor Rizzo called my mother this afternoon with the news.”

“Six months! I could’nt live six months without you!” Bill exclaimed. “The Vatican! Wow! How did your mother manage that one?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Liz smiled. “I imagine it has something to do with that brand new dedication plague with my grandfathers name on it. You know the one that graces the new wing of the Cardinal Cushing hospital.”

“Your grandfathers name is plastered on public buildings, parks, bridges and street signs all over Boston.” Bill said, with undertones of sarcastic envy.

“Yes I know, he was a very important man.” Liz replied, missing Bill’s jibe completely.

“I am so excited.” Liz gushed “imagine working in the Vatican museum, being surounded by Raphael’s and Michelangelo’s”. 

Bill Snyder visited a lot of graves that weekend and stood at his final destination. The Sullivan family crypt at Forrest Lawn in Brookline. Is this what becomes of us? Bill thought as he circled the white limestone building. Dust, a pile of bones and a memorial plaque to serve as a reminder to future generations that we once existed. Our name on all the signposts, bridges, parks and buildings does not make us anymore important than anyone else. It just serves to point out our vanity and need to be remembered. What has been left behind determines what has grown there. Does man have the moral authority to decide which is more valulable . A garden of weeds or a stand of oak, both are equally important for Gods final purpose and should be measured by his yardstick and not mans.

A seed can be planted in the darkness, but a mans soul cannot prosper in the shadows. Only Gods sunlight and rain can nourish it and make it blossom. Its Gods decision what a mans ultimate purpose should be, But its mans choice whether he stays in the shadows or moves into the sunlight and fulfills it. In the final annalysis, Bill pondered, all things have purpose. When the tide comes in and washes the beach clean, does that mean a footprint has never been there?

Obsession, it starts as an idle thought, not overwhelming but subtle like a gentle scent of hibiscus carried on a soft summers breeze. It surounds me completly, stiring longings that had been buried and forgoten. Remembering the good times and forgeting the past. The obsession returns coming silently like a ghost out of the mist. Birthing my imagination into fantasys of the finest linens, I ache once more. Although I know its forbiden fruit causing me to die a thousand times over, no longer the sirens call I resist. I tumble into my lovers arms to die once more.

Mom and Dad divorced when I was two years old. I was the youngest of four. Dad was a womanizer, Mom an alcoholic, siblings all messed up. All my siblings were out on their own by the time I was 8 years old. A neighbor called my sister,(the oldest sibling) to tell her that I was stopping by in the mornings on my way to school. I was hungry and I knew Mrs. Shanks would offer me a muffin or some cookies. It was October in Massachuesettes and I was still wearing sandals and summer dresses with no coat. I got myself ready for school and out the door in the mornings while my Mom slept. It was easier and less stressful than trying to wake her.

My sister and her husband decided to take me to live with them. They were doing a great thing for me but my 8 year old mind could only feel rejection from my Mother and my Father.

I slept on a pull out couch in the living room of their small apartment. One night I was feeling particularly abandonned and lonesome for my Mother. I would often cry quietly into my pillow so no one would hear me, as I did on this night. I felt something. I am not sure if the bed moved or the floor creaked or the heat just came on, but I felt it. As I lifted my head from being stuffed into the pillow I saw that the whole room was lit up. It was very bright and as I adjusted my eyes to the starkness of the light, I saw someone standing at the foot of my couch/bed. It was Jesus. I recognized Him immediately. His arms were open wide and I felt like the air in the room was embracing me with love. He simply looked at me and said, “Everything is going to be alright.” That was the end of it. I lay there.

In the morning, the sun shone through the slats of the venetian blind and woke me up. I looked for Jesus in the living room but He was not there.

To this day, I can’t honestly say if it was a dream or a Christophany.

Twenty one years later, a kind couple told me that Jesus loved me right where I was at in my life. Bonnie and Lee explained to me that if I was the only human being on the face of this earth, Jesus still would have given His life to redeem me from sin. I always thought that I was a mistake, born at the wrong time to the wrong family, but these folks said that God does not make mistakes, He has a plan for my life. I told them that I knew I was living in sin and had no plans to change my ways. In their simple, plain language way, they told me that was between me and God but I shouldn’t let my sin keep me from reaching out to God through Jesus. After all, He knows me best and Jesus STILL gave His life for me. That fact was a done deal and I could not change it. Then, Bonnie told me that God would never leave me or forsake me. No matter what I had done or will do in the future.

They backed up every statement by showing me scriptures to confirm what they were telling me. John 3:17;  John 10:27,28,29; Romans 2:11; Romans 5:8; Romans 10:9,10,11.

I challenge you to read those scriptures and see if you are not compelled to reach out and trust this Jesus to be your Savior. I gave my heart and my life to Him and I have never looked back.

From Death to Life

I didn’t want to go.  It would mean that I would miss my first varsity football game.  I, even tried to negotiate and leave after the game, but my dad wasn’t buying it.  My uncle, his youngest brother had died in a one car accident and the funeral was this weekend.  Being a selfish 16 year old was nothing new and this time would be no different.  My thoughts only consisted of what a huge inconvenience this was for me and how unfair it was that my uncle would up and die on us like this.  Didn’t he realize what a big moment this was for me?

God realized it in more ways than one.  He understood that this would be the most significant weekend of my life.  The event that would lay the ground work for all He would do in me and through me up to this point in my life.  It would be this September weekend that Jesus choose to bring me out of darkness and into His light and life ever lasting.

The circumstances that surrounded my uncle’s death were no mystery.  He had a habitual drug problem that nearly took his life 3 years prior to his death.  Even that experience could not help him overcome this habit that plagued him. 

During the service another one of my dad’s brothers took an opportunity to share a testimony about his God and what He had done.  My Uncle Larry preached like I had never heard him before.  His impromptu sermon included telling the entire congregation about his brother’s drug addiction.  Uncle Larry’s sermon ending with him giving an alter call to all who were willing to come down front and confess that they needed Jesus. 

My heart was racing and it felt like it was ready to leap out of my chest.  I could not understand why this was happening to me.  I had been a good Catholic boy.  I did not get into that much trouble.  I had done all the things required of faithful practicing Catholics to be considered “saved”, right?

The invitation was given and I can remember rising to my feet to walk down the outside aisle and falling into my Uncle’s arms with tears rolling down my face.  It did not even occur to me what I had done or who I had done it in front of.  I had just confessed my need for Jesus in front my entire family.  Desperation will cause you to do things that you may not ordinarily do if given a chance to think about it.  The beauty of it is, is that I had a need and Jesus was the only one who could satisfy. 

He saved me, and over the course of the last 20 years He has continued to clean and refine this vessel.  Some of the images of that day have faded from memory but the significance will never leave me, because it started the journey from death to life.

