Breaking Through

While observing my appearance in the mirror recently, I did a double-take. I could be mistaken but I believe my forehead is thicker, covered with callouses. Rummaging through my vanity junk drawer, I finally retrieved a magnifying mirror, to more closely examine these mounds. To my shock, they did not exist...at least not physically.
Then I heard my Still Small Voice that seemed to say, "Remember that I've given you peace. My peace. Unlike anything in this world. My peace overcomes the world and lasts forever. But you must trust in Me. You must fight against being fearful and anxious. Let Me know your concerns and requests. Bring them to me in prayer...prayer from the deepest recesses of your heart. And, finally, thank Me. Release your expectations of every circumstance, release it to me and thank me, before you see an answer. Thank me because I alone know what is best for you. I alone know the future. And I alone always have your best interests at heart.
You must stop banging your head against those walls of problems, fears, disappointment and depression. Trust in Me for everything. I am your Redeemer and Provider. I will never fail you. I love you and will transform you into the man I've created...step by step. When those trials come, and they will, learn to thank Me because I am strengthening your faith and endurance. But if you don't understand, ask Me and I will give you the wisdom you need. There is one thing though, you must believe I will answer. Without that faith, I can't provide My answer."
I must have been in a trance-like state as God spoke because the next thing I knew, I was once again standing before the mirror. The callouses were gone and my heart was refreshed and hopeful. And then I remembered a verse from the Book of James: "Blessed is the (person) who perseveres under trial." Well, I'm weary of callouses and do wish to be blessed by you, Father, so I will rely on you to show me how to persevere. I believe you will.

Psalm 119.105

 

The Battle Is Not Yours

They were running wildly without purpose, screaming at the top of their lungs, “Run Chicken Little, the (financial) sky is falling! Save yourself. Sell all your stuff.”
And then, sure enough, fear and alarm crept into the hearts of the inhabitants of the land. “Oh what will become of us?” they wailed. “Our government has turned their backs on us. We are doomed for sure. Our investment portfolios (which they had been persuaded to accumulate by investment experts) are diminishing like water through a sieve; and now we've no retirement funds or hope for the future. We need to find a ledge or a gun to end all this madness.”
But wait. Just when it all seemed hopeless and lost, a voice of reason could be heard over the tumult. “I can help. It is time for change and I bring that change with me. We shall all work together now, lifting up those who are weak, borrowing from those who have more than they need, lending to those who can repay, finding jobs for the jobless, providing succor to the homeless and starving, and establishing health care for all!”
“Hurrah,” the crowds burst forth. “We are not lost. There is hope. We have a new leader; a man of compassion, understanding, and brilliance.”
And so it was that the people of the land stopped fretting, fearing, and running anxiously and aimlessly. They settled in with giddy anticipation and excitement, awaiting the unfolding of this new plan of hope and restoration.
Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice that although they were facing huge unemployment statistics, reduction in wages, mortgage foreclosures, massive credit card debt and disappearing retirement funds—the new leader spoke from high atop his new residence, overlooking the land and its people. Nor did anyone (except for some nasty revolutionaries) seem to mind that he and his staff lived in luxuriant surroundings, fed and clothed by the same people living in perilous financial times. When the subject did arise, which was more seldom each day, all the people reasoned that any leader must be safe, well-fed, fully staffed, and carted to and fro by their people...at no personal cost. After all, they mustn't have to worry about their future. They had enough to do with planning those of their people.
And so began a new period in this land's history. A period that began with fresh hope and dreams aplenty. Like all plans that do not include a dependence on Almighty God, slowly but surely they morph into layers of dissatisfaction, unhappiness, greed, self-serving leaders and corporations. Within a generation, the manifestations reappear. The temporary fixes have eroded and crumbled, exposing partial foundations, incapable of supporting the gigantic edifices that now demand more and more repairs, with more and more funding (time for the people to increase their tax obligations once again).
As the sad realization creeps into the hearts of all the residents across the land, a few stand above the mass of hopelessness, declaring a long forgotten and despised refrain...God is love! Look to Him for hope. Most adamantly reject this idea and work harder at ostracizing these men and their foolish ideas. “Of course we've had hard times,” they snort, “But with positive attitudes, visualizing, calling into being what we need, the laws of the universe will positively respond in our favor.” Gathering themselves together, they proceed into the distance, chanting and meditating for future success and mystical direction (tea leaves anyone?).
For the few who recall the faith of their fathers, it is time to dig into attics, basements and dusty shelves to kick start their dormant faith in God and His resurrected Son, Jesus Christ.
Searching out the forgotten buildings formerly attended with joy, lines of people enter a sanctuary with writing above the door—Yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary. Isaiah 40:31

