Have you ever gone down a road or path and then realized after far too long
that at some point you have strayed from what was planned? What began
as a journey of conviction and passion has changed; not suddenly to alert
me to what was happening, but slowly over the years. This continued as I
went on my merry way until I no longer recognized where I was (or who).
Chuck Swindoll (Insight for Living) once remarked that such is the norm for
those who stray from the faith.

When I first surrendered my life to Christ in prison back in 1988, there was a
passion and fervor to “do” all I could for my King. Over time, and with
guidance from many of the teachers I heard on the Bible Broadcasting
Network, God showed me that it was not “doing,” but DONE thanks to the
finished work of Christ. The grace that God extends to all of us (Ephesians
2:8-10) is a GIFT and something that cannot ever be earned by any act or
deed. We are saved from ourselves and our efforts by the completed work of Jesus on the cross; a work that God put an ‘AMEN’ to through the resurrection of His Son. We, as clay in the hand of a potter, vessels in process and that is something I’d forgotten.

What had begun in faith, I sought to complete by my efforts (if ever there
was an unholy trinity, it would be me, myself, and I!). This brought no little
satisfaction on my part as I added one activity after another to my “faith.” A
vibrant and active prayer life where I kept track of requests shared with me
(or that I felt led to pray about without a request) in a series of small
notebooks. As the prayer was answered, I would mark through each, giving
thanks to God for His faithfulness. Over time, it became tedious and
time-consuming as the list of people and items that were on it began to grow ever larger. I had forgotten that it wasn’t Tony who was carrying on this ministry, but the Spirit within me. Trying to do this in my strength doomed my prayer ministry to failure which pleased the enemy to no end.  At some point years later, my prayers consisted of a rote recital of a few things, each changing with various situations I was confronted with or that affected my wife outside.

Another victim of my walk by the flesh was maintaining a pure mind and heart. It is amazing how easy it was to justify lustful thoughts and feeding them through pornography. Once released from prison I discovered online pornography and it seemed any chance of MY keeping pure went out the proverbial window. Misinterpreting the idea of God’s grace, I delved ever deeper into this until such thoughts captured my attention throughout each day. My misery at not being able to keep myself from such only deepened my despair and caused me to wander even more from His path. Nothing “I” could do made a difference long term and I had given up that such would ever change.

I have read, studied myself and followed others in going through the Book of Colossians many times, but today I met Archippus, someone Paul mentions by name in the fourth chapter (4:17).

  “... See that you fulfill the ministry you received in the Lord.” ESV
“... Be sure to carry out the ministry the Lord gave you.” NLT

What had happened to this man that Paul had to enjoin him to get back at it (my own rough paraphrase)? Whatever had happened, this saint of God had fallen away and, while not rejecting the faith that had saved him, had stopped in the work God had called him to do.  Paul had received news of this and choosing not to reject him but to encourage him to press on.  While Pastor Chris spoke on this (and it was not the main point, at least perhaps to everyone else), I could see myself as this man whom the apostle had called out.  We know nothing of what happened to Archippus, whether or not he did return to the yoke God had given him.  Only heaven will reveal that, but as happens many times, the message was not to show what had or hadn't happened with Archippus, but what was going to be my response?

In Stephen Crane's book, The Red Badge of Courage, we see the hero of the story run from battle, receiving a blow to the head from another soldier who was disgusted with his cowardice in the face of the enemy.  Sometime later a friend found him and, thinking that he had been wounded in battle, brought him back to his unit with a bandage on his head.  This young man is given another chance and takes it, becoming the soldier that is so desperately needed in the fight.  That is what Paul was trying to do with Archippus and what God is doing with Tony.  Many years ago I compared my having to go to prison for God to get my attention as a farmer bouncing a heavy club off the head of a recalcitrant mule.  I was that mule and it seems that I too needed a 'red badge of courage' again to return me to the fight.

The journey continues...

​One of the many cartoons I watched as a kid (probably would again if it were on) involved a Mr. Wizard and his young protege', Tooter, the turtle. Their adventures involved Mr. Wizard sending Tooter into the past to meet various persons and become involved in many a misadventure.  Once in the throes of such a catastrophe, Tooter would yell out, "Help Mr. Wizard!  I don't want to be a 'whatever' anymore!" Tooter would become enamored of some dering do he'd read about and ask Mr. Wizard to enable him to be such (cowboy, pilot, pirate, whatever) to fulfill his idea of life in whatever hero he wanted to become.  Invariably, Tooter would discover his dreams of being whatever would run afoul of reality resulting in his calling out for rescue.

