Possess My Reigns (Psalm 139:13)

            This Sabbath the sun is hiding behind a lazy linen drape of furrowed heavy rain clouds, so light is diffused gently, passively, similar to a memory I still have etched in my childhood years. Recall comes with sweet nostalgia for the Gentoo penguin exhibit at Riverbanks zoo in Columbia. In the 1970’s, like everything else the zoo was not quite as commercialized as it is today. I was a chap then, so everything had a pervasive sense of wonderment and mystery; from the click of the turnstile entrance down to the parlor of polar bears that sunbathed on red rocks adjacent to their cold-water swimming pools. But to see the penguins you had to walk into an enclosed atrium, a cleverly constructed piece of architecture designed to give the convincing appearance we explorers were embarking into some kind of prehistoric cave. Out from the chiseled patina bronze doors poured a panorama of aromas inciting one’s senses you had entered into an ancient civilization, yet unmarred by the touch of man’s hand. Once inside, your eyes were forced to adjust. The light you used to navigate the path was borrowed from the pale lights from the exhibits themselves, cast only weakly beyond the pedestrians’ rail. Each exhibit offered an array of locales that ranged from the tropic jungles of the colorful toucan complete with its artificial rain and lightning storms, to the frozen arctic tundra of the Gentoo penguins that huddled en masse on makeshift snow banks at the water’s edge, just opposite a thick wall of tempered glass.

Tend to Your Ashes

            It started with a Sunday walk just me and my lovely Deborabelle through our rustic community, in the sleepy town of Little Mountain. It’s actually a beautiful, insular place, rife with generations of patriotic blue-collar Americans raising families who work hard, many who gather at the end of each week to worship their Creator together under the idyllic patinate steeple at the Trinity Lutheran Church, just a stone’s throw from Noah Boland’s weathered grist wheel, located in the center of town under a sprawling ancient acorn tree.

            A week ago on my way home from work I happened by this beautiful farmhouse complete with a wrap-around porch and turquoise-green tin roof besides with a for sale sign stuck out front about a block away from the church. It runs counter to the footpath Debora and I typically traverse when we walk in town in the evening to converse and to catch a glimpse of those coveted cirrus red-glow sunsets, but Debora and I were just elated to finally be outdoors again walking on such an absolute picturesque day—and then it happened. If only we had listened to that little voice in our gut that for some inane reason attempted to steer us back along our conventional path, and to bypass that house for another day. Hindsight reveals multiple alternative endings but alas it was not meant to be—and unfortunately for us we were in for an unexpected test.

            Down the cracked sidewalk we went, its edges dotted with deposits of diminutive orange-clay anthills Debora and I continued, clearing the church and bounding past the first bricked residence. Then it happened. Out from behind a cluster of vehicles came a charging, very large and very loud German shepherd dog! Galloping toward Debora it barked and bore its teeth and at that moment I wasn’t convinced at all that this canine would flinch. Nevertheless I acted instinctively doing what any husband would do, and stepped in front placing my body between her and this rapidly approaching animal. I brought my shoulders low, stretched out my arms with clenched fists and bore my own canines growling in my best impersonation of a grizzly bear; at which point, thank God, the dog quickly surmised I was not something he desired to trifle with. But the combined fear and adrenalin, coupled with the very real possibility of myself or my wife driving to the E.R. after being savagely bitten sent a wave of emotion through us both. I cannot be sure exactly how the situation so quickly devolved, but if I recall correctly, the dog-owner appeared quickly thereafter and did not appreciate that I yelled at his furry companion, and he then elected to use some choice rancorous language that I shall say only made things worse. Without weighing my thoughts I sent a terse riposte back across his yard from the sidewalk, exclaiming “Better put him on a leash!” and from there forward things rapidly deteriorated into an adrenalin-fueled macho standoff yell-fest. What I wanted, was an apology, and it wasn’t happening.

            There’s more to this story. Suffice it to say Debora and I dodged the bite of the dog only to be bitten squarely by the snare of a madman’s rage. We joined in, we contributed to the problem by believing that through arguing we could somehow restore him to sanity—which in hindsight was absolutely ludicrous. I called the law, they called their parents. Before either arrived both Debora and I realized either by way of fatigue or perhaps the blatant absurdity of the situation that we were cut off from having any kind of active role in bringing restoration. So we did the only thing a sane person could do. We left; only to be abruptly stopped about two blocks up the road by another man and woman this time in a pickup truck who drove almost up onto the sidewalk, which adequately convinced us to stop (feel free to interject some sarcastic humor here). These people we soon discovered were the young man’s parents.