Eternal Refuge

 

For a Child is born, a Son is given

 

Behind Closed Doors

It's Politics!
By David Nelson
October 2008



The campaign had lasted much longer than anyone dreamed it would. In the beginning, a few of the early starters forged ahead in the polls, establishing a name for themselves, a trademark image, hoping to carve their names into the psyche of the American voters. These front-runners were the idealists, bursting with hope and expecting they could make a difference in the White House. Encouraged by their friends, associates, and sponsors, they set sail for this fantasy adventure that may lead them to the most important elected office in the land. The President of the United States!
Fresh-faced, hopeful, moral, and enthusiastic, they hired staff, printed flyers, used matching funds to reserve TV ads and set up speaking engagements all over the country. Like the little engine that could...I think I can. I think I can...
And so it began, they thought. This is America, the land of opportunity, equality (with a few exceptions), and free speech. The last bastion of dreams come true. If you dream it, they reasoned, you can attain it. Chugga chugga...I think I can. I think I can.
Meanwhile, behind thick, highly polished doors, sitting at enormous hand-crafted mahogany tables, a few mostly unknown men met with as yet to be announced candidate's representatives. It was time to establish the ground rules for this campaign; to reach agreements which could not be broken. Paving the way were enormous coffers of cash guaranteed the candidates and their senior staffers. This meeting was beyond clandestine, past secret. Only a few people in the entire world knew who was present, what was said, what was guaranteed, and who was selected as the next President of the United States.
Based on past performances, willingness to fall in line and seared conscience, the selection was made before this meeting even took place. It was now time to make final arrangements and take blood-oath agreements. From this meeting and these agreements, there was no turning back, no changing minds. This was life and death. Billions of dollars and world-wide agreements were banking on these few minutes here. Absolute agreements were reached and futures were etched into stone.
Filing out in clusters of two like shadows in the night, blending into the dense darkness, buoyed by promised staggering riches, the puppet masters headed out to their selected candidates. The stage was set, the future secure, a specific person of their choosing would most assuredly take the oval office after the next general election. As far as most Americans would know, the next president would be selected by the process of secret ballot after months and months of wearying campaigning. A very few people would know differently. Elections were expensive and secrets more so. Future trade agreements, military actions, labor unions aligned, and mind boggling, staggering amounts of money would be earned and paid before this president was removed from office. The die was cast. The players would do their parts, seemingly disappointed and dejected as they lost by the smallest of margins. But in the end, all were presented with secret numbered bank accounts in foreign countries which represented the price of their souls! Some day all of them would regret this decision. For most the regret would be too late. For a very few, redemption came before it was too late.
This tale is fiction.