​There is ample evidence of comparison between young Tooter and myself when I recall my adventures (and misadventures) as a youngster acting out many so-called heroic encounters with all manner of imaginary beings.  From Flash Gordon to Sgt. Rock, as well as a myriad of other heroes, I would be a hero saving humanity from whatever scourge or enemy my vivid imagination could conjure up.  These imaginary adventures were mostly harmless, and it amazed me, looking back, how much time I spent doing such things.  One time some friends and my two brothers built a raft (ala Huckleberry Finn) out of some pallets, two discarded fuel tanks from an aircraft junkyard at MCAS (Marine Corps Air Station) Cherry Point, NC.  We journeyed in our raft up and down Slocum Creek, which bordered the housing development where we lived.  Such trips usually were an all-day affair; there was something about lazing away a hot summer day doing nothing but poling our raft up and down this one section of Slocum Creek, imagining all manner of brave exploits.  Again, mostly harmless until one day, we allowed the current to capture our raft and take us to a point where the poles we had could no longer reach the bottom.  At that point, we were out of control and drifting slowly and inexorably toward the Neuse River.
We thought it just another neat way to further our experiences as young heroes, little realizing that once out of Slocum Creek and into the current of the Neuse River, our next stop could have been the Atlantic Ocean.  To say that our craft was not seaworthy is an understatement, ignorance being bliss we were enjoying ourselves.

​There is ample evidence of comparison between young Tooter and myself when I recall my adventures (and misadventures) as a youngster acting out many so-called heroic encounters with all manner of imaginary beings.  From Flash Gordon to Sgt. Rock, as well as a myriad of other heroes, I would be a hero saving humanity from whatever scourge or enemy my vivid imagination could conjure up.  These imaginary adventures were mostly harmless, and it amazed me, looking back, how much time I spent doing such things.  One time some friends and my two brothers built a raft (ala Huckleberry Finn) out of some pallets, two discarded fuel tanks from an aircraft junkyard at MCAS (Marine Corps Air Station) Cherry Point, NC.  We journeyed in our raft up and down Slocum Creek, which bordered the housing development where we lived.  Such trips usually were an all-day affair; there was something about lazing away a hot summer day doing nothing but poling our raft up and down this one section of Slocum Creek, imagining all manner of brave exploits.  Again, mostly harmless until one day, we allowed the current to capture our raft and take us to a point where the poles we had could no longer reach the bottom.  At that point, we were out of control and drifting slowly and inexorably toward the Neuse River.
We thought it just another neat way to further our experiences as young heroes, little realizing that once out of Slocum Creek and into the current of the Neuse River, our next stop could have been the Atlantic Ocean.  To say that our craft was not seaworthy is an understatement, ignorance being bliss we were enjoying ourselves.

​The rest of my life up until March 6, 1988, remained the same as I blithely sailed along down the river of life, not realizing I needed rescuing most urgently.  When I left the Navy at the behest of my first wife, I initially went to NC State University in the Nuclear Engineering program there.  I discovered through interviewing at various power plants located in Virginia, North, and South Carolina that these plants were NOT built or run to the standards that I'd been used to while a nuclear-trained electrician in submarines.  As I had been enjoying my volunteer activity as an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician), the choice made was to change majors and schools, transferring to UNC and working on a major in nursing instead.  Concurrent with that, I also earned my paramedic license, something which, together with working as an RN in emergency departments, fed into my desire to be heroic.  As it turned out, my talent to remain calm in stressful situations and to assess and treat patients, did much to advance me in the eyes of superiors wherever I worked.  I was excellent at my job; the trouble was that I knew it.

The years passed, and my pride in my efforts continued to build; me, myself and I are as unholy as any three things can be.  One day, that pride led me to a decision that would forever change my life, ending my career as an RN and paramedic and sending me to prison for almost 24 years (23 years, seven months, and 25 days to be exact).  As when on the raft floating down the Slocum Creek, my life was floating downstream (like any dead fish), headed for destruction.  To many, that destruction was my going to prison; most of my so-called friends abandoned me when this happened, and I found myself at Central Prison in Raleigh, NC, without hope of ever getting out.