            I quickly realized that I knew the man in this truck. Several months ago he had stopped and helped me get my truck running when I was stranded at the local recycling station in town. While working on the carburetor we got acquainted and discovered we both worked in similar circles. He had found me during a short but difficult stretch in my life, and he became a Good Samaritan that showed up at the right time just when I needed some help. He soon remembered me too, and it wasn’t long before we had the whole thing sorted out. Debora and I spent some quality time talking with him and he gathered from our account of the events that we reacted as any person would if a large German shepherd started charging toward you. You would be intimidated, and then when the owner decidedly took offense to our yelling at his animal he was wrong for failing to realize that he had an obligation to keep his animal in check. Still, we admitted our wrongs for having joined in the adrenalin fever-pitched debate. After everything was said and done, we shook hands and hugged and eventually went about our way.  

            Some folks at this point have an innate ability to let bygones be bygones. If you are one of these people, I commend you, you are an enviable example. However, I have this nagging thing in the back of my brain, that even when I should let something go, many times It continues to weigh on me. It shouldn’t, but it does because I give it permission. Hours later, the day’s drama is still hounding me, draining me. The police were completely sympathetic with our account as well as the young man’s father and did not accuse us of any wrong, but I continued to argue in my mind.

            The day’s events, the results of our choices, right wrong or indifferent are offerings. Yes, they are. If we are believers in the Most High, then like the Apostle Paul said, we are to offer ourselves as a living sacrifice. That means we offer our lives to Him, in obedience, and in service—a simple response to a life that has been redeemed from the jaws of death and hell, and one that is now rightly related to its Creator, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. “Therefore, having these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God” (2 Corinthians 7:1). How His word pierces the heart, revealing where I fall short! So our choices, our thoughts, our words, our hands and feet, our motives and relationships are all offerings we lift up to God. Sometimes these offerings are offered with the wrong intent, and this can produce undesirable results. We may have started out correctly but remember Aaron’s sons Nadav and Abihu—who worked in the service of the priesthood with their father and went about the work of the tabernacle, they were killed instantly because they thought they could approach God their own way and offered strange fire.

            Cleanliness is an important reminder, especially when it comes to fire. Recall the verse we just covered in the previous paragraph (2 Corinthians 7:1). When harnessed correctly, it brings order, it warms our homes and cooks our food. When it’s kept within its boundaries it becomes the necessary ingredient to bring movement and change. Chaotic fire can bring movement and change as well, just look at the fires that burn out of control in California every year. But one such example that I really love is found in the old steam locomotives of a nostalgic age and bygone era. Steam locomotives were powered by fire. Inside the cab where the engineer and shovel man worked, there is something called a firebox. Oftentimes a footswitch would swing open a pair of butterfly doors that provided access to the place where you shoveled in the coal or wood. The coal would kindle creating fire, and the fire generated heat which generated steam in the water-filled boiler tubes causing the steam to become pressurized. The steam could then be used mechanically by way of a large cylinder to operate the pistons connected to the two wheels on the front of the boiler causing the entire train to move forward. The design of the train’s innards provided a grate through which dead ash could be shaken loose so as to not clog up the airways, because fire needs oxygen to burn. But if those ashes ever built up, they could clog the flume—creating a real problem maintaining that fire. No fire meant no heat, no heat meant no steam; and no steam meant you were stuck in River City until the ashes could be cleaned out.

            In the days of the temple service when Moses was given the plan for the tabernacle and its service from The LORD, the Aaronic priesthood were required to maintain God’s fire on the altar both day and night. “Then the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, "Command Aaron and his sons, saying, 'This is the law for the burnt offering: the burnt offering itself shall remain on the hearth on the altar all night until the morning, and the fire on the altar is to be kept burning on it… It shall not go out, but the priest shall burn wood on it every morning; and he shall lay out the burnt offering on it, and offer up in smoke the fat portions of the peace offerings on it. 'Fire shall be kept burning continually on the altar; it is not to go out” (Leviticus 6:8-9, 12-13). So, the priest on duty during his watch had a responsibility to keep that fire burning, it was not to go out—period. But just like that fire in the locomotive’s firebox, those ashes had to be addressed. We read, “The priest is to put on his linen robe, and he shall put on undergarments next to his flesh; and he shall take up the ashes to which the fire reduces the burnt offering on the altar and place them beside the altar. 'Then he shall take off his garments and put on other garments, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a clean place” (Leviticus 6:10-11).