TEXAS DUST PART 3 CONCLUSION

Two weeks later, just about sunrise, Dan crossed the once familiar Lone Eagle creek that served as a gateway to the Bar Double-J. Home. He had rehearsed it thousands of times these last two weeks. I know I humiliated you Dad, he would say. Please forgive me. I wasted all the money and acted like a fool. No excuses. I’m willing to work for you and Andy. Dan smiled for the first time in weeks. His burden of anger and resentment was gone.
Forgiveness lifts all your burdens, Dan. My Son set the example in another
dusty town, far from here.
Getting closer now, he could barely make out someone stepping off the porch. Squinting through dust and tears, Dan recognized his father. He seemed to be walking towards him. Now he was running, waving his arms, yelling his name. Dan spurred his horse into a run, aching to see his dad, to hear his voice.
Pulling his horse to a stop, Paul Henry’s son leaped to the ground, grabbed his father in a great bear hug and lifted him easily, swinging him around. A river of tears flowed from father and son until Dan spoke.
“Dad, please forgive me,” he started.
Holding his hand to Dan’s lips, Paul said, “It’s done. You’re forgiven. You’re here,” he said. “I thought you were dead. Seeing you alive washes
everything away. Death, or the thought of it, suddenly puts life into the proper perspective, son. The past is just that. Lots of things that seemed important are gone.
“Now we are going to have a feast to end all feasts. This will be the biggest and best barbeque Wichita has ever seen.”
Later, after Dan had cleaned up, the fatted calf was over the coals and a long stream of servants and friends filled the house, a weary, sun-blackened Andy opened the corral gate. Strange, he thought, it sounds like a party at the house. “Raul,” he called, “take the stud. I need a cool bath and some dinner.”
There it was again, music and laughter. He turned his head and caught the smell of the barbeque. A party?
“Raul, what’s going on up there?”
“Senor, your brother has come home. He is alive! Senor Paul called for a fiesta, to celebrate. Es muy bueno, si?”
Hot, tired, hungry, and now angry, Andy spoke through gritted teeth, “No. It’s far from good.”
“Senor Paul said you were to come up as soon as you got in.”
“Not likely, Raul,” said Andy as he walked, fuming, to the bathhouse. In the cool water, he swore silently, infuriated by the injustice he saw. I shouldn’t be surprised, he thought, all our lives, he’s been favored. It shoulda been him smacked into the tree. Mom would be alive and him out of my life for good.
“Why, why, why?,” he screamed aloud, shoving his fists into the air.
“Andy?,” said Paul. “Son, come up to the house, Dan’s home safe and we’re having a party. We’ve got quite a barbeque goin’.”
“I wouldn’t eat that meat if it was my last meal, Dad. How can you? What are you thinking? Dan ran off and spent all the money on liquor and whores. I’ve been working my butt off for two years. No questions. I just worked the ranch, day after day. No breaks.
“And guess what never happened, Dad? No special barbeque. No special, ‘thanks for all your hard work’ barbeque. Nothing. What have you done for me?”
Paul’s heart ached for his oldest son. He understood his feelings. He knew he felt cheated and used.
“Andy, everything I own is yours. All of it. But I thought Dan was dead. Not only did we lose your mother, but we thought Dan was gone as well. Think of it, he’s alive, he’s here. I have both my sons.
“How many times, just in the last year, have I seen you scouring the gullies and creeks for a lost calf? I got the biggest kick out of watching you ride back to the herd with a bawling calf, draped over your saddle. And when you didn’t find them, you couldn’t hide your disappointment.
“That’s how I feel about Dan. He was lost, and now he’s found. Andy, we have to celebrate.”
Wrapping his son in a great hug, Paul said, “Come on son, Dan’s looking for you. He wants to make things right between you two. He came back looking for work. How’d you like to be his boss?”

Texas Dust - Part 2

“I admire your confidence young man. I only hope your pride can take a whipping from your own mother. This time, I’m going to ride like the wind. You’ll finally experience defeat, and at the hands of your own mother.”

Every year, just before winter, Dan and his mom would mount horses and race through the wondrous fall colors on their ranch. The course wound through creeks and gullies, stands of maple trees and dormant pasture to the abandoned line shack, and back. It hadn’t occurred to Dan that his mother could have shellacked her son many times, that she’d believed in almost winning each year, trying harder the older Dan became.

Dan inhaled his food as Betsy wrapped herself in coat, hat and gloves. Once his gear was on, they met outside, mounted their powerful animals, exchanged smiles and held the reins taught.

“Hey, junior, do you plan to take care of that broken section of fence sometime today, or are you too busy?” said Dan’s older brother Andy, riding up from the barn. “You’re really getting to be a pain in the butt around here. If it was up to me, I’d cut you loose.”

The two brothers stared daggers at each other for several seconds, shooting vapor out of their nostrils, grinding their teeth, until Betsy broke the tension. “Andy. You know your brother and I have this ride every year. It’s tradition. I’ll see to it he does his share of work when we get back.”

