Tag: God

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There Is No Place Like Home, Part II

When last we were together, I shared that the life of a young person in a military family can leave quite a mark on the makeup of a young mind. That the transient lifestyle that I lived caused me to crave something permanent. Left me believing that I might never have what I wanted most, a place that I could call home. I left the story having experienced an epiphany. The lightning bolt of realization had struck. Indeed, there is no place like home!

You have been cordially invited… Home

I may have come late to the party but I had been carrying my invite in my back pocket for some time and didn’t even know it. The permanence that I longed for was something that I possessed all along. I just had to claim it. I have written before that we are “just passin’ through” this world. There was never meant to be any permanence here. My home, and yours, is already waiting for us. Our place has been reserved. Jesus has gone before us to prepare the place. He told the Apostles:

           “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.  In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” (John 14:1-3 ESV)

When Jesus spoke of the final judgment, He said

          “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” (Matthew 25:34 ESV)

When I had been Baptized I had been given the invitation. The deed to my permanent home was in my unworthy hand. I need not look any longer in this world.

The Communion of Saints

In this world, we are called to fellowship with other Christians as we are instructed throughout the Gospels and Epistles. I believe that we do this for several reasons. We are surely in training in this realm for our eternal life in the next. The Apostle Paul says in his letter to the Hebrews:

           “And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” (Hebrews 10:24-25 ESV)

I am pretty sure that we can all use the support, the prayers and the encouragement that should be part of meeting regularly with our fellow Christians. I may be the one amongst us that needs it the most. What better place to prepare for our Heavenly home than in the midst of those who are striving for the same things in life.

Communion of Saints

Jesus came to heal sinners

When the scribes and Pharisees asked the Disciples why Jesus spent time with tax collectors and sinners, Jesus responded:

           “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Mark 2:17 ESV)

I have often heard that church is not a country club (or hotel) for saints but a hospital for sinners. This last statement has been attributed to many from St. Augustine to Abigail Van Buren (Dear Abby). Whoever said it, I believe they had Jesus’ words in mind. Though the building in which we meet is by no means our home, I believe that Church is a place we belong. We are called to congregate together, to support each other, to pray for each other and the world. To praise the One who made us. A place to rejoice in our blessings and share the Grace of God with each other. To celebrate our various gifts.

A place to belong

The communion of Christian fellowship is a place to gain the strength and renewal needed to face the world. Our Churches should be full of the Love of Christ, one should be challenged and encouraged there, uplifted and confronted. Even this transient heart can find comfort and peace there, a sense of belonging. It is a place to help us find our Home. It may not be our final destination but it is a great place to start. After all, there is no place like Home!

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Praise Him in the Storm, Part 2

After the last post, I would like to share with you a bit about one of God’s Saints who defined the strength of faith and the ability to praise Him in a storm. We should all be gifted enough in our lives to know someone like this. I was fortunate enough to be loved and blessed by this daughter of our King. Cynthia (my wife) grew up with and got into the mischief of her youth with Donna. I came to know her later in life but was instantly given a place in her heart and the hearts of her family. She was still full of mischief and the sparkle in her eyes was a beautiful advertisement for what was brewing in her head. Sadly, we lost this precious light after a crushing storm. These words are in memoriam to Donna after the storm.

Donna’s storm

Donna was diagnosed in September of 2016 as having Glioblastoma, a very aggressive, devastating form of brain cancer. This is the same cancer as John McCain was diagnosed with. I must say here that I am not a doctor nor am I a trained clinician, I have a layman’s understanding and must speak as a layman. When Donna was first diagnosed, she was given only three months to live if she went untreated. If she agreed to the rigorous treatment plan she might have a year. Donna prayed with her family and friends for guidance and for healing. In the end, she decided to follow the doctor’s advice and try to remove the tumor.  Surgery was a success and the surgeon proclaimed that scans showed that they “had gotten it all.”

The insidious thing about this particular cancer is that it grows appendages that dig deep into the brain. On the ends of those appendages the cancer plants seeds in the brain’s tissue. As I understand things, it is nearly impossible to remove all of this deadly intruder. As you might surmise, “we got it all” soon turned into the cancer is back and it has grown. Donna’s faith never wavered. She kept believing in God’s healing Grace. She told everyone that all was well, that she was in God’s hands.