             Let me ask you friend, reading these verses together, what was it that produced this ash on the altar that had to be dealt with? Were they not the consumed offerings that had been brought to the priest to offer up to God? And was it not the charred ash of wood that had been used to keep the fire kindled on the altar? Again, it’s brought to the fore of our minds that our lives and all that is wrapped up in the course of our days are the offerings we bring to God—and they produce ash. Later that Sunday, Debora and I went up to my father’s house and shared with him the unfortunate drama we had played a role in. I was still struggling because in hindsight I had really hoped that somehow things could have been different, and that we could have somehow reconciled that situation. But I had lost that opportunity. My father listened intently as we stood in the cool of the kitchen separated by a granite cutting table, and I’ll never forget what he said. He said, “Son, you have to come to the place where you pick up these things that we experience in our lives, and you have to put them aside, outside of your view behind you, and move on, because life—is about losing.” The statement resonated, and I found myself immediately recalling the Levitical priest tending the fire in the temple altar. It was one of the most profound statements I had ever heard him say. My father is successful, very efficient and effective at so many of the endeavors he's puts his hands to over the course of his storied life—even still, he has suffered great loss as well; things that can stick with you, and haunt you—if you don’t remove them, like all of us. And that’s what Moses was commanding Aaron and his sons, to tend to those ashes. That’s what my father was telling me, to tend to those ashes, and that’s what the engineer and shovel man had to do on occasion—to tend to those ashes so that the fire can burn bright and strong. God gives us the way to approach Him, we do our best to obey; and when the day is done don’t hold on to those things. Thank Him for the lessons learned, ask Him for forgiveness where you were wrong, and take out the ashes, so you can keep the altar fire of your heart burning strong for each new day. Blessings and shalom.

            ​So I have this car that sits in my driveway, and it’s one of these that when you see it you’re immediately reminded of all of these indelible fragmented moments, nostalgic memories stacked together like a commercial montage’; memories of your spouse, of your kids, of family road trips to the beach and up through the mountains of Tennessee and down across Georgia into south Florida; of the times when it came to the rescue because the other car broke down and left you stranded, this car was the one that was the reliable one, and you can’t ever see yourself parting with this car, right? Because in some surreal strange sort of way it actually is like a part of your family. But now, it’s almost 12 years later, and the odometer reads over 300 thousand miles, and there’s that leaky rubber gasket around the windshield that’s started to dry rot at the bottom and allowed condensation to seep inside secretly allowing mildew like a gray pox to grow over the entire fabric of the interior and the doors and even the steering wheel. To top it off, pollen and pine needles have copiously covered the car from the hood to the trunk and this once symbol of reliability, of vibrancy and viability now appears to be suffering a slow and inevitable death knell in painful silence, due to my own outright blatant and unforgivable negligence. But it didn’t have to happen.

            I have these certain areas of my life that resemble my old faithful car too. Once, it was a vibrant functioning part of my heart and my mind right? I was actively maintaining it, doing things to keep it sharp, tuned up and functioning, and if not at peak performance at least all of the preventative maintenance was current and it was something I was consciously keeping aware of. But I got lazy. At a certain point I said to myself, “I’m not going to go out and start the old car this week because I get home late every day, and by the time I finally get home I don’t want to take the extra time to drive it down the block and back, it’s time for supper! Besides, one week isn’t really going to hurt anything and I’ll just make it up next week by driving it to town for groceries.” But then the second week comes and I have twelve different crises front and center on my plate and suddenly starting the old family car in the driveway never even registers as a blip on my radar screen. In fact, by the third week I had conveniently either forgotten or made yet another lame duck excuse to let it slide yet again because I was not prepared to address whatever freak problem I just knew was looming the minute I went out there to attempt to start the engine. You get the picture? I did that. I neglected my old faithful car that gave me 300 thousand good miles and kept my wife and children and me safe on the roads we had travelled up and down the coast from Johnson City Tennessee to Sarasota Florida, and back and forth across the state of South Carolina from Gaffney to Patriot’s Point. I have absolutely no one to blame but myself.
But now, out of necessity, I need to get the car cleaned up and running. We haven’t driven the car in almost a year and after talking it over with Debora we decided to take it off of our insurance policy because we don’t drive it; and if we can take it to auction and get some money for it then we can use that to help pay down some of our medical bills. And that’s when it happens in our personal lives. Out of necessity we find ourselves in a position where we have to address the mess of our own making. But now we’re out of our depth, in strange and unchartered waters we were never prepared to navigate. That’s when you realize you need someone greater than yourself. It’s time to go to The Father; which is exactly what I did. I called my father, 78 years young, who is the absolute antithesis of me in the sense that he was born with an inherent, almost eerie ability to walk into a situation cold, appraise the situation and formulate a solution with only a select few materials. For decades, time after time I’ve shared with him my challenges; something is out of kilter, something is broken, it won’t work. But he enters the situation and at the end I shake my head at how he cobbles, restoring, in a vivid and practical sense resurrecting common ordinary objects, restoring them to the service they were designed to fulfill. I don’t even think he realizes how much a picture He is of our Heavenly Father and the healing work He does in the souls of broken men and women.