​In such an environment, I came to realize that this was the place for me. Pride had led me to believe my dreams were real and that all that "I" had accomplished was because of my abilities.  Silly, but no less stupid than my fantasies as a youngster.  In this dark, dangerous place where hope was dead, and existence was more survive than thrive, I had nowhere to turn to for help.  An invitation to attend the weekly worship service in the chapel was welcomed, not for any recognition on my part of my need, but to get out of the crowding for a time.  The next week I attended the service again (same reason, the overcrowding in the processing dormitory was beyond imagining), but something unexpected happened to me.  That "...still, small voice..." whispered my name, and I surrendered to His call.

​My journey of faith has been like the screen of an oscilloscope, no straight line, but a confusing multi-directional squiggle that lacked definition.  Even today, with the areas in which struggle goes on, failure is a companion that, while I may not embrace, I am all too familiar.  Thankfully, God does not leave me there.  To lose my career that was satisfying and rewarding for a life of unemployment (were it not for my wife remaining with me and welcoming me into her home when I was released, I would be homeless), but I can go on because of Whose I am.  One book I read while in prison impacted me greatly, and the words from the author continue to reverberate in my heart.

​Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: "Bless You, Prison!""Solzhenitsyn in the 1950s at the Kazakh prison camp that inspired 'A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.'"
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: It was granted to me to carry away from my prison years on my bent back, which nearly broke beneath its load, this essential experience: how a human being becomes evil and how good.
In the intoxication of youthful successes, I had felt myself to be infallible, and I was, therefore, cruel.
In the surfeit of power, I was a murderer and an oppressor.
In my most evil moments, I was convinced that I was doing good, and I was well supplied with systematic arguments.
It was only when I lay there on rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the first stirrings of good.
Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts. . . .
That is why I turn back to the years of my imprisonment and say, sometimes to the astonishment of those about me:
"Bless you, prison!"
I . . . have served enough time there.
I nourished my soul there, and I say without hesitation: "Bless you, prison, for having been in my life!"
—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago: 1918-1956, Volume 2, pp. 615-617.

The time in prison and the loss of career and respect is a paltry price to pay for an eternity with my King.  I'm not Home yet, and I continue to fail my King, but one thing I do...I press on.

The journey continues...

I’m into the seventh week of the class, “Perspectives on the World Christian Movement” and to say that it has been messing with a lot of my preconceptions and ideas is putting it mildly.  Previous to this course I was comfortable (or as I heard tonight, “settled” into complacency) in my walk with Christ.  Now…

In many ways part of what is happening has to do with my priorities as well as what “I” want to do with what remains of my life.  Kathy (my wife) is planning on retiring in a few months and while our income will be adequate for some of our plans (travel to Israel is one dream), a lot of what we’ve discussed seems selfish when looking at it with an eternal perspective.  Damn it, I was happy just floating along as I had been previously.  Now…

Before taking this class I ‘knew’ much of what was happening worldwide in missions and the need for missionaries to go as well as others to support them.  Yeah, putting my share in the kitty at The Bridge Church was a part of all that, but the idea of my going somewhere seemed ludicrous and unnecessary.  Who would want a nearly 70-year-old man with a capital felony record as a missionary?  So, sitting in our comfortable home and doing odd things about the community seemed to be ‘my part’ in reaching the world for Christ.  Now…

Every week God shows me new insights into what He has done and is now doing around the world and even here in Wilmington.  Ideas of how I can help here and now seem to abound lately as well as my emotions being closer to the surface than ever before.  My heart breaks for the homeless in the area as we prepared for yet another hurricane; how will they survive or what can be done to support them?  I’d never really thought like that before (when Florence hit us last year, such thoughts never entered my mind).  Now…

My life before this course has been wrapped up in computer games, occasional study in the Word (not much, actually), just the usual nonsense that kept my focus on me, myself and I (as much an unholy trinity if ever there was one!).  I battled depression and often had no desire to do anything other than watch television, play computer games and just vegetate.  I’d fooled myself into thinking that the chores, doing other ‘stuff’ could wait for tomorrow; that after all I’d been through, as the commercial once put it, “you deserve a break today.”  My ‘break’ seemed to extend to one day, one week, one month after another.  Now…