    I gather that “Bobby” (see the next post) is Ed in a former life… It’s hard for me to imagine someone growing up in NYC, though intellecutually I know that lots of people do.
     I grew up about as far from New York as you can get without living in a mud hut in Patagonia.  My parents weren’t part of a church, a lodge, a club, a team, a country club, or even a gym.  For a few years they bowled on a league with people they never met otherwise.  We lived out in the country in upstate South Carolina in a little place called Roebuck that was, I think, forgotten by God and man.
     Outside of school, we rarely went anywhere.  Play dates hadn’t, apparently, been invented yet.  Our home was in a tiny isolated subdivision of houses people slept in.  They were gone all day, gone most of the evening, and if they were home, they didn’t have kids.  All around us, on every side, were acres and acres of forest.
     I had two brothers and a sister.  We picked cicada shells off the trees and decorated our shirts with them.  We braided longleaf pine needles and tried to weave them into baskets.  We collected moss, caught quart jars full of frogs,  and dared each other to handle snakes.   We made kites and picked blackberries.  We swatted the heads off of thistles, dug pits, and fell out of trees.  We prospected for fool’s gold in a shallow muddy cave, pretended we were the Swiss Family Robinson, rolled down hills, built rafts,  caught minnows and got lost.
     We knew where everything was.  We knew where there was a secret lake.  We knew where trails led, where the swamp mud would suck off your shoes, where copperheads dropped from the trees into green, sunless waterholes.  There were places of great beauty where the water bent around ancient holly trees and magnolias leaned over the pebbled streams in living bridges.  There were places of destruction and death, too, like the broken house covered by kudzoo, and the secret graveyard where the graves were marked with chalk in secret symbols and decorated with chicken parts.
     There were sacred places, where the pines stood like cathedral columns, or where the last, nearly extinct wild Lady’s Slipper bloomed in peach seclusion.  And there were forbidden places where we went anyway. 
     We sewed doll’s clothing out of tulip poplar leaves and pine needles.  We ate Carolina Beauty Berries and bitter wild blackberries and the nectar of red clover and honeysuckle.  We waded in icy streams, skipped pebbles, built bowers of dogwood blossoms, and made crude pottery out of red clay.
     We told ourselves legends and stories, acted out jousts with Pampass grass tufts, made bows and arrows and became Robin Hood, spied on our parents and neighbors, burnt tent catapillars and conducted strange experiments with dyes and minerals we found.
     Sometimes I would sit up in the notch of a sweetgum tree and listen to the wind sing.  It was a strange, secret way to grow up.  I don’t know if a childhood like that is even possible now.
     It certainly isn’t in New York City.

 ”Alright goofy. Are ya ready to go in the house and look one up in the phone book now?”

   “Yes Lord. I am.”

   The large, colorful sign caught my eye as I was driving along in this area yesterday. The words, EASTER POWER, were accompanied by a pleasant picture of Jesus. I made a mental note of the area so I could come to their Sunday morning service.

  Today, I found my way back to the sign, which is right next to a strip of stores. I thought the church should be easy enough to find as I drove through the parking lot, taking notice of the stores. Dollar Store, Dry Cleaners, Car parts store. There was nothing marked as a church and so I asked a gentleman in the parking lot if he knew where the church on that sign meets. He pointed to a storefront that had covered the glass front window with contact paper and suggested that might be what I was looking for. I got out of my car, straightened my skirt, grabbed my Bible and headed for the door. 

   The first thing I noticed when I walked in the door was that the service was well under way. The ten people there were worshiping while the Pastor walked the front of the room, praying and naming some of the attributes of God. I had obviously missed a good deal. I noticed the sign above the front door that said the service had begun a full 40 minutes before I had arrived. I descretely got up and left, going back to my car. I still had 20 minutes to find the church I was looking for.

   I drove back to the sign on the road to look for a phone number or address. There was only a website on the sign. As I drove around the neighborhood, I got all spiritual and decided to pray.

   “Abba! What is going on?  Didn’t You show me that sign because You want me to be at that service? Please shine a sunray or something on the building so I can find it…. Yada, yada, yada.” 

   Thirty minutes later, I drove back to my apartment, a bit defeated. As I pulled into a parking space, I recognized the lovely lady who had wished me a blessed day yesterday. She and her three daughters were all dressed up, piling into their SUV.

   “Oh, that’s it Lord. You want me to go to her church! Cool!”

  I asked her if she was heading out to church. She answered me, “yeess”, with a sliding lilt on the end of the word.

   “Hmmm. ” I thought. “Why would she… oh.”

   “Is your church inter-racial?”

   With great hesitation and eyes searching the sky for her answer, she managed, “Slightly.”

   I could not think of a single thing to say. I guess I looked like a deer in the headlights while my brain tried to process what slightly interacial could possibly mean. My cartoon thoughts kicked in and I had to  force myself not to smile as I pictured skinny, little, waif-like, caucasion people (slight indeed) holding onto trees to prevent themselves from being blown away by a mighty, rushing wind.

   Thank Yahweh, she interupted my silliness. “I go to an AME church. We have one in my choir but…”

   I decided against asking her one what. Clearly, an uncomfortable moment, I smiled and thanked her.

   “Make it a GREAT day.” I said as I walked back toward the building.

   I am going straight from this computer to get my phone book and look for churches.

   By the way, I love the way my Father calls me goofy. He knows me well and He loves me just the same.

My name is John francis Kelly and I am a decendant of Irish imigrant ditch diggers escaping the great potato famine of 1840. My grand father John came to Boston where he worked on the Calahan tunnel, but always said his hands were too soft for ditch digging. Being a great talker he entered politics and became the youngest state representitive from South Boston then later Mayor of Boston. He made a fortune in Boston real estate and a taxi company. He contributed a large trust fund and political science building at Boston College. His name is plastered all over Boston on bridges, streets, and city munincpal buildings. They even named a square after him.

So it was expected of me to enroll there as a Political Science major. My family always gave me all the money I wanted and I changed cars like socks, but the only thing they could’nt give me was my talent as a hockey player.It was during the Vietnam era that I became active in the anti war movement and joined the radical SDS political group. Within two years of protesting and serious drug taking I finely crashed and burned. I got kicked out of BC and when my draft deferal was changed the goverment found a reason to get revenge for my anti goverment protests and drafted me.I went underground and found myself in Oakland CAlifornia operating a bomb factory for the radical weatherman movement. There was an explosion that left me seriously burned and the loss of three fingers on my right hand. With the help of great lawyers and my family’s polital conections I only got three years in the federal corrections prison at Danbury Conn.                                                               

I found my way to him unknowingly,
groping like a blind beggar at the door
of a palace, blinded to my own infirmity,
unaware I was poor.
The healing of birthright came swiftly,
like the sword of dawn slicing the veil
of loveless poverty and my damnation
to an ordinary hell.
Since then, ceaselessly, the swelling flare
of his glory has inundated my brain,
reducing me to an offertory lifted upon
his name.
Now, consumed, all places once sought I see
through a splendor of light, his lovesick pain
illumining the idle desperate world that knew me,
living blinded again. 

The Deep

              Entering into the deep is my hearts desire and I pursue waiting on the Lord with a passion. Moments of stolen time walking between my car and work, or while doing a household chore are cherished seconds I can worship and Praise my Redeemer. When life consumes me with a thousand tasks and pain or sorrow ensnares me sometimes I forget to worship.  

           When enough of these days pile up I began to sense a great distance between my Beloved and I. Yet in His gracious mercy He calls me back to His side. One touch, or the slightest reminder of His great love, and I am on my face before Him, crying out with a repentant heart. Forgive me Father, oh how my soul longs for You. My soul is dry and weary; I need You every hour, every second, every heartbeat.

            When we come together in corporate worship there is an opportunity to pour out an abundance of love to our King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. In this freedom we can dance and sing and praise Him with full hearts undivided by life’s cares. In our recent worship at the Rock into the Deep I experienced an open heaven vision that I would like to share to encourage you to go deeper and deeper still into His presence. 
         