Donna and her husband, Fred, traveled to MD Anderson Cancer Institute in Houston, TX, for treatments that left her drained and sickened. Away from her family and loved ones, living in a travel trailer loaned by a friend for weeks at a time; Donna and Fred did the best that they could to live a “normal” life and they never stopped praising God for His goodness. They never stopped witnessing about the healing power of God, of the love of the Father.

There were many treatments. Many trips to MD Anderson. Houston soon became their second home. The tumor’s growth might slow for a bit but it continued to grow. Donna continued to tell everyone that God would heal her of her cancer. She continued to inspire all whom she came into contact with because of her trust in the Lord. We continued to pray but Donna was getting weaker and the effects of her cancer were taking their toll. During all her ordeal there had been momentary breaks in the clouds, the rain had slackened up for a bit but the storm still raged. For everyone except Donna.

Always His

Her family was constantly gathered at her side. Though she was now spending most of her time confined to bed, weak and hardly able to speak above a whisper, her faith in God was so many times larger than the tumor that refused to relent. “I’m in God’s hands”, she would tell us in her labored breath. We began to hold vigil as Donna slept. Having to be content with holding her hand, whispering I love you in her ear, kissing her brow while there appeared no let up in the storm.

Donna’s Storm is Over

At 5:45 AM on August 30, 2017, the storm was over. Donna left this world behind. Her suffering was over. She had been right all along, she was in God’s hands, in His loving arms. As she took her last breath on this earth, she took the next breath in Paradise. She is looking down on her family and loved ones from Heaven, doing exactly what she always did. She is praising God, walking with Jesus, and casting her love out to all those whom she counted hers.

Cyn and Donna

Donna had proven more right than we had known. God might not have healed her cancer in this world but He had certainly healed her in the next world. Her illness, as horrible as it was, had been for the good. She blessed her children and grandchildren with her ever solid faith. Donna was a shining example of what we should all aspire to be. Donna lived her life in this world for the Glory of God. She shared her faith with so many people. My friend had been a Warrior for Christ and through her faith, she became the Hero of many. She certainly found a triumphant reception in Heaven. Donna has found the rainbow after the storm.

 

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Praise Him in the Storm

I trust that everyone here is the “Praising God” type. Let’s hope so anyway. I hope most of us pray and praise our Creator as is His due. Some of us are more consistent or frequent than others. I make no judgment, only observe my own occasional inconsistency. For most of us, it is so very easy to praise God when everything is coming up roses. When you score the big raise at work or make the grade on a test that you dared to hope for. For many, it is not so easy to be thankful when struggling, unappreciated or stressed. I encourage everyone to remember to praise God when their skies are not so bright. Praise Him in the storm.

On a day when we are feeling unloved, who loves us more than our God? He loves us in our brokenness, in our tattered, tortured state as much as when we are all shiny, maybe more. This is the God who through the power of a thought and a breath, the passing of His mighty hand created all there is, in all its perfect synchronicity. And yet He not only created us to be in communion with Him, He knows us so intimately, He knew us before we were born and He knows the number of hairs on our heads.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you;   Jeremiah 1:5 ESV

“Why even the hairs of your head are all numbered.”  Luke 12:7 ESV

Count your blessings

Even in the midst of our troubles, physical or financial, are we not richly blessed?  Have we not enjoyed God’s favor? Did we not wake up with a roof over our heads, don’t most of us have shoes on our feet or some change in our pockets? Most of us know where our next meal is going to come from. Most of us didn’t have to walk for miles to fetch water.

Even during the downpours of life, we are still children of the One True God. Jesus came down from Heaven, became incarnate of the Virgin Mary and the Holy Spirit, and died on a cross. The curtain of the Temple was torn asunder so that we were granted personal access to the Father (something mankind had only known on limited occasions since the Garden of Eden) and we know forgiveness for our sinfulness. Jesus was resurrected and ascended to Heaven to make a place for us. Beloved, those are reasons to rejoice, reasons to praise our God above. Praise the Creator for His creation, for His love, and for His Mercy.