            He takes me to his garage, and standing in front of his work bench he reaches up and begins to pull a small array of tools almost randomly from the pegboard shelving hooks off the wall. A roll of duct tape, heavy duty wire cutters, two long handled socket rails, an extension and quarter-inch mini-ratchet, a flat needle file out of an old red vinyl pouch, and a green can of Prep-sol next to the deep sink. I carry what I can, and he carries the rest as I follow him out of the garage and back down to my house to the old car that sits now with the hood propped up. His hands move across the engine like familiar territory, he knows, because he’s invested years wrestling with the complexities of similar engines sorting the sordid problems they encounter with use and with age. He has never neglected a vehicle like I have, and for that I am embarrassed and a little ashamed. But, he’s not critical of me, because he loves me, and he knows I called on him for help, and that’s what fathers are called to do; that’s what fathers do.
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            If we invested our energy, our focus, and our time wrestling with these things that seek to become a stronghold in our lives, through calling upon our Heavenly Father, are we so lacking in faith to not believe that He will come to help us? Did the son of God not say “If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?" (Luke 11:13). I am in awe at how God desires to answer when we genuinely cry out to Him. We just have to be willing to step out in faith again, and sometimes it takes one miraculous experience. But for most of us including myself, it requires us to come continually, and it takes what it takes. I have to learn the lesson of Peter: “Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them. He was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper to ask, “Lord, who is going to betray You?” When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?” Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain until I return, what is that to you? You follow Me!” I am at a loss of words because I have to pray, I see where I have been a liar, less than honest with myself and with God, and He has only shown me strong love. May we search our hearts and do the work on our heart it demands today. May we willingly abandon our pride and follow hard after God at all cost today, because that’s what He’s created us to do. "Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”  - (Matthew 5:16)

First of all, allow me to introduce myself! Hi, I'm Will. I'm 44, I live in Little Mountain, SC with my beautiful bride Debora for over 20 years. I was born and raised in South Carolina, and I am a true South Carolinian insofar as I love our state, I love it for it's low-country meandering coastal waters and shores. I love the frenetic cityscape of Columbia, our state capital that buzzes with optimism and industry, and I love the upstate and foothills and the piedmont revealing the gorgeous blue granite mountains that cut high up through the drifting mists that hang 40 miles north of Greenville towards Charlotte. But I love it for its most endearing qualities; the kindness of its people, their willingness to show charity and to help others up who need a hand. They wave at each other when they pass each other while travelling down these old chip-sealed farm to market roads that sparkle like diamonds in the warm gold glow of the sun that hangs low, and tickles the tops of the ears of corn and sunflower and millet in fields due west. The Flag of the United States of America waves proudly at the pole out in front of our historic provincial post office and over our pastoral town. In fact a quick survey through main street will reveal multiple American flags waving proudly that stand up for courage, the pledge of allegiance, freedom, for unity, for compassion and for taking pride in being the best you that you can be. Yeah, that's where I'm from. You might be from a different town, and maybe you feel the same way, but, in the end I'm only attempting to paint on the canvas of your mind in just a few broad bold strokes to give you a little backdrop to me and where I'm from.

I am a lover of music and as such it is in my blood. I have been playing guitar since I was ten and writing poetry and song long before then. I have an affinity for the moon and the stars and the planets because they have been ordered so well by our Creator that man has been able to chart their positions across the night time sky with clock-work precision, they are truly remarkable and such a brilliant testimony to our great God and King Yahweh, The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. I have a love of my savior Jesus Christ/Yahshua Messiah and for His word-because Yahshua/Jesus tells in the Gospel of John chapter 6 verse 63 that the words He speaks are Spirit and Life, and therefore I want my life to hid in His. When I was younger I thought I wanted fame, but as this vessel ages I have begun a far more important journey and that is learning how to be honest with myself and continually having the willingness to examine my life when exposed to the light of Messiah. I realize that sounds exemplary, but believe me, I am so very flawed if you knew you might be reluctant to be so kind. Neither is this an opportunistic moment for me to feign humility and modesty to win other people's affection. I'm really trying to relearn how to live my life submitted to Christ, because in my religious experience, so much of what I've been exposed to are people who speak with volumes of knowledge and yet their lives hardly reflect the character of Messiah because they, like me, are very flawed too.