Speaking with Barbara Yandell tonight after class I did ask if there was a future or use for me as a missionary to the Muslims.  What she said kind of rattled me; that with training God could use me here and now in the city of Wilmington reaching out to Muslim men who were suffering from PTSD from the experiences they’d suffered in their native lands that drove them to America.  Me, speak to those whose culture was so antithetical to mine, who screamed, “Death to America!” on television and celebrated on 9/11.  I could never do anything to such other than maybe a half-hearted prayer they be saved.  Never would I actually reach out to them.  It was never even a consideration.  Now…

I’ve had several people through the years since my release from prison speak to how much I remind them of Joseph whose life is shared in Genesis 38 and following. Both of us spent time in prison, though in my case not because I was wrongly accused or convicted. No, other than some prison time, there is little to no comparison between Joseph and me.

“Then it happened, in the spring, at the time when kings go out to battle, that David sent Joab and his servants with him and all Israel, and they destroyed the sons of Ammon and besieged Rabbah. But David stayed at Jerusalem.”
                                                                                                                                                            2 Samuel 11:1 NASB (emphasis added)

Note that instead of going with Israel, leading his people into war as a king should, David remained in Jerusalem. No big deal, right?

“Now when evening came David arose from his bed and walked around on the roof of the king’s house, and from the roof he saw a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful in appearance. So David sent and inquired about the woman. And one said, ‘Is this not Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?’”
                                                                                                                                                                Samuel 11:2,3 NASB (emphasis added)

Even if David was only out there to enjoy the air and perhaps composing a new worship song, once his eye just happened to pass over and see Bathsheba bathing on the roof of the home she shared with Uriah, all thoughts of praise to God disappeared! Even when his servants pointed out to him that she was one of faithful soldier’s wife, even then he summoned her to the palace.

For myself, idleness and the all-too-readily available pornography (or even the explosion of salacious material in ads or on television) led my heart from my King over and over. This is a war which continues to defy my most fervent prayers and the seed for this goes all the way back to when I was in third grade, living outside Virginia Beach, VA. Hilltop Manor was a nice neighborhood in which my Dad and Mom bought a home for us to live in while Dad was stationed at Oceana Naval Air Station and on the U.S.S. Forrestal, CVA-59. Lots of woods surrounded this development and many of us kids (including my two brothers and I) kept ourselves busy becoming all manner of heroes in our imaginations.

One day my Dad asked me to go to our next-door neighbor’s house to see if he was finished with a tool Dad had lent him. I rang their doorbell, and when his wife told me he was out in his tool shed off the carport, I ran out to that and when I noticed he was there stepped to the door. What met my eyes, much as David’s) was a panoply of what to this 8-year old boy, the most beautiful women in the world, all without clothes (or clothes artfully draped without covering anything). I am not sure how long I stood there mouth agape until the neighbor noticed me. He did manage to get me to tell him why I was there and handed me the tool to return to my Dad. Those images remain with me to this day, and the far too many that I’ve viewed since then.

“Covenant Eyes” is an excellent piece of software that has enabled me at least to not add to the images already in my brain. Sadly, however, when my own inactivity gives me opportunity, I too take a walk and find myself replaying those images. As with David and so many before and after him have discovered, eyes are indeed the window to the soul. For man, eyes seem to be able to bypass the roadblocks to sin that the Spirit can erect within our hearts. Successes in this battle do come, thankfully even with an increasing frequency, but it is a war that will continue until I leave this jar of clay.

I ask for your prayers for myself as well as for all the ‘David’s’ you know.

There are times when no matter how mature we think we are in our walk with Christ, words spoken that cause harm and grief to another happen and we are left to wonder from where such had come.  Words that were not expressed in anger or overt discrimination, but did in hindsight, convey a message that is all too common in society throughout the history of the world where one culture or ethnicity considers another less than itself.  Racism is an ugly word and one that has been bandied about recently for political gain by far too many; it is something that all who are human struggle against, yes even those in Christ.

Jonah was a man called as a prophet of God and that gives me hope.  Why him, you may wonder?  Pastor Swindoll of Insight for Living has been teaching through that book in the Old Testament and has not pulled any punches about this less than charming and likeable Jew.  Jonah was a man who was called to go and preach a message to a people he HATED and he went in the reverse direction in direct disobedience of God’s command!  God said to go East to Ninevah and Jonah went West, going down to Joppa to find a ship bound as far as he could get from there as he could get by going further West to Tarshish (modern day Spain).  Finding himself such a ship, he goes on board and goes down into the hold and goes to sleep, figuring his troubles are over.