             After entering our Heavenly Fathers courts with thanksgiving and praise we moved into a quiet moment of waiting before the Lord. Pastor Bryan began to speak to us about waiting and being still before the Lord. How His gentle presence could be felt by us as we waited on the Lord. I saw golden rain drops pouring through the darkness. As they fell they caused the darkness to become light. In each droplet was a golden light radiating into the darkness. Steady pouring golden rain drops clearing the way for deeper worship. I moved to the floor worshiping and praising the Lord, when all of the sudden a blue liquid started pouring out over the sanctuary. It was a deep royal blue and it felt bizarre to see everything saturated in blue even the fibers of the carpet were drenched. I breathed in the blue as I was asking the Lord “What is all this Blue?”  My body began to shake and I felt like I was being electrocuted, without the pain, just a vibration coursing through me. After a few minutes (or hours), I got up feeling light hearted and sat in my chair. The blue was gone. 

            Pastor Norma gave a word in tongues with interpretation. She told us the Lord was in our midst, but that we were being called to a deeper experience. She asked the musicians to play a deeper note. Pastor Abbey and the band began to pour out their hearts searching for this deep note which called up in my spirit the words “blue note,” although I don’t know what a blue note would sound like.  As the band played more passionately, I saw angels descending out of the heavens. They were massive in their coming, none more distinctive than the next angel, yet all were mighty to behold.  Then in the center was a light so bright I could not look at it, but I believed it to be Jesus. He told me to go to the altar and intercede and worship. He was too beautiful for me to worship and pray in His presence. I sat transfixed unable to move. I prayed “Lord help me,” and staggered to the altar. Holy Spirit surged through me and I began to intercede in tongues but I couldn’t stop worshiping Jesus, He is too beautiful for words.
 
             So I went back and forth between intercession and worship.  I saw a white light go out before Him, and minister to each and every person in the room. Some could receive some could not, but everyone was touched. Even those who resisted Him were touched by His compassionate Love.Then I saw Him turn and began walking back up into heaven. As He turned the end of his cape or His train swirled over us and His glory descended on us, some of us began to worship anew. The light became brighter, and waters flowed from the heavens. It was such clear water that I drank and drank as it poured out over us and although it flowed through me I became full and could take in no more. I sensed it was flowing over and through everyone. The heavens closed up but His Glory was so strong we continued to praise and worship for awhile, until it seemed as if the waters had completely receded and He had left us drenched by His presence.3/11/2007 revision

            I don’t remember the first time I got saved. All I remember is going down to the altar at every altar call. Those altar calls were always so compelling. Soul searching preaching followed by hymns that brought you to your knees. If you hadn’t sinned yet you knew you were bound to as soon as you stepped out the doors, so you just as well go on down and rededicate your life just to be on the safe side. My daddy was an evangelist so we did a lot of church going. I also attended Salem Baptist Day School till tenth grade, and we had daily chapel services. No fire and brimstone or altar calls there, although we did plenty of bible drills.

If all the tent revivals and small rural churches didn’t do it, then certainly watching a Billy Graham Crusade on TV was bound to bring me to repentance. I never have been much of a TV watcher, but Billy Graham has always touched me deeply. Just the sound of his voice can start me soul searching for hidden sin. In my experience of the Southern Baptist churches, obvious sin was too easy to spot, so we had to dig for the really deep things of God. It was not until I reached adulthood that I understood the deep things of God didn’t necessarily mean whether or not I said gosh or wore pants instead of culottes. You might think I’m stretching it, but I remember bond fires where we burned records, blue jeans and offensive tee shirts. I don’t know that it actually made me any holier, but it certainly set me up for a life time of sin consciousness.

By the time I was six, I knew how to lead someone to Christ using the Roman road to salvation, and used to walk up and down our side street asking people if they knew Jesus. Everyone I met was met with the question, do you know Jesus? Jesus is coming soon, do you know Him?

When I was older and did run into sin and fell head first into its fiery grips. I didn’t think to confess it and find peace. Each time I walked in sin knowingly I just let it overtake me. I gave in thinking there was no longer any hope for me. I was so lost even Jesus couldn’t find me.

 But He did, and when He brought me back this last time it was all about Him. There was no altar call, or TV show. He just said come, and I did.

 I had been out of church for four years, and then sporadically started back for another three.  When I moved to Hampstead, I started looking for a church for my son to attend. I couldn’t stand most of them for the same reasons I had left the church. No one believed in the Holy Spirit moving in power in this day and age. Most of the places where racially divided, and there was very little ministry for the downtrodden. I wanted a place that would allow Holy Spirit to move, and if that meant all day worship then so be it. I wanted a place where races sat beside one another and worshiped together in spirit and truth. I wanted a place where they offered a hand up to those who had lost their way.

When a friend told me about the Rock of Wilmington, I had pretty much given up. What did I have to loose? What was one more church?

The Rock was not just a place of true worship, racial equality or diversity. While I hadn’t found that anywhere in that combination, I had been able to sense the hunger of the people in many of the other churches. The Rock was different. It was a place where once again I could hear the Lord speaking to me. “Come.” He said.

 I looked down at the chains that were binding me, and the weight of sin was so heavy I couldn’t move. “Come.” He called to me again and I could not resist. I scooped up those chains and told the demons that were tormenting me that we were going in to the Presence of God. They were welcome to go with me, but I was going in. Every evil deed I had ever done or considered doing flashed before my eyes. I stopped dead still. The chains clanged at my feet. Suddenly all of the mighty things the Lord had done in my life passed before me as well. The enemy jeered at me. See that, you walked with Him before but then you failed Him, what use would He have of you now. Look at yourself you are filthy. I did look, and I was filthy.

Again the Lord said, “come to Me and I will make you clean.”  This time I picked up those chains and rushed head first toward my Savior. “Lord I cried, I am a sinner, saved by Your grace, but I have fallen away from you. Father forgive me. If you will allow me to sit outside the gate and worship You, it will be more than I deserve.”

I noticed instantly that the chains had dropped off me, and that the imps who had tortured me had ran away. They could not stand in the light of His Presence. Jesus did not grant my request that day. He did not allow me to stand outside the gate. Instead He placed on me a white linen robe and clothed me in forgiveness. When that light shown on me I could not comprehend a Love so grand. I still cannot fathom the depths of His loving kindness.

Now I seek to go to the deep places; to love and worship my Beloved Savior with every cell of my being. I see the trials I walk through now as pathways to His riches. The pain of my daily circumstances and broken relationships are nothing compared to drawing near to Him. I am yielded unto death, yet walking in the power of His resurrection.  

I was eighteen years old when I heard my first real Gospel message.  It came strangely.

It was summer, 1983.  We had just graduated high school.  College loomed.  My friends and I were at a local basketball court.  Some other kids and some guy no one knew were there playing.  We all did a pickup game.  We hardly noticed the mystery guy.  He was much older, in his mid-thirties, with straight, sandy hair and glasses;  a burly guy, but he could shoot hoops.  My friends and I all played wildly.  He quietly, but effectively, played too.

It’s funny how the devil uses the lost.  I remember cussing wildly during that game.  I mean, even at the time I knew I was cussing way overboard, using every word in the book, even when it wasn’t necessary, but not knowing way I was doing so.  I can only imagine now what that guy was thinking:  “This kid’s too lost, Lord!  He’s going straight to hell!  I might as well give up doing what I’m thinking about doing ’cause these guys are way over the top!”

 The mystery basketball player did have other motives than a great game of hoops.  We ended.  Some of us complimented him for bringing it on so hard in the game.  We turned to leave, he had the basketball in his hand.  About twenty steps later we heard from behind us something that changed my life forever:  “Hey, guys, can we talk for a minute?”  It was mystery guy.  We all looked at him and back at each other.  We were eighteen year old tough guys.  Who actually wanted to ever just “talk” to us?  This wasn’t “Phil Donahue,” for Pete’s sake. We relented and went back over to him, anyway. 

I remember, he was a little hesitant as we approached him.  But he gathered his confidence, got down on one knee, steadied himself with one hand on the basketball, and asked us:  “Has anyone ever talked to you about the salvation of Jesus Christ?”