Learn to Dance in the Rain

Do not be afraid to rejoice in troubled times. When are we in the most need of lifted spirits? Lift up your face to the heavens and make a joyful noise for the things by which you are blessed. They are myriad, after all. I remember, as a child in Florida, playing in the warm rains of summer, barefoot, soaked to the bone, having the times of our lives. I believe we had it right. There are times when it is quite alright to be as children. Kick off your shoes, learn to dance in the rain. It can wash your cares away, as the water washed away your sins.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”    Matthew 5:8 ESV

 Just Passin’ Through

I believe we should try to live your lives on this earth as they truly are meant to be.  We are, after all, only temporary visitors on this island planet. Our true home is in Heaven with the Father where there is no sickness, no worries, no taxes or unemployment. We are here to prepare, to learn what we must know, how we must live in the next life. The life we were made for. Rejoice in it. Celebrate it. Live it to the fullest, but never forget to lift up praise to the Father. We owe Him everything!

 

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Confession is good for the soul

This is the true story of a series of events that took place back in the mid-80’s in Little Rock, AR. I am sharing the details with you as a sort of confession. After all, I’ve been told that “confession is good for the soul.” I believe that my very soul was battered and bruised as I was associated with some heinous activities, done in the name of the Lord. The names I shall use are real. Because these are true facts, witnessed by more than a few people at the time of occurrence, I have no need to fear a suit for slander nor defamation of character. I am neither judge nor jury but I must believe that God will surely call the guilty to account for these crimes upon His children that were perpetrated in His Name.

As I stated, the story begins in the mid-1980’s. I was working in the Production Department at an independent UHF TV station in Little Rock when two others and I were approached to do some freelance work outside the station for a three-night televangelist’s program to take place in our Convention Center. The pay was good, very good, and the event did not interfere with our day jobs so Dan, John and I agreed to take on the project. I was to run sound while John and Dan were to run cameras. We arrived at the venue at the appointed time and met with the director. We should have turned on our heels and run with his first question.

After introductions and the slightest of niceties, the Director’s first question shot straight to the mark. He asked us, “Are any of you particularly religious?” As you might imagine, we three were a bit taken aback. Our best-shocked response was to tell him that two of us were Catholic and one was Baptist but we would be okay with whatever took place. I had no idea how sadly wrong I had been.

We began to get our instructions for the event and our eyes were further widened. John and Dan were told by the Director that, “sex sells.” He only wanted to see pretty ladies and handsome men on camera, dressed in nice clothes, showing bright smiles. He didn’t want to see shots of the common men or women. No video of country-looking people in overalls and jeans. I should remind you again that this was Little Rock, AR. The middle of a very agriculturally oriented state with people who were quite happy to be living a bucolic life. I like country folks. I like small towns. I was offended. The vast majority of the attendees would have been too. Again, we should have bolted.

The house filled to capacity. We were SRO (Standing Room Only) and a feeling of expectant reverence filled the hall. One could look about the crowd and tell that there were a lot of people that just wanted to be in the Presence, to witness something Holy, to see first-hand a miracle. Many of these people had brought every hard-earned dime they could put together to contribute to the work of God.

When the lights came up to reveal the star of the show the crowd received him with awe. W.V. Grant stood before this house in all his resplendent glory. I was no stranger to Mr. Grant. Our station aired his shows. I had already formed an opinion on his preaching. It should suffice to say that I believe he was not the man that the late Billy Graham was. I had always thought him to be more close to a snake-oil salesman. Not the kind of guy with whom I would entrust my salvation. I would come to find out that he was that and more (or less).

He knew how to work a crowd. I will give him that. He strode the stage like a cat. Before long he had his prey in the trap. The sheep were ready for fleecing. John and Dan were instructed to shut down their cameras and step away from the camera positions as Grant’s minions passed the KFC-sized buckets for collection. Grant wanted no videotape evidence of the plate (bucket) passing. I was beginning to feel really uncomfortable.

The collection ended and W.V. Grant set about the real work of closing the trap. The “healing” portion of the program was about to be staged. Low and behold, the Director gave instructions to the cameramen describing the “miracle” that was about to happen. He described in detail how the subject to be healed would react. Exactly how he/she would swoon. How and where he/she would throw their cane or crutches into the crowd.