Jonah continues his downward spiral, finally landing within the belly of a great fish that God prepared for his racist prophet who stewed in this fishes juices (and his own) for three days before repenting.  At this point the fish apparently had all of Jonah he could stomach and landed this racist prophet on the beach where he received the same command from God a second time.  This time he obeyed…sort of.  It was a message of destruction for his hated enemies after all; one he must have loved to deliver.  So Jonah delivers the message then camps out to the east of the city to await the promised destruction…

You all know the story; from the king to the lowliest peasant a fear of the judgement of God leads to repentance and a turning away from the evil that characterized this people.  Jonah was livid!  The most successful evangelist and prophet in history and he was upset because although he had obeyed God, his heart just wasn’t in it.  He still was a racist; he still hated the Ninevites. 

What is the take away from a study of this book of the Old Testament?  How are we to apply to our lives such a story?  Thinking about this after listening to Pastor Swindoll and that “…still, small voice…” there are several things that come to mind:
 

1. Jonah tried to run away from God, to avoid the plan that God had for him to do.  He who holds the universe in his hands…impossible, yet this prophet tried to flee from God!  Ridiculous, yet how often have we done the same?  How often have I run from the one who has called to me over and over as he sent his hound on my trail throughout my life?  Even once I had surrendered, time and again I have sought to turn away to my own way…just like Jonah.
2. Jonah surrenders (sort of?) in the belly of the fish.  He does recognize his plight, that there is no one that can save him from death.  In 1987 I was indicted and subsequently convicted for murder, sentenced to life in prison and thus entering my own ‘great fish’ wherein I expected to spend the rest of my life.  Raised in the Catholic church I had little to no exposure to Scripture other than a brief time when I went to the Chapel Hill Bible Church while attending UNC.  Still, my heart was dark and I remember looking up at the outside wall of Central Prison that cold, sleeting February night when I arrived and thought, “This is where I belong.”
3. God’s word or call comes a second time to Jonah and this time he obeys…sort of.  It is a word of judgement against Ninevah and that suits this racist prophet very much;“Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”   (Jonah 3:4 ESV)  In my case my being within prison walls was as if Jonah had suddenly been transformed into becoming an Ninevite.  All my life I had been one of the ‘good’ guys; this had been reinforced when working as a paramedic; the old line from the TV series Beretta came back to haunt me over and over, “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”  Here I was, in Ninevah though a Jew (as it were).  The first weeks are now a blur; it wasn’t until someone invited me to the weekly worship service in the chapel that anything really changed (honestly I went to escape the crowding in the dormitory…picture the Chicago stock yard).  The first week, nothing much happened; the second Sunday, Chaplain Eugene Wigelsworth was preaching (to this day I have no idea what he said, only that a ‘feeling’ that at the end of his sermon it was ‘now or never.’ 
4. So, Jonah obeys and preaches the sermon (gleefully no doubt), then sets up outside the eastern part of the city to await the destruction to come.  BUT GOD…. His plan was very different from what Jonah was hoping for; instead of death, there came life to the Ninevites.  Jonah’s self-pity and anger at God reflects how his heart was NOT changed, but what about my heart?
   

We all must set a watch over our lips (as Scripture enjoins us), especially in these turbulent times.  Offense, even when not intended, is difficult to overcome and impossible to forget.  It will taint a relationship and can harm or destroy fellowship within a church community.   Please, let our words bring healing and not hurt. 

As my brain s-l-o-w-l-y recovers from the trauma of the surgery of last week (as I write this, 1 week ago I was still in the OR and would be for several hours for the initial stage of the DBS surgery last [the 12th of February]), some tasks become easier.  The Bridge Church, where Kathy and I worship, had listed a position, Pastor of Discipleship, and I was thinking of applying when the surgery intervened and pretty much shut down my ability to do much but mumble and shuffle.      I knew my time was limited and had prayed about it and expressed my interest; the rest was up to the Great Physician and whether he knew this was a position for me for now.