 Negatory on that one, Mister.  But he DID, and preach to us he did!  He was from Georgia, had been a bluegrass player for years (already a turn-off to a pagan Led Zeppelin fan), ran the wild life, and was left hurt and empty.  But Jesus saved him, set him free, and he was a new man.  He went on to tell us about the Bible and then the “Rapture.”  I had never in my life heard of the Rapture.  First time.  He said Jesus would return and take all Christians with Him in the air.  They would all disappear.  POOF!  Then he asked us if any of us wanted to pray and invite Jesus into our hearts to save us.

It was at that time that all the demons inside me exploded.  Using my extensive Roman Catholic background (hey, I actually DID pay attention to those priests and nuns at St. Mary’s and all the Catechism teachers in high school CCD!), I argued this guy down into the ground.  Salvation?  Are you nuts?  Rapture?  WHAT?!  And my friends all looked at me like I was crazy, but I argued this guy up one side and down another.  I was quite effective in the devil’s hands, ’cause if one of my friends had been about to accept this guy’s offer of praying for salvation, I was the one standing in their way.  I remember telling this guy to meet us in a bar at ten that night, and that I’d have my brother, who’d been to seminary for six years, to meet us and HE’D tell him like it was too.  He graciously declined.  He was totally floored by my vehement fight against the Gospel.  I think he did manage to get a quick prayer off over us, and then we parted.  He walked away with a little less swagger than he’d had on the court.  And that was MY fault.  We never saw him again.

So that was my first ever exposure to the Gospel.  The thing was, I never, ever forgot it!  Even though I was Damian the 666 Anti-Christ out there on that basketball court in Beaver Falls with that guy, his every word, his Southern cadence, every Jesus Christ seed he put out there, fell deeply into my heart.

Mystery Basketball Player was the digger of hard, fallow ground:  that rock hard, dusty dirt full of stones and weeds and rooty-tendrils that’s never seen a human shovel or pick-axe ever.  That guy, that night, was Holy Spirit’s first attempt to turn over the crusty dirt of my heart and plant the precious seeds of Jesus Christ.  And I proved myself SOOOOO unworthy.  But Jesus graciously planted them anyway… 

There is no question that the forces of hell have been unleashed against our children.  The daily bombardment is revealed on newscasts, internet and newspapers.  Never in my lifetime have I seen stories of murder, suicide, and attacks on and even by our children, and it breaks my heart.

As I watched the stories unfolding in the past few weeks, I sat and cried at the sights portrayed on the news of innocence shattered.  My heart wept for the families and friends as they deal with the loss of loved ones.  Anger stirred within as well, anger for the accused and for our failure to stop these horrific events from taking place.  But most of all, I feel a holy anger against the wiles of the enemy that convinced individuals of their right to inflict evil upon the innocent.

Our teens are enticed into dangerous encounters, which sometimes turn deadly, as both men and women stalk our kids through the internet chat rooms and sometimes in their own school and church.  Their one desire is physical and sexually assaults toward their victims.  TV programs designed to catch these menaces to our society reveal some individuals who are both professionals and upstanding members of society.  Yet these events catch a very small portion of individuals engaged in this activity.

Recently I have seen two news stories in North Carolina that sickened me even further.  Infants less than a year old were sadistically injured.  One died and one child will forever bear the scars of fractured limbs, and burn scars.   My heart weeps of the horror and fear these children suffered at the hands of the ones who should have been their first line of defense.  My heart wonders how many are left undiscovered, but will bear the scars in years to come.

Scripture reveals in:  I Timothy 3:1-5 “But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come: For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power. And from such people turn away!”

Our society as a whole has developed the attitude that we cannot and must not get involved.  Individuals have become fearful, and sometimes with good reason to stay uninvolved when injustices take place.  Yet, how long can we sit and watch horrors like these become the norm in the world we live in.   

The one sure way is through our prayers.  A friend recently shared how the Lord woke her up the night before the recent attack took place in
Colorado to pray and intercede.  She prayed and cried out for well over an hour.  I wonder how many lives were spared by her obedience.  She pleaded for mercy, and exposure.  She asked for divine protection.  Did the Lord fail her?  Absolutely not!  We will never know on this side of heaven how many more were spared as a result of her prayer.      

However, God has given men ‘free will’.  We make choices everyday, good, bad or indifferent.  We choose to spend time in fellowship with the Lord, or each other.  We choose to be wise or foolish with our time.  Each one of these perpetrators made the conscious choice to commit these horrible acts on the innocent.  Their time of choices is over but the result of their choices will continue to affect countless others for years to come. 

As His children, we have the choice to stand in the gap.  We can pray and intercede for the safety of not only these in our own country, but ask for intervention in other lands.  We can ask for divine coverings, and protection.  Intercession can be made for exposure of the plans of the enemy.  We can war in the spirit for the life, soul and mind of the innocent in this world.   

As His children, we must be willing to lay aside our own selfish desires and plans.  As we lay aside our desires, we can seek His face crying out for those who are not able to cry out for themselves.  With every news story we hear, I pray our hearts will become so moved for compassion to plead for the safety and welfare for the very ones that satan desires to destroy.   

Joyce Sykes

© 2006

“Instead of four bedrooms and three baths, we had four rooms and a path…to the three-hole, quarter-moon outhouse about fifty yards from the back porch. Mosquito-bitten legs dangling over the splintery, roughhewn ledge, my young girl cousins-Peggy, Kathy, Barbara and Sandy- and I would “do our business” and pore through the ever dwindling Sears and Roebuck catalogue to distract us from the foul, fly-infested mound steaming below. We memorized our favorite pages, salivating over romantic fashions, new-fangled gadgets, top-0f-the-line appliances and most importantly, indoor plumbing. Ma always ripped out the “brassieres and girdles” section to help keep curious young boys from sinning.

   There were 13 children in Daddy’s family, 11 in Mother’s…and I was an only child.

    Go figure. “

   This beginning passage in “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” by Reba Rambo-McGuire keeps playing before my eyes over the past few days. Perhaps in part because I am amazed that Pastor Abbey traveled with these gifted artist for two years (?) and then came back to the Rock. I keep seeing the gifts and talents, and treasures she was presented with, and she came back to the Rock. I know in part it was probably homesickness that drove her back, but I see the Providence of God at work here.

    How can the imagery of a little girl sitting in an outhouse possibly cause me to see providence? I’m not real sure, but somehow I see the gifting that was poured into Pastor Abbey from the heavens, and from the life of this simple woman of great faith. I’m sure living in such close contact there were lots of opportunities to see clay feet walking on  water. Yet Pastor Abbey came home. She came to lead this amazing group of talented people the Lord was and is sending to her. She could have moved on without us, sharing that talent with multitudes of strangers. Yet she chose to come home, and move in close enough to sheep who would often pierce her with the thorns caught in there un-sheered coats.

       Poor enough to grow rich in the Lord, is what I found in reading Reba’s book. Strong enough to walk confidently in her weakness humbly before the Father.

       How wonderful it is to be ministered to by the fruit of this mighty woman of God’s ministry.

   Thank you Pastor Abbey, for moving forward into your calling. I continue to pray for you, that the arrows will fall to the ground bouncing off the breastplate of righteousness you wear with great humility and faith.

Abandonment

“All Christians have spiritual needs, but the believer who has abandoned himself to the Lord no longer indulges in the luxury of being aware of spiritual needs. Rather, he gives himself over completely to the disposal of God.