Jerking his horse’s head back, eyes fixed on Dan, Andy slowly wheeled about, “I know, mom. I know. I’ve lived with this all my life. As for his share of work...he’s never done that! Hyah, hyah,” Andy shouted to his horse, galloping away from his anger.

“I just don’t get it, Mom,” Dan said. “Why does Andy hate me? I can’t remember a time when we haven’t fought over something. This tears me up. I can’t stay here fighting my brother every day.”

“I know son. Watching you two breaks my heart. Andy loves this ranch, it means everything to him. You, on the other hand...” Dan’s great grin broke her concentration. How she loved this handsome young man. “Ok, cowboy. Let’s see how well you wear defeat.”

Now, to the race. As Betsy and Dan lined up, side by side, tightening legs, pulling reins, the horses hooves pounded a rhythmic staccato on the earth, rearing their noble heads, waiting to be unleashed.

“NOW,” shouted Betsy.

Both riders spurred their steeds simultaneously and the horses responded with an explosion of energy, leaping into the air, propelling horse and rider instantly over the land. Hunched over their horses, Dan and his mom shouted words of encouragement mixed with shouts of jubilation as the acres passed like inches below them.

Entering the stand of Maples, Betsy was slightly ahead of Dan. She looked back to gauge the distance and caught her son’s eye, they broke into wide grins, just as Betsy’s horse stepped into a rabbit burrow. Down the horse stepped, snapping his leg, diving into a somersault. Betsy’s grin disappeared as she was catapulted headfirst into a tree.

Seconds behind, Dan flew off his horse, leaped over her injured

mare and cradled his mother in his arms. Betsy Henry, loving wife and mother of two, died in her son’s arms within moments.

As only the faintest golden red streaks hovered above El Paso’s horizon, the temperature finally grew bearable. Nursing new blisters on his hands, Dan made short work of his jerky and potatoes, washing the last bite down with a beer. A feeling of loneliness washed over him, deeper than any he remembered. Not because he was alone, that didn’t bother him, but because what he really wanted was a friend, something he hadn’t had since he left home. Since his mother had died.

Dan still couldn’t believe he’d lost all his money, his share of the ranch, in two short years. As he stepped off the saloon porch and untied his horse, he decided against riding so he could walk a little to clear his mind. He forced himself to remember.

Riding into El Paso on his beautiful roan two years ago, he was on top of the world. Free of the Bar Double_J forever, with a saddle bag full of cash. Hot, tired and very, very excited, he tied his horse in front of the ornate Cinco Dolares. Licking his parched lips, he tossed the saddle bags over his shoulder and pushed open the swinging doors. So, this is what a fancy saloon looks like, Dan thought. Now for a beer.

“What’ll ya have, cowboy.” A question Dan would be asked hundreds of times in the next two years.

“Uh, beer, please,” he managed, trying to sound experienced. His politeness didn’t go unnoticed by a dignified appearing man nearby.

Within two short years, Dan’s innocence was smashed on the rocks of broken dreams, hangovers, lies and broken hearts. All his money was gone.

His brother Andy wouldn’t be surprised, he expected the worst. Dan really didn’t care what Andy thought, but Dad would be humiliated and disappointed. He wondered if he could ever go back home.

Several hundred miles away, the morning summer sun cast its pinkish glow across the Wichita horizon as Paul Henry pulled on his worn boots. He loved the first break of day.

“Senor,” Rodrigo spoke. “Coffee on the porch?”

“Si, Rodrigo. Esta bien, amigo,” Paul said to his friend of over twenty years. “What do you s’pose he’s doing Rodrigo? Where do you think he is?”

“Some questions have no good answers. At least not satisfying ones my friend,” Rodrigo said. His heart ached for senor Paul when he thought of his youngest son, Dan.

The horizon gave up its pinkish hues for golden summer daylight. The two men stood on the wraparound porch, looking off into the eastern sky. Paul’s cup let off wisps of vapor that remained for but a moment.

“Rodrigo, its been over two years and not a word. He could be dead by now. I need to prepare myself... just in case.”

Rodrigo slipped away as Paul looked into himself and toward heaven, hoping for answers and forgiveness. Forgiveness for his son, not himself. He’d long ago come to grips with his own responsibilities in this matter. After Betsy died, Dan made his choice, took his money, set off for his dreams. Such big dreams. He’d held Dan at home as long as he dared.