Today, February 19th, I felt enough ‘connections’ had been made in my brain that I could proceed with the application and so had gathered (electronically) my resume, references and a letter of intent (painstakingly typed out and corrected) and had saved all to a file to download once I arrived at The Bridge Church.  As I am still not able to drive, Kathy drove (she did not know about my preparations, only thought we were going to drop in to chat about the position.

We entered the office, and I asked about the feasibility of applying only to be told (very gently!) that because the applicant pool had been fill, the position was no longer listed.

Now I’ll be honest, I did feel disappointment.  It was a lot of work for this dinged brain of mine to put all that together (especially on my phone!) but overriding that was a wash of RELIEF!  I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a point man, but as I told Christina, I DO look forward to ‘holding the towel’ or helping in any fashion whomever the elders of The Bridge Church selects for this position.  My prayers will be with them in the coming weeks as the process moves forward.

From the beginning of my walk with Christ, even while in prison, I have felt my place was in a supporting role, not necessarily in leadership.  Over and over again this has been emphasized in a variety of ways, and this seems to have confirmed it.  I love discipling others younger in the faith, but not as THE point man for the Community.  My ‘thing’ in the parking lot (once I get over my Attilla the Hun act with help from my so-called Padawan Tyler[ a work in progress that perhaps the scrambling of brain cells will help?}) has helped me to really enjoy welcoming folks to The Bridge Church.  In a small way, through this service, God enables me to be a bridge to The Bridge Church and no matter the weather I hope I can reflect His Light and Love to all even as I ask them to park somewhere else.

Servant; as my King washed the apostle's feet, can I do less?  I love my calling as a doulos.
 
The journey continues…

Where do I fit?

Is there a place for me where the talents that God has given me can be of use to the local church as well as the community?

How do I discover where that place is?

I thought that with the position at Coastal Horizons, all the above had been answered.  It seemed a perfect fit and I rejoiced that the opportunities for witnessing combined with serving a population that was often treated as modern-day lepers was a calling from heaven.  My first few weeks were rough ones as my insecurity (am I the only one who is lost in the maze of acronyms and language everyone else uses so casually?) and fear had me almost pushing many (most?) of those there away from me.  It was hard for me to trust anyone or to depend on what I was told; sadly, I began identifying with the clients more than my co-workers.

After several counseling sessions with supervisor staff over this, it seemed that my focus was shifting.  One client however seemed rather adept at getting inside my head and managed to get me to do almost anything she wanted to the detriment of the other clients.  Amazingly, I would justify it in different ways, but really there was no justifying it.  The end result was that I was fired for cause and, at age 67, found myself unemployed with little to no prospects.

As with throwing away a career as a nurse and paramedic; having done the same with a possible career with Coastal Horizons, I really had no idea what to do or where to look.  When The Bridge Church announced they were looking for a Pastor for Discipleship I did, for a time, think about that.  Perhaps were I ten years younger that would be a possibility, but hopefully there may be something else I can do to help whoever is selected to fill that role?

At this point I just am not sure.  With the surgery coming up and the uncertainty of that (yeah, having holes drilled in my skull isn’t something I am looking forward to, or wires threaded into my thalamus for that matter…wonder if I’ll be able to pick up any radio stations?).  This specific procedure has been done hundreds of time with few incidents, but there is Mr. Murphy and his bloody Laws.

That is part of it, isn’t it?  Perhaps this uncertainty is wondering if there will be a need to be concerned about needing to find something to do after February 12th…

As with this world and the craziness that seems to have taken control of it, the only real comfort I can find is that my King is still on His throne.  Just so, whatever happens on February 12th (or any other day), I am his child and, as Moses put it so well;

“The eternal God is your dwelling place,
And underneath are the everlasting arms.”
                                    Deuteronomy33:27

The journey continues...

The last week or so has been 'interesting' to say the least, both from a spiritual and personal viewpoint (and sadly, despite walking with Christ since 1988, there are times when I do seem to want to keep the two paths separate!). The image shown is of two paths or roads diverging in a wood (much as my favorite poet in his poem, "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. In this case, both from what has happened in the spiritual and 'physical' realm, both have seemed to converge and, with apologies to Mr. Frost, "...that has made all the difference."

The week long fast (from food, television, Facebook.  I did post some things but did not peruse through at al. No electronic media of any kind other than that required by work...more on that in a bit; all of this combined to heighten my sense of God’s presence in my everyday (man, why not do this on a more regular basis Shook?  Talk about an Urkel moment!  It seemed easier this year than last, but also more challenging because of another battle that I was in danger of losing at work (and, in actuality, had already lost). 