How do you practice abandonment? You practice it daily, hourly, and by the moment. Abandonment is practiced by continually losing your own will in the will of God; by plunging your will into the depths of HIS will, there to be lost forever!”

Jeanne Guyon: Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ

Perhaps it is because I have read this book five times now in one year, or maybe because I have given away three cases of this book and am delighted when one person out of twenty has the light turned on like I have. I don’t know exactly why Madam Guyon’s words so profoundly affect me except a year ago in October I heard the call to “Be still and Know”. She challenges me to abandon myself completely to the Lord Jesus Christ in a way I have not seen anywhere but the bible. She teaches me how to BE STILL and Know God. She doesn’t mince words, and what she states is hard to imagine much less move in.

But I find the hunger that is inside me burning so strong, that her challenge to press in deeper, and trust that even in the silence I am with Him is exactly what feeds me. She points out again and again my desire for peace and comfort at any price are not God’s ways. While He does bring these things, He also brings death to self, and self centered thinking. He demands my whole being, because He knows anything less will taint what He is doing in me. He calls me to a place of entering into the fire and allowing Him to purify my life. Dying daily, hoping against hope. When everything seems the absolute darkest, it is then I must trust the most. He calls me to a deeper experience with Him. Guyon shows the way into this chamber is through sacrifice, and obedience. As I press in her words seem less difficult.

“In all your experience of Christ, it is wisest for you to stay away from any set form, or pattern, or way. Instead, be wholly given up to the leading of the Holy Spirit. By following your spirit, every encounter you have with the Lord is one that is perfect..no matter what the encounter is like.

Do not be too surprised if you are no longer able to offer up prayers of petition….In this new relationship with your Lord, it is the Spirit who prays! And as the Spirit prays, He helps your weakness. He is making intercession for you, and He is praying according to the will of God.”

Guyon lived in dungeons for her belief in experiencing the depths of Jesus in the 1600-1700’s. What sacrifices am I willing to make to press in deeper?

Acts 7:56 (The Message)
54-56 At that point they went wild, a rioting mob of catcalls and whistles and invective. But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, hardly noticed—he only had eyes for God, whom he saw in all his glory with Jesus standing at his side. He said, “Oh! I see heaven wide open and the Son of Man standing at God’s side!”

              That is the revelation I seek. To see heaven wide open and the Son of Man standing at God’s side! That place is so magnificent that Stephen could remain steadfastly keeping his eyes on his Lord Jesus asking Him to receive his spirit, and then laid down his life just as Jesus had before him, asking “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Then he fell asleep.

                 I have entered a tiny portion of the revelation of the Lords presence; I have experienced what it feels like to be overcome by His glory. Unlike Steven I was reduced to slobbering worship on the floor. I could not contain His greatness, nor could I bear to look up at Him.  He was too wonderful for my mind to contain. He was too beautiful for my eyes to behold. The most I could see was the floor, which was white see through marble, but only glimpses of this could I see through the white cloud that surrounded the Throne. I tried to lift my eyes, but His Glory was too heavy, the knowing of who He is was too large to contain.

                               I saw the slightest glance of His nail scared feet, and I was undone with gratitude, and thanksgiving. My heart felt it would rip in two from sorrow at what He had endured on my behalf.

                      A tremble of air ruffled my hair, and I felt the slightest touch of His finger tips. I was over come with Joy. It was a joy unspeakable; it filled me full of running rivers of laughter unlike any laughter I have ever known. It poured out of me onto the floor around me, and I heard people running around the room splashing in the river from the throne room. I looked up to see the water because it was so real, and instead I could barely make out the bottom of a chair too beautiful to describe.

                 Again I was overcome by the immensity of our Father in heaven, and understood why the angles and elders sing Holy Holy Holy! Is the Lord God Almighty who was and is, and is to come. Revelations 4:8.  You are worthy, our Lord and God to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being. Revelations 4:11

                        Now I seek to understand what He is saying, I want to know His word deep inside me. Steven gave his accusers a history lesson before he told them who they were. He was stoned while one of the greatest men yet to be, looked on holding the coats  of those who killed Him.

                My stubborn heart screams when a slight remark is made against me or when I being overlooked by those I care for. Teach me Lord to lay down my life, that I might have further revelation of Who You are. The great I Am, who laid down His life and rose again that I might live! Help me to keep my eyes on You. As I come boldly to the Throne room to worship and adore You, even if I cannot contain Your majesty. It is You that I seek! One day soon I will worship you unencumbered!

i know what you’re thinking….
“shes been gone awhile….she finally got on here and posted…where she been?…oh, so now she decides to post!” hehe.
ive been here. there. everywhere.
oh the places i go.
actually lately god has been testing me. my faith. me. my faith. and well, me. and ive come to conclude that i do break down. but my faith still stands. and he is still my god. and still in control.

this is something i wrote. its my heart. and its my favorite way to write….its like a stream. it flows. i write. so heres a little peek into my heart today…

worship- worthiness. respect. reverance paid to a divine being. (our God). the expression of such revereance. extravagant respect of admiration.

love- strong affection. warm attachment. a beloved person. unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for others. to cherish. to feel a passion, devotion, or tenderness for.
~love is also a choice…

WARNING: not really sure if this makes sense. my mind races and i write. just bare with me…

worship and love go hand in hand. when you love your maker you worship. you worship because you love him. its not because of anything hes done. its simply because of who he is. and its because you love him. you are devoted to him. you are attached. loyal. you cherish him. and you have a passion for him.

when love abounds worship is inevitable. when i worship its my heart bursting with unquenchable love. im giving all i have. i dont hold back. and i cant hold back. because of who he is i cannot hold it inside. i am utterly in love with him. thats right in love. every part of him i cherish. his character is amazing.

see he is more than my creator, my savior to me. he is my breath. my rock. my friend. my stability. my heartbeat. my vision. my sight. my ears. my map. my almanac. my pageturner. my author. my illustrator. my counselor. my teacher. my health. my comforter. my hand holder. my guide. my king. my daddy. my music. my sunny day. my rainy day. my caretaker. my nurturer. my provider. my liberator. my rescuer. my family. my answer. my all in all. my lover. my romancer. my romance. my hallmark card. my light in the dark. my song. my voice. my eyes. my strength. my knight in shining armor. my passion. my everything. my soul.

hes my soul. hes a part of me. he is me. i am him. the more i am like him the less i am myself and me…i am nothing. i am worthless. empty. hurt. confused. worried. without him i am NOTHING. he makes me beautiful. he makes me worthy. he fulfills me and fills me. he heals me. he gives me a clear mind. he soothes me. he fills me with love. a passion. a devotion. to him and his people. im called to love. live love. speak love. show love. send love. see love. be love.

he is love. he is in me.
i am love. because i am his.

dear lord…
i am worthless and nothing without you. i am an utter mess up without you. so lord, take all of me and empty me. spill me out. get rid of lisa and pour in you. i want you. i want to reflect you. i want to be clothed in humility and grace and love. take out mediocricy and the fear of being intimate with you. may you explode uncontrollably in me. rise up in me god. push me down so you may rise up! i want people to know you! make me a warrior….unashamed. unshakable. unquestionable…for you.
i seek your face.
i am seeking you.
i will seek you.
im after your heart.
im devoted to you.
i cherish you.
i love you.

1) Identify a writer – Christian or secular – whose style appeals to you. Analyze and list the elements of style that contributes to that appeal.

My favorite author, considered by different groups to be both Christian and secular, is Madeline L’Engle. She draws me in with her masterful grasp of language and art. I choose not to approach her writing as either “Christian” or “secular” mainly because I do not think you can distinguish any art as purely secular. Good art is, at its core, inherently Christian and I do not believe you can separate the two.