I must stop here and say that I believe with all my heart that God works miracles and heals through prayer. I have witnessed it first hand (that is a story for another day). I do not believe that he tells a director in a production truck ahead of time exactly how it will transpire.

People came forward to be healed and with each one, the Director knew just how it would play out. The crowd was mesmerized. I was sick at my stomach. The trap had been skillfully set and closed on the unsuspecting prey.

Another collection was made. The same instructions were given to the cameramen. In fact, there were five, yes five, collections taken each night. I just knew that the Pulaski County Sherrif’s Department would be waiting for us when we left. These poor sheep, God’s flock, were being fleeced by a fraud. This swindler robbed these people as surely as if he held them at gunpoint. And I was not only a witness, I had been a coward and done nothing to stop it. To make matters worse, I came back for two more nights and the scenario was identical, right down to the people who were healed.

These needy souls, in search of a touch from God, came by the hundreds, by the thousands, to be nearer to their God who works miracles. Their faith drove them to the venue as surely as their cars brought them. They paid for tickets, for the privilege of being near His Holy Presence and they were violated, robbed by the very man from whom they expected great things.

I know that sin is sin and I have been told that there are no degrees of sinfulness. I have a bit of trouble with that. I have always seen someone who has raped a child, vandalized a church, or committed some other terrible crime against God to have committed a more weighty sin than say a shoplifter. I’m still working on that.

I make no excuses for my part in this sham. I can only say that I was not then the man I am now. This series of events actually helped to form the future Bill. I spent a lot of time in prayer in the days following. I spent much time telling God of my shame and begging to be forgiven. The telling of this story serves a couple of purposes. My conscience is finally clear, and maybe in the telling, someone else might not fall prey to this thief in preacher’s clothing.

( As a Post Script to this writing, in case you are curious, Grant’s shady character did catch up to him this side of Heaven. He was convicted of tax evasion and sent to prison after taking funds from his church in Dallas, TX to make a downpayment on his million dollars plus home there and never bothering to report the $100,000 as income. Upon his release from prison, he has returned to his “ministry.”)

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To everything there is a season…

Nearly every breathing soul on earth is familiar with this message. Whether from the song written in the 1950’s by Pete Seeger and made famous by the Byrds (Turn! Turn! Turn!), circa 1965. Or with the Bible passage from which it was taken.

1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.                                                                       (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 KJV)

I have been observing a season for healing and introspection. I had a knee replaced during the week of Thanksgiving. Recovery and rehabilitation has been an adventure that has taken a great chunk of my energies and most of my strength during the last 12 weeks. The good news, as always, is that God is good, all the time and I have come to find that my recovery is more than I bargained for.

That is the story. That is the message in the Bible passage. This is my story of the season that I found myself knee-deep (pardon the pun) in after my surgery.

Let me say first, that my surgery went off without a hitch. I had a great surgeon and the best nurses that I might have imagined. My physical therapist had me up and walking the halls of the hospital the day of surgery. Through the miracle of modern pharmacology, the pain was manageable and I couldn’t wait to be released for home. I got to go home on schedule and the storm clouds of impending difficulty began to form.

The doctor generously prescribed some strong (really strong) pain medicine which I took like clockwork and in a smaller-than-prescribed dose. Before the week was gone, the storm had fully developed and I found myself cut off from my version of reality and comfort. The narcotics had in effect turned me into a radish. I was, seriously, unable to form a coherent sentence. I was lost and alone in an uncomfortable daze. As I have previously confessed; I am no stranger to drugs and their effects on the user but this was something different. This was no blissful fog. I was not stoned as in the seventies. I was utterly and completely zombied.

Dose upon dose of this mind-numbing stuff and I found myself in a sort of void, a sensory vacuum. The worst part was that I began to feel isolated, especially so from God. I know, this sounds pretty melodramatic, but it was my reality, as skewed as it was.

I tried to say my prayers and not only could I not form my thoughts but I could not feel the presence of God at all. I was terrified! I am a pretty big guy and haven’t been really afraid of much in my life but this shook me to my core. I broke down as the storm washed over me. I felt that my soul was being battered by the terrible wind and drowned in the torrential downpour. I cried out the only way I knew how and I realized that the downpour was coming from within me.  Tortured by fear and shame I shook and wept over having somehow lost God. My wife at my side, she reassured me that this was all the work of the evil one and that deep inside I knew that my God would never forsake me. I knew that when we are not strong enough to cling to God, that is when he tightens his grip on us. He is faithful to never let us slip from his loving grasp.