One of our clients there was rather adept at getting inside my head and maneuvering me to do favors for her; things that seemed innocent on the surface, but over time began to push further and further over the line between acceptable and unacceptable behavior.  Honestly, it was a big ego lift for this 20-something lady to be hitting on me (even if in my own mind); looking back, it is terrifying to think of how far this could have gone.  My surpervisor saw what was happening and warned me (twice!) and on the observed third time, I left them little choice but to terminate me as an employee.

Shame, regret and deep remorse for the loss of what could have been a witness for Christ in that dark place.  Instead, I allowed the enemy to subvert me into a trap that is all too common in and out of Scripture.  Time spent with Pastor Ethan and my wife began the healing; the Friday night of worship was a catharsis that continued the healing, particularly one song, “I AM a Child of the King” (emphasis intentional)! 

Today, while sitting at the bar in Breakthrough Nutrition, an impulse hit me to share with a college student sitting next to me who works some part-time helping out Nick and Blair in the store.  I had some cash in my wallet and just felt that she could use it for whatever; to see the expression on her face when I gave it to her let me know that I had ‘heard’ correctly.  Leaving right after that, as I walked to the car I sort of remembered hearing the phrase about doing as much good as you can while you can.  I could not remember the whole thing or where it came from, so I looked it up:

This idea or compulsion is, pushing me now to do so with my time, talent, as well as finances.  I’m not sure why NOW.  It could be the looming surgery in February or something else that only God knows about (and I like it that way), but those words seem to me to fit with not only what Ethan has been sharing, but what God has been sharing since, “In the beginning…”

Let’s see what happens.

Driving home from the USO-NC Jacksonville, NC Center last night, I heard something on the radio that had me thinking.  It seems that one of the actors (and singer, teen heart-throb) from The Partridge Family, was heard to say the following just before he died; “So much wasted time.”  Sad that a man whose career was devoted to supposedly bringing laughter into others lives would end his own with such a sad insight. 
 
It got me thinking into what others ‘last words’ were and how that reflected their lives before their deaths.  Many of the comments are humorous, some sublime and others, as the above quote, a sad goodbye to this life.  Some may believe that drawing any kind of conclusions from anyone’s ‘deathbed conversation’ is overblown.  They would claim that it is nothing more than the random thoughts flitting through a dying brain; others, myself included, feel that often such comments can reveal not only a glimpse of that persons’ life but perhaps a glimpse of what is next after death.  Many are recorded on various websites, but some that I’ve included here can point to how important these last testimonies are.
 
This is the last of earth! I am content.
~~ John Quincy Adams, US President, d. February 21, 1848

Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well--let 'em wait.
In response to an attending doctor who attempted to comfort him by saying, "General, I fear the angels are waiting for you."
~~ Ethan Allen, American Revolutionary general, d. 1789

All my possessions for a moment of time.
~~ Elizabeth I, Queen of England, d. 1603

Codeine . . . bourbon.
~~ Tallulah Bankhead, actress, d. December 12, 1968

How were the receipts today at Madison Square Garden?
~~ P. T. Barnum, entrepreneur, d. 1891

I am ready to die for my Lord, that in my blood the Church may obtain liberty and peace.
~~ Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, d.1170

I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.
~~ Humphrey Bogart, actor, d. January 14, 1957

That was the best ice-cream soda I ever tasted.
~~ Lou Costello, comedian, d. March 3, 1959

Damn it . . . Don't you dare ask God to help me.
To her housekeeper, who had begun to pray aloud.
~~ Joan Crawford, actress, d. May 10, 1977
 
This by no means is a complete list, just some I parsed from several different websites including “Brain Candy,” “Mental Floss” and “Phrasefinder.”  There are some notables I have left out, among them Jesus the Christ (in that case his last words on the cross were not his last words, for he is alive today having risen from the dead).   Some that I have heard from other nurses (relating what they’d heard from a patient just as they died) are horrifyingly stark, giving a glimpse of life after death that is not all lollipops, rainbows, and butterflies.  The saddest on the above list is that of Joan Crawford; apparently, someone in her hearing was praying and perhaps beseeching her to call out for God.  To go into that long not-so-good night with those words on ones’ lips…
 