And this is really what I long to touch on in this first official blog post which I think I've aptly titled "Can we be real?" It's never just one thing that brings you to a touchstone or place of discovery or that moment of elucidation is it? For better or worse, we typically either stumble and crash due to a series of self-inflicted ill-advised choices that lead us to destruction, or, we rise to a higher standard of character more in tune with our Creator, usually the result of continued prayer and introspection and obedience to Messiah. I say all this because we have a tendency, I have a tendency, to go through life failing to invest in those critical moments that can make sense of why we make poor decisions. Today I was blown away when God once again allowed me to be amazed at how short I fall; and that's not a bad thing! Seriously, I don't mean to say we should beat ourselves up and be hyper-critical of ourselves. God knows there are souls in this world who struggle everyday with beating themselves up internally. I am not speaking to those people right now. I'm speaking to the people who have a tendency to put on a brave face most days, gloss over much of the day with a brief prayer during their morning commute, heartfelt as it is, and again at bedtime with another brief albeit heartfelt prayer.

I love the devotional by Sir Oswald Chambers called My Utmost for His Highest and have read it off and on every year for about the last 25 years or so. 

I make the effort to read it each day as it was designed to be a daily devotional, and on March 16th, the lead-off verse is 2 Corinthians 5:10 which says "We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ..." Chambers goes on to explain the significance of learning to live under the scrutiny of Christ's pure light and how important it is for us to constantly remind ourselves of the judgment seat of Christ by choosing to walk in the knowledge of the holiness that He has given us. The problem is, in today's Christian culture too many seeker-friendly church leaders have successfully promoted a gracious God who winks at our sin because after all, Jesus has already paid it all, right? And yet, Jesus said to his followers that if we love Him, then we should follow His commandments. The contrast in the dominant contemporary Christian theology today with the truth of Scripture is so far removed from the truth that I think it should cause us to fall on our knees and repent! But again, this is not a tactic, I don't want to scare you, I'm just saying that we need to be more involved in our part of this relationship we've been given with our Creator. I have, you have, we have a much bigger role in this relationship than I believe many of us are willing to admit. Remember Uzziah, remember Nadab and Abihu, remember Miriam, remember Peter, Ananias? God has given us a path to a noble character, but He allows us to make choices that either reinforce our position in Him, or one that sides with the world of the secular.

So, where do we go from here? In conclusion, I've saved the 'oy vey' moment for the end. And this is it; God has repeatedly told us throughout Torah and all Scripture to confess our faults so that we can be healed, and He tells us specifically in Hebrews chapter 3, "Therefore, just as the Holy Spirit says, Today if you hear His voice, Do Not Harden your hearts as when they provoked Me, as in the day of trial in the wilderness, where your fathers tried me by testing me and saw my works for forty years...for who provoked Him when they had heard? Indeed, did not all those who came out of Egypt led by Moses? And with whom was He angry for forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose bodies fell in the wilderness? And to who did He swear that they would not enter His rest, but to those who were disobedient? So we see that they were not able to enter BECAUSE OF UNBELIEF" (Hebrews 3:7-9, 16-19). I just pulled back the cover and revealed that uncomfortable truth. Are you willing to stare it in the face? What was it that caused our fathers to fall in the wilderness? Disobedience, yes... but their disobedience was a symptom of the root of their problem.... it was their unbelief! So when we gloss over our poor choices, when we make excuses for our sin, we're using slight of hand to deceive ourselves. And isn't that what His word says? "But encourage one another day after day, as long as it is still called Today, so that none of you will be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin" (Hebrews 3:13). When we become hardened, and we fall, it's not our disobedience that's to blame, it's our unbelief. Can we just park here for a moment and meditate on the seriousness of that reality? It humbles me to come to the place where I have to admit that my rebellion is not triggered so much by my disobedience as it is my unbelief. This is why I'm asking all of us to stop, just stop, and to recognize our part and that God is trying to get our attention...while it is called today. Pray, confess, repent, turn, make the choice to trust God at His word and obey Him. That is my goal for today, and my prayer is that it will be yours too. God's blessings upon you until the next time! Shalom.