This marked the beginning of my season to heal and to start some pretty serious soul searching. With God’s help and with Cynthia’s soothing words in my ears I began to see a break in the turbulence of the storm.  I concentrated harder and was able to reach out beyond the darkness, finding (at last) my God. He was right where he always is, waiting with open arms. I prayed hard, pouring out my fear and need. I realize that this all sounds overmuch and I suppose you would be correct in your thinking so. However, as the singer/songwriter Zach Williams reminds us, “fear is a liar”, and this had been the Mother of all Fears.

By the time my prayers had ended, I had promised the Father that I would put away the Oxy bottle and if He would help me with the pain I would dedicate my hard work in physical therapy and rehabilitation to His Glory. I also promised to increase my efforts to be an example of His Love to any who would come close enough to notice.

My season progressed. I took Tylenol before therapy sessions to dull the pain of extreme exercise, used ice packs a lot and made a rapid progression from a walker to a cane to walking unassisted. I am no longer parking in handicapped spots. I am now twelve weeks post-surgery and I have returned to serving on the altar at communion, scripture reading and leading Prayers for the People in my church. I never feel closer to the Father than at these times. I am richly blessed. I am in the gym three days a week, down about 30 pounds and have even moved the driver’s seat back to its original position, as my knee now bends better than before surgery. My only complaint is that when I sit for too long my knee stiffens and aches. But that is a “me” problem. The moral of that story is that I need to be more active than sedentary.

The season that began with storms and need and fear has turned into a beautiful season of hope and rebirth and pride in my God. He loves me, He loves us and is always waiting to hear from us. He is never more than a bent knee or bowed head away. He is faithful beyond any earthly measure.

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God speaks. Faith awakens.

This is a true story that might be the beginning of my true walk with God. It is surely the beginning of my witness, my testimony. The awakening of my Faith. I am telling this for you, Abbie. You are a dear friend and you hold an important place in my heart. I know you will feel the rawness of the telling. I hope it moves all my readers as much as it does me in the telling.

Back in the late 70’s my wife and I had tried nearly every method to get pregnant with no success. After three years of disappointment we grew frustrated, as one might expect. Her doctor flippantly told her we should try more often.  Great idea, but still no positive result. Months went by and still no baby bump.

My wife, in going through her medical records, discovered that she had never been exposed to nor had a vaccination for rubella (German measles). Being exposed to the German measles during the first trimester of pregnancy can cause catastrophic birth defects in the baby. So, as a precaution, my wife got a rubella vaccination, only to find out a few days later that she was finally pregnant.

Our world was turned upside down. Our emotions ran the gamut from shock to anger to disbelief (How could this happen to us?) to serious despair.  The doctor was certain that the only alternative that we had was to abort the baby. We consulted other medical minds and their opinions were equally dire. We must abort. The child could not possibly be born healthy.

Keep in mind that this was all going on in 1979, but the prevailing medical opinion is still not much different today with all the advancements now at our disposal.  The Center for Disease Control currently has this to say about pregnancy and exposure to rubella.

“Congenital rubella syndrome (CRS) is a condition that occurs in a developing baby in the womb whose mother is infected with the rubella virus. Pregnant women who contract rubella are at risk for miscarriage or stillbirth, and their developing babies are at risk for severe birth defects with devastating, lifelong consequences. CRS can affect almost everything in the developing baby’s body.”

 

I won’t list the possibilities, but they were and still are, gruesome, at best. What were we going to do? We fretted. We cried. We prayed. We shook our fists at God. This was the toughest decision we could imagine having to make.

My wife was seriously Catholic. Italian. Catholic schooled with all the guilt and fear of Hell that the nuns and their rulers could instill in a child. I was new to Catholicism but was pretty sure that if we did abort this pregnancy, we would be reserving a seat by the fire. More anguish. More despair. More tears.

As you probably know, we didn’t have a lot of time to put off making a decision. The day finally came and we mustered up the courage, made the call and set the appointment to end the pregnancy. Why didn’t we feel like we were doing the right thing? Days passed uneasily.