There are ample examples of those disciples of Christ who went to their King with joy; Tomas a’ Becket is such an example when faced with his assassins, gave testimony of not only a life well spent but an expectation of far better in the next life.  As the two malefactors who were crucified at the same time as Jesus, the world is divided into two camps; those who continue to decry his claims and mock him even as they die, and those who had once been among the mockers, but embraced him as Lord and Savior.  There is no middle ground, no great good deed that anyone can do that will assuage the penalty of being born a son or daughter of Adam.  Anyone who doesn’t believe in the concept of original sin and the inherent depravity of mankind has never had children (or seen the wild tantrum of a child not getting what they wanted NOW).
 
The time of our death is not known; often there is no time for any ‘last words’ as death overtakes us.  Better to live a life that reflects our values, particularly those of a disciple of Christ and let that be our last testament to the world.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                                           

When folks tell me that the God of the TANAK (Old Testament) and New Testament are different; one being vengeful and angry, the other loving and full of grace, I have to shake my head.  They just don’t get it and my reading this morning shows clear proof that they are one and the same.  Man’s fall and resultant expulsion from the Garden some may claim are clear indications of how vengeful God was ‘back then.’  They may say that didn’t God put that tree of the knowledge of good and evil in the Garden after all; why should God be surprised when man disobeyed the command not to eat of its’ fruit? 

That Eve was deceived by the Accuser is clearly laid out in Scripture (Gen. 3:1-6); what is often overlooked is how Adam was present during this temptation and let it happen.  True, Eve was not there when God commanded Adam not to eat of this particular tree (think of it, in a world full of ‘yes,’ the only one ‘no’ and they blew it!).  Surely Adam instructed his wife of this single ‘no,’ but the Accuser is crafty and deceived Eve, so she took of its’ fruit and ate it.  Then, Scripture tells us (Gen. 3:6), “…she took of the fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.”  The innocence and joy of the Garden were gone in an instant, and they hid from each other and tried to hide from God.  No longer unashamed (Gen. 2:25); with rebellion and sin, shame entered creation.

God enters the Garden looking for Adam, calling to him as a father to a wayward son.  What follows (Gen. 3:10-13) is the first example of the blame game; fingers pointing outward without any confession of their own sin.  This continues to this day and will do so until the end of this fallen world.  Their attempt at covering their own shame (sewing fig leaves together to cover their nakedness) was ludicrous, just as any attempt on our part to pay for our own failures falls far short.  God sacrifices creatures to provide for them proper covering (would an angry and vengeful God do this?), but then does something many don’t understand. He expels them from the Garden, never to return (Gen. 3:23,24)!

Just so, some would claim, this demonstrates his vengeful nature.  But really it truly demonstrates the grace God shows throughout His-story.  The triune God speaks a very real concern, “Behold, the man has become like one of us in knowing good and evil.  Now, lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever…” (Gen. 3:22)  Adam and Eve (and all their progeny) were cursed with eventual death rather than living forever in a Garden of bliss.  This is the peak of grace; imagine if they had remained in the Garden and had eaten of the fruit that would give them everlasting life.  Shame, fear, doubt; all the ‘fruit’ of the fall would remain forever.  Death for the human race is a gracious gift from a loving God that ends a life of suffering and temptation, allowing them to enter into an eternity of everlasting joy.

Again, this so-called ‘angry, vengeful God of the Old Testament demonstrates further grace by providing a path, a Way to that true life.  By the sacrifice of the animals that provided them with clothing, God showed them that blood was required.  This would lead to the sacrificial system laid down in Exodus and Leviticus, but all points to that Son whose heel would be bruised, but who would forever crush the power and threat of the Accuser.  About two thousand years ago, an itinerant preacher and miracle worker was arrested and endured several mock trials (in violation of the Torah).  He would then be handed over to a lily-livered Roman official who would condemn him to be crucified, even knowing he was innocent.  That was that they all thought. 
 
But God…

Jesus is risen; just as he said!  He has left this planet but will return.  The madness and evil that seem to run rampant over the Earth leave us with little hope.  By God’s grace, the story is not over.  When Jesus cried, “It is finished!” (John 19:30), it was not a piteous cry of defeat, but a shout of victory!  The debt had been paid; the Way was now open to all who believe to receive true life forever.