Walking out to the barn, images of dread came alive in Paul’s mind. Images of Dan’s face, filled with fear, calling out to him, “Dad. Dad. Please help.”

Paul grabbed the corral gate for support, bowed his head and prayed, “Dear Jesus, help my son. Bring him home to me. Lord, you have forgiven us of all our sins. Remind Dan of that forgiveness.”

Dan sat astride his horse, hands tied behind his back while the man brought the noose down around his neck. Two men held his horse, attempting to calm the big roan.

“Got any last words, amigo,” the grisly cowboy said, “before we set this horse a runnin’?

“I didn’t shoot anybody. I didn’t shoot anybody,” Dan bellowed, feeling the pain in his throat as the noose tightened.

“Well, we was told a big man on a roan horse shot Billy and we been

lookin’ a week and you’re the unlucky cowboy to match what we was told. An’ that’s good enough fer us, aint it boys?”

“So, guilty or not, make yer peace with God,” he said and slapped Dan’s horse with a loud CRACK!

“NO,” Dan shouted as he sat bolt upright in the horse stall, his heart pounding with fear. I was dreaming, he thought. Suddenly, deep within his heart, he knew it was more than a nightmare. It was a message from God, from his father’s prayers. Dan packed his gear and saddled his horse.

As the rooster proudly announced dawn’s first light, Dan Henry rode out of El Paso without a backward glance.

End of Part 2. Part 3 Soon.

Wasted Time!

All his family and friends took turns in the hospital room, waiting for the inevitable. Death. Outside the family, looking in, most everyone who knew, read about, or worked with Stanley Robinson were certain his life of wealth and privilege was ending well. After all, he was responsible for so many innovations in the publishing industry. His combination of paper and electronic media revolutionized how news and information was broadcast. Stanley seemed to have a sixth sense about when to divest or invest. He invested millions in electronic news gathering equipment against the advice of all his fellow corporate moguls. As usual, he proved to be on the cutting edge. The money poured in faster than anyone expected or even dreamed.

And yet...what are those expressions on his family's faces? Stanley's wife seems disinterested, chatting on her cell phone with one of her attorneys. "Yes, Randolph. I wish to sell those stocks. I understand your hesitation but I am turning a new page in Stella Corporation's history. No, future. Stanley is nearly gone and my signature is all you need."

Three children, Daniel in the room reading a novel, Priscilla and Sarah in the cafeteria, sipping coffee drinks, absently checking their watches. Not one of those faces carried emotional distress or even sadness on this final day.

"Mom. Would you like a coffee or tea?" Daniel asked. "I'm off to the cafeteria. I'll send Sarah or Priscilla up."

"Excuse me, Randolph," she said to the phone. "Yes dear. I'd love an iced tea please." Back to the phone, "Go ahead Randolph. What about the Archimedes Yacht Company?"

And so it went on Stanley Robinson's final day on earth. His last few breaths were ebbing now. His vision fading. His thoughts nearly obscure. And then he spoke to his wife, "Stella? Can you hear me?"

"Stanley. Did you speak dear? Was that you? Phillip," she called to her personal secretary, "get the children up here please. Immediately."

"Stella listen to me. I don't have much time now. Please express my great sorrow to Daniel, Priscilla, and Sarah." He paused to catch his breath here. "Tell them that I am so sorry to have ignored them in favor of this business empire I'm leaving." At this point Stanley raised himself up onto his elbows. "Stella please forgive me for ignoring you as well. If only I'd had more time..."

Stanley Robinson fell back down on his bed, stared up at the ceiling and exhaled his final breath. Stella stared transfixed at the single tear falling down his face.

Moments later, the children entered his room. They looked at their father and then their mother. "He's gone. He did have some final words for us." They looked at her, waiting for the conclusion. "He apologized for not spending enough time with all of you. He said he was sorry for just making lots of money instead of spending time with you. Oh, and he also asked me to forgive him based on the same failing."

As one, the Robinson family turned their eyes on Stanley, their absent father/husband. In an odd, eerie sort of way, he was once again absent from his family.

Pure Religion