L’Engle writes with a distinct “discovery” style. There are no bullying tactics to her writing approach, and yet I consistently find myself being drawn in to her point of view by the way she weaves her words into a garment of truth.

2) Identify one publication you would like to write for and provide a brief analysis of what appears to be its style. Caution: Some magazines don’t have a consistent style, but many, such as Christianity Today and Discipleship Journal have clearly defined styles.

I am very interested in Radiant Magazine for its modern approach to reaching the Christian woman. Its styles vary depending on the article’s topic and can be written in a humorous style, discovery style or even simple and direct. The modern woman, both Christian and non, have such varied interests and can be more effectively reached if given a broad scope of writing styles to peruse.

3)List the books you have analyzed for the writer’s style and give a few comments about each.

I have analyzed the following writings of Madeline L’Engle:

Walking on Water - uses discovery style and reflective style to take the reader on a journey to reflect faith and art. A Wrinkle In Time & A Severed Wasp – In both she uses discovery style and reflective style to tell the stories.4) Write one or two paragraphs using a simple, direct style.

Do you find it difficult to motivate your worship team? At times it may even feel like your team has to be drug kicking and screaming to rehearsals or early morning sound checks. Don’t dismay! There are some practical things you can begin to do now to combat this familiar issue.

First, get to know your team! There is a common problem among church leadership teams where we fall into the trap of constantly ministering to other people but never being ministered to. Each person on your team has needs; get to know them and minister to them based on that need. They will be able to come to rehearsals and services refreshed and ready to give again. And make sure you, as the team leader, have someone in your life that you can talk to and pray with regarding the needs in your own personal life.

Second, cast a vision for your team. Give them something to work towards. For some of you it may be merely to learn how to stay together on songs. For others, it may be to work on original arrangements or produce a worship recording of original music. Let God speak to your heart and then get your team excited about what He wants to do!

5) Try writing a couple of paragraphs in a humorous style.

Gathering the church choir sometimes feels like herding cats, doesn’t it? You’ve got 12 grandmas filtering through the sanctuary kissing all of the church young’uns, the tenor section in the back hallway talking about this afternoon’s football game and the choir director in the bathroom stall fretting about the offertory. I’ll bet that more times than you’re willing to admit, you’ve seriously considered quitting this thankless job and joining the college students working at the local Starbucks. All the free coffee you can stand and no real responsibility, what could be better than that?

You know, I have been there so many times. I’ve questioned God – “Is this really where you want me, Lord? I’m not so sure…” Stop for a moment, relax….breathe….let it all roll off and come back to reality. God’s not crazy! He did not make a mistake when He called you, so stop your whining and get back to work! Make sure your team knows what you expect. Give them no room for failure. Remember, if you will build a strong team with clear expectations, they will come. (to the prayer room on time!)

6) Write a paragraph in a meditative/reflective style.

Simple/Direct

Computers for Dummies

When trying to navigate the complex world of computers there are a few simple steps to follow to insure success. Number one: Sit down in a chair of your choice and pull yourself up to the machine. Second: Don’t be afraid or intimidated to turn the computer on by pressing the power button firmly for two to three seconds and let it go. You now have a break for about two minutes as the computer cycles through various screens and performing different tasks until you see the login screen. Since you should already have this next piece of information, you should proceed to type in your username and whatever password you created. Press enter upon the completion of these two tasks.

You will wait another minute or so and at that point you should see your desktop, complete with some pretty background picture. Click on the start button in the lower left hand corner of the screen. You will then see all the programs that were installed on this machine. Pick one and have fun. Remember should you run into any trouble that rebooting your machine can be your best friend. We cover that in the next chapter.

Meditative/Reflection

There is a thin line between success and failure. In sports in can hinge on a single action that will be the difference between victory and defeat. The victory part seems to be easier to deal with but we really never find out what we are made of until we experience some trial that tests our faith. It is in these times that we must learn to declare that we will hold on one more day. No matter how long our troubles last, we are determined to hold out one day longer, knowing that it will produce in us a spirit that expects success and victory no matter what the circumstances. It is my hope to become this person with spirit unbreakable and a faith unshakeable.

We should always be willing to look at our experiences both good and bad as teachable moments and to use them as guideposts for those who come behind us. In the hope that they can be a source of hope and encouragement saying that it will be ok and that things will work out for my good.

Humor

Ocho ran into the house with tears streaming down his face. He had a large knot on his head the size of a golf ball smack the middle of his forehead. Honey stopped what she was doing to examine the extent of his injury. “Baby, what happened?” Honey said. A series of groans, grunts and slobber filled words poured out of Ocho’s mouth, none of which were understandable. Honey directed her son the calm down and tell what happened. ” I was hit by a car” cried Ocho. ” I was riding my bike and it came out of nowhere and hit me.” Honey asked if he saw the car that hit him. “No” replyed Ocho.
“Where is your sister” asked Honey.
“I don’t know” he said.
Honey began to worry about her youngest and her whereabouts. She told him to sit on the couch while see went to find Butter. Honey was out the front door in a flash and she met her daughter coming up the side walk. Honey breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Butter, did you see the car that hit your brother?”
“Momma, Ocho didn’t get hit by a car”
“What do you mean, Butter”
“Momma, he rode into the back of old man Lewis’ cadillac. He won’t payin a bit of attention to what he was doing and blam right into it. Left a nice dent on the trunk too.”

From that time forward whenever we did something stupid and careless, Honey and Herman would tell us that our actions were as smart as playing “Chicken with a parked car.”

 First please read my simple and direct “Love Stinks” below, then this one, then the humorous one.  This will all flow better if you do so.  I cannot rearrange them correctly on this site!  : )

 ”The Beatings Will Continue Until Moral Improves”

 Why do we chase that which we cannot have?  And isn’t it just like sons and daughters of Adam to run to the tree of knowledge of good and evil and eschew the tree of life?  When it comes to areas of romance, we look, we ponder the object of our affections, we flirt, we act…destructively.  There are far more extra-marital affairs going on to which credence is given if we count all the people having “affairs of the heart” at work and abroad.  Those long conversations at the cooler, those phone calls, all the time spent thinking about that “other” person.  And the burning comes from it.  It is a burning in many aspects.  But we keep getting drawn back in as humans, time and time again.  Look at celebrities.  They “fall in love” and gush and ooooo about their latest infatuation… yet within two to three years that broken relationship is fodder for the tabloids.  And what does the enemy tell us?  That another infatuation will make us feel better.  The beatings will continue until moral improves.  A now infamous British naval taskmaster uttered those words, and not in gest, to his bewildered crew.  It fits our society today.

Jesus removes us from this harmful cycle with one of the fruits of the Spirit.  It’s called, “self-control.”  We cannot work up self-control.  It is an anointed gift from Father to us when we enter Christ Jesus through salvation.  It gives us the gumption to say, “No, that other person will NOT satisfy my needs.  My God in heaven will, and he has (or will) give me a mate with which to work on those desires in a safe place called ‘marriage’.”  Self-control gives us eyes to see the whole picture for what it is and make a wise decision.  Self-control gives us ears to hear Holy Spirit say, “the grass is really no greener over there than it is on your side.”  Self-control gives you clarity of mind; infatuation gives confusion.  We can say “no,” even with humor:  as Raymond said in one episode when faced with extra-marital temptation - “No, I don’t want to disappoint another woman, too.”  Jesus can crush that taskmaster in our lives when we use this fruit.  Together, He and we can end the “ring of fire,” that cycle that keeps us in bondage.  The Tree of Life, He is.  And His fruit does not burn. 