On Sunday, the day before the abortion was scheduled. We did what we always did. We had our morning coffee, got ready and went to Mass. The Church was full of eager faces. Nothing out of the ordinary. Our priest began his homily and everything changed.

All at once it was as if God himself were speaking. As though he was seated on the back of the pew just in front of us. My bride and I were held captive by every word. I could hear no other sounds around me save the words being spoken directly to me. This message had our names on it and it was being written on our hearts.

There was moisture in our eyes as the Priest finished his homily. His topic was Faith. My God had answered my prayers. He sent His answer to me as surely as I am taking a breath. My wife and I cried on the way home after Church. These were different tears. These were tears of relief.

We arrived at home and went directly to the phonebook. There were no cell phones in 1979. We managed to find the doctor’s home number and we called him. “Doctor we can’t do this. We have to cancel our appointment.” To our shock, he was relieved. He told us that professionally, he had to counsel us to abort, but as a Christian, he was happy that we had changed our minds. Everything would be fine. After all, we lived in Memphis where we had St. Jude and LeBonheur Children’s Hospitals. God would provide.

We stopped worrying that day (well mostly). Knowing that everything would turn out fine. We had a strong family behind us and the best medical facilities in the country for sick children and this child would be loved. The pregnancy passed mostly without a major snag.

Our son was born on April 7th, 1980. He had all his fingers and toes and he was healthy! Praise God! Rubella had been a factor in a minor way. Ben has a genius level IQ, a nearly eidetic memory. He is an Eagle  Scout. He once found an old pocket pager in the mud in the backyard and after cleaning it up and tinkering with it, he turned it into a radio receiver. He does, however, lack certain fine motor skills. He will never be the star quarterback. Oh well, who cares? He is a gift from God. A constant testimony to Faith!

 

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The journey begins

Today I have had the idea placed in my heart to open a document to chronical my journey.  I will not start at the very beginning, nor will start at the end, but I will try to set the stage for where I am now and how and why I have arrived at this place and state of mind. The opinions expressed here are solely mine unless otherwise noted. I have had many influences in my life, many good, many not so good, many that were bad. In the end, it is my fondest hope that I shall hear my Creator say “Well done, good and faithful servant.”(Matt. 25:23 ESV). That is closer to the end of my story, let me rewind a bit.

I am the son of a sailor. I was unchurched in my youth. I never attended any school longer than 2 years until my father retired. Oddly, I attended high school (all 4 years) with kids with whom I shared the first grade. I was a better than average student –Beta Club and National Honor Society. I was an average athlete, earning my letter in basketball and track. I made a failed attempt at college, was the president of the Residence Hall Association, served in Student Government and ultimately spent more time playing Hearts and Spades than attending class.

I have been married more than once. More than twice… a fact that I am not proud of, but in the end, I am married to the one that was meant for me. The most important factor in our longevity is that God is a third member of our union. Sadly, He was not in previous attempts, thus my track record is not what I wish it could be. My wife, Cynthia, and I have been through a lot over the years. Like many others, we have had our good times and our bad times, our sickness and health; but by God’s Grace, we have survived to find a stronger love than most discover in a lifetime.

I am a broken sinner, as I believe we all are. I believe I may have been more broken than most. I am a child of the 60’s. I experienced all that brings to mind. I worked in the bar business for years and saw, often participated in, some of the least wholesome activities imaginable. As they say, there was sex (lots of sex), drugs (too many drugs) and rock and roll. I am not proud of my time spent in darkness. I am overjoyed that Jesus Christ sought me in the darkness and extended His loving arms to pull me into the light of His Mercy. I survived, no thanks to my own efforts but by the Grace of Almighty God.

Throughout my lifetime I have grown to believe in the Truth of God’s Word, the power of prayer, the unconditional Love that we are called to offer each other, and that we are all God’s Children. We are Citizens of Heaven and sojourners in this world. Just passing through. We are being prepared for Life Eternal. For some of us, the lessons come more easily than for others of us. Many receive their gifts from God at an early age. Sadly, I have come late into my inheritance. But now that I have received, I am thirsty for all I can consume.

That which follows will reflect my journey down the path of discipleship. Join me if you are so inclined. The Holy Spirit will light the way…