The twenty year old fool staggered into his ex-girl friend’s back yard at two in the AM.  Even though he knew he was the last person she wanted to see, he was heart-broken enough to think otherwise; perhaps there was a chance she’d be glad to see his drunken face at the door if she were awake.  He walked up to the back porch and went to knock when all the wind was taken out of him like a Mike Tyson punch to the solar plexis:  there she was on her couch, indeed as he’d hoped.  But she was kissing William, whom she’d just begun to date.  And he thought the aching she’d caused him the night they broke up was the most painful experience of his life.  He was wrong.  It was now official:  their two and a half year high school/college romance was officially ended.  He did make one of the better judgment choices of his life at that point, the decision to turn around quietly and gracefully  go away.  He tip-toed down the back porch steps.  As he slinked off with his tail between his legs he gave sight to BJ, his girlfriend’s family beagle, tied to his doghouse near their garage.  Old BJ!  He remembered the times he and his girl had spent with BJ, walking him, feeding him, taking him out, bringing him in.  Making him do his few doggy tricks.  He decided to console himself by giving BJ a good pat.  BJ sat still near his house, hind legs on the ground, his tongue hanging loosely, looking at him across the yard.  The neo-interloper walked quietly toward him so as not to disturb the romance back inside.  He walked up to BJ slowly, smiling and holding his fist out for him to lick, just like old times.  BJ sat like a statute staring at him.  He got within two feet of the dog.  He leaned down and whispered with a tear-stained smile, “Hey, BJ!”  BJ was instantly possessed of satan and lunged violently at the young man, snapping the rope taught.  “AAAARRFF!” he barked, chasing the drunk back three feet.  “AAARRRFFF” here translated:  “Hit the road, loser!  She’s over you!”  Stunned even more, the drunk staggered quickly out of the yard, with his other three tails between his legs, now.  As he walked down the blackened, hazy, summer street, he decided it is probably not a good thing to try and visit unanounced at two in the morning the girl who broke up with you.

(The names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent.  Except for BJ.  BJ is the real name of the dog.  May he rest in peace and have a huge, shiny white bone to chew on forever in doggy heaven.)

“Love Stinks”

“He loves her/but she loves him.  And he loves somebody else/you just can’t win.”  That’s how the song went.  Eros.  So many in our society are consumed by “love.”  Eros is propelled to pinnacles and thrones as being chief.  This message is especially driven by the entertainment-media.  And it’s an easy one for them to glom onto.  The sex drive in humans is next only to the will to live.  The drive to “be one” with another is beaten only by the will to fight for your life when threatened.  God made our sexual being that way to ensure procreation; prolific procreation.  Now that drive is a weapon used against society to combat the family.  Eros can at once be both cheap and costly.  It is “chasing the wind” to get that ooey-gooey feeling for someone.  It is a never ending cycle that can bite you time and time again.  And infatuation, that bait and hook God created in us to bring us to marriage, is now used against us greatly.  Romance is definitely fun, when pursued in the safety of marriage. Otherwise, eros, lust, is just a killer of character, marriages, family.  How many are pained by it?  That reminds me of another famous 70s rock and roll song:  “Love Hurts.” 

This is an attempt to combine the 3, since I couldn’t find the actual assignment and directions.

           One of the hazards of my new job at UNCW is learning to walk. Normally this would not be part of a new job description, and I think the interview committee failed with their list of questions when they did not include sidewalk hopping as part of the requirement for working here. Granted the senior interviewer is 69 years old, and tells me every time I go out the door for my daily walk, “I don’t walk.”  How she has managed to be so healthy was a mystery to me, until I realized walking on the sidewalks requires taking your life into your own hands.
 

           The first week I walked was a huge sham. I had somehow managed to walk in between classes. Later when I had a more established lunch hour I found myself walking or rather dodging students on skate boards, bicycles, and ground keepers on golf carts. Aren’t golf carts made for driving on the grass? And when did women stop wearing clothes? I’m no prude, or maybe I am, but I’ve seen more skin covered at the beach than on some of the young women dodging the skate boarders in front of me. The young men and even the old ones are blasé about the sea of skin. In fact I noticed a woman dressed in business suit getting the most appreciative glances. The skate boarders didn’t even try to mow her down.

          If speed is the demon driving the students on the sidewalks brilliance is the driving force with the Faculty I work for, some speak many languages, and have written books, published in at least three languages, if not more.

Recently during my lunch break I was reading CS Lewis’ Anthology of George MacDonald’s writings (whom I absolutely adore!) The passage was called:

“First Things First”
“Oh the folly of any mind that would explain God before obeying Him! That would map out the character of God instead of crying, Lord, what wouldst though have me to do?”

I sighed and laid it down to take a bite of my sandwich when one of the more prolific writers walked into the kitchen. He looked at me quizzically. “Don’t you just love it when you find an author you love, and can go back and savor his words over and over again?” He sort of laughed, “Read for pleasure? I don’t think I’ve done that in years.”
                   In my walk with Jesus He is showing me, “I give my wisdom to the simple, to the pure in heart, to the one who seeks me.”  This past weekend, I attended a conference with Graham Cooke as the guest speaker. It was incredible, twice the hosting pastor had to tell us to go home, no one could move when the service was over. We just sat there heavy with His anointing.  But three separate times on driving from my mother’s house to the conference I lost my way. On each occasion the Lord questioned me, “Who are you going to hear? You, Lord I am going to hear from You from the mouth of this anointed man. Whose voice do you seek? Yours Lord. Worship me where you are.” By the third time of getting lost you would think I had learned my lesson, but no this time was the worst, and most frightening, I was really lost this time, and could find no peace to worship. “Who are you seeking? You Lord. Then worship me where you are.”

               My hands were shaking hard, and I was trying to get my fear under control before I started singing/worshiping, but I heard again, “worship me where you are, in the fear, in the not knowing.”  I did, and of course He showed me again where to turn and how to get there. Once I arrived I had to sit and start writing as fast as my hand would move. I felt a little guilty for not entering in to worship or listening to the words being spoken from the prophetic team. Again He said “who do you want to hear? You Lord, I want to hear from You. Seek me first, seek me always, and seek me only. I will lead you every time everywhere I want you to go. Seek my direction, seek my guidance, and seek my heart when you cannot see the way. Even when you are afraid I do not require anything, but that you come to me, and seek me with all of your heart. For I have opened a path before you that leads you to Me every time, every time every time! I will always lead you to Myself.”

As I look out my living room window, I am amazed at the beautiful sight of soft sky blues and delicate pinks as the rising sun reflects on a few scattered clouds.  It is early and a new day is dawning.  The morning seems to softly whisper of His glory and majesty.  Yet as I look around at the wonder of the world He created, I ponder just how great He is.   

We have a tree in our back yard between the house and the security lamp.  As each season passes, I watch the changes taking place.  In the cold of winter, the branches rattle as the winds blow.  There is no visible sign of life, as stark empty branches shudder in the wind. Then in the spring, a wondrous sight takes place.  Little tiny buds of new leaves begin stretching out toward the warmth of the spring sun.  Drawn out of their hiding place, they reach out ready and willing to do their part to bring new growth to their home.  It does not matter to them that they are there but for a short season, they have an important work to accomplish during their short stay.

As the season progresses from spring to summer, they slowly obscure the light from view.  The leaves share their spot for each little sprig that prayerfully will give way to a bumper crop of pecans.  Then, just as rapidly, the process reverses.  Leaves changes from a beautiful green to various shades of yellow, orange and brown.  As the chill of fall approaches winter, the winds swirl the fallen leaves on the ground. Shortly, the branches will again rattle as the winter winds blow upon them.  Life is revealed in its fullest cycle. 

The same takes place in our life.  There are seasons of dormancy, where it seems we sit on a shelf doing nothing.  At times the Lord, in His perfect love and wisdom, will bring us to a place of quietness and rest.  Often we mistakenly think we have missed Him or committed some grievous sin.  We strive to produce something, anything, when it is truly the Lord desiring us to sit and rest. 

Although nothing appears to be happening to my pecan tree, in reality I cannot see beyond the bark.  Its roots are providing the nourishment necessary for the next growth spurt.  In the same manner, our roots are embedded deep in the Lord.  As He ministers to us during our ‘dormant’ times, He makes provision for our growth spurt.  There might be a branch that needs pruning; a hurtful process, yet this ensures greater fruitfulness in the coming season.

Winter seasons are uncomfortable to many.  We long for the first sign of spring and new growth.  However, it is during those cold times that our reliance is totally in the Lord.  Grounded in His love, we must allow our roots to go even deeper.  All we need is found in Him.  Lasting fulfillment comes from resting in the Lord, waiting for His perfect timing.  Today, if you are in a time of dormancy, learn to rest in the Lord.  Know that He  knows the seasons of your life and your spring is just around the corner.

Song of Solomon 4:16  Awake, O north wind, And come, O south! Blow upon my garden, That its spices may flow out. Let my beloved come to his garden and eat its pleasant fruits.

Joyce Sykes

© 2006

Meditative:

     My sister is convinced that Global Warming is going to destroy the earth, probably within my children’s lifetimes.  She’s been watching public TV again!  I tried to reason with her.  I told her that if you believe in multiple Ice Ages it’s difficult to believe the earth is all that delicate.  She’s worried about core samples of polar ice and the ocean swallowing Wilmington.  When I tried to advance counter-arguments she switched to saying “But they’re cutting down all the trees in Richmond and building houses!”  Arguing with “true believers” is like punching a tar-baby; you get plenty hot and sticky, but you never make any progress.
     The real truth is that she WANTS to believe that we’re all in danger of global warming.  The reasoning progresses like this: If I question Global Warming that means I have to acknowledge that large groups of scientists (or at least NOVA) can be wrong.  If I believe scientists can be wrong then I have to ask if they’re wrong about other things, like evolution.  If I question evolution then I am, according to the same large groups of scientists, a bigoted, close-minded, brain-washed idiot.  I don’t want to be ignorant and close-minded, therefore I refuse to hear any arguement or evidence that questions Global Warming.    Did you see the card trick in that logic loop, or am I the only one?
    O, let him who has ears hear! 
     I felt so discouraged and frustrated after speaking to her I threw myself down on my bed and cried out to God, “How?  How can you ever reach her when she refuses to listen or hear?”  My whole family is like this.  If I try to argue about anything the TV has told them is true, no matter how careful or logical or well-researched my words are, they look at me like I’d comitted a PDA with the mail-man on the living room carpet!  How can they claim to love me and then treat me like an escaped lunatic?
     Ironically, they are constantly praising me for the good job I do with my home and family, while criticizing the way I do it.  “What great kids you have, so much better than the ones I saw at the restaurant last night!” they say.  A day later, it’s, “Why don’t you put them in the public schools and stop indoctrinating them with all this Christian pap?”  Like there is no connection between the two.
     I have waited to begin sharing my faith with strangers because I have been so ineffective sharing it with my family.  I guess I felt like evangelism should start at home.  If I can’t do it with people I know and love, what makes me think I can do it with anyone?  But I don’t think I’m going to wait on them any longer.  As I was face-down in my comforter sobbing, God reminded me what Jesus said when his family came to see him.  “These are my brothers and sisters,” he said, looking fondly at the believers gathered around him.
     It’s so true- I am closer to the members of my church than my family.  Who do I turn to when I’m frightened or need help?  My mother panics, obsesses and criticises my decisions.  My father hasn’t talked to me about anything serious since I was fourteen.  But Tex & Ruthie Trammell are there any time I need them.  They’ve helped me and taught me so much.  Any time Tex puts his arm around me I feel safe.
     I have two brothers.  One signs his name to a card and a fifty-dollar check at Christmas as his only yearly contact.  The other recently moved leaving no forwarding number or address.  My sister at least speaks to me, even if she think’s I’m nuts.  But in Christ I have more brothers and sisters than I can invite over to my house at once!  They help me, speak to me, hug me, teach me, comfort me, send money when I’m broke, move my piano, bring me meals, hold my baby, give me gifts…
     I’m being foolish to wait on my birth family to accept and love me.  Out there are thousands of desperate people that I might reach and love and help, who WOULD accept Christ and return my love ten-fold.  There’s family waiting for me that I haven’t even met yet!
     The saying is right, blood is thicker than water.  It just forgot to say whose.

Humorous:

     I hate trying to be funny.  Every part of my brain dries up.  My medulla oblongata shrinks to the size of a pea.  My cerebrum slinks sullenly to the bottom of my skull and goes to sleep.  Silence falls.  Crickets chirp.  You can hear the far-off baa-ing of imaginary sheep.
     I hate trying to be funny.  The MC has drawn my name!  Everyone is clapping and cheering as I make my way to the stage.  He shakes my hand and announces, “Angela Wilhite, for 5 million tax-free dollars and a new car with working A/C, all you have to do is…”  A hush falls on the audience.  A spotlight hits my face.  He hands me a mike, drops his voice and says, “…say something funny!”  Everyone leans forward expectantly.  Eventually someone titters nervously.  I can’t even speak.
     I hate trying to be funny.  I think funny only happens accidentally, like someone dropping a live frog in your hand when you were expecting car keys.  Technically, frogs are squishy, not funny, but arguably, they are nothing like car keys.
     When certain people I know try to be funny they do something strange like hanging a spoon on their nose.  Why is a spoon on your nose supposed to be funny?  Now, if the spoon was on a frog’s nose, or a frog was on a person’s nose… well, basically, anything involving frogs and noses- that would be funny.
     I hate trying to be funny.

Simple and Direct:
    
     Donal, I know you are a little young for this advice, but I want you to think about it before adolescent hormones invade your brain and make it difficult for us to discuss things.  Please be careful about who you fall in love with.
      Sometimes it seems like McDonald’s requires more references for their newest hamburger flipper than most people do for their spouse.  Looking pretty and being friendly isn’t enough.  Some serial killers have those qualifications!  If you think someone is interesting, I want you to examine her life carefully.  Think Sherlock Holmes.  What is her mother like?  Somewhere between 30 and 40 she’s going to turn into her mother, so this is important information.  If you don’t like her mom, you’re in trouble already!
     Does she lie to other people?  If she lies to someone else, sooner or later she’s going to lie to you.  Does she break promises “when it’s convenient” or even ”when she has a reason?”  It may seem cute when she cuts class or breaks promises to be with you, but two years from now the shoe may be on the other foot.  Equally, can she keep secrets?  Because someone who talks about other people will eventually be talking about you.
     The point here is, does she have good character?  The person you marry will have tremendous power over your life.  They will get a veto on your every decision, access to your bank account, and wield power of attorney over you if you’re ever sick or incapacitated.  They will own a 50% share in your children, carry your credit cards around, and know your every secret.  Pick someone you can trust!  This is so important!
     Most critically, does she acknowledge that God has authority over her life?  Because if she isn’t responsible to God, who is she responsible to?  A person who isn’t accountable to Christ is only good as long as they want to look good!  If they ever decide that it’s more important to their mental health to leave you than to keep their commitment to you, all that “character” will melt like snow in the sunshine.