The carriers of hope move through the earth, walking among the hungry ones. Those that hunger and thirst can be seen as glowing coals waiting for the fire to grown within. The burning one is walking and seeking those that are looking for their fire to grow.
They are waiting to be overcome with light and then flare the fuel in them that waits eagerly for the kindling.
It is the job of small pieces of kindling to be gently placed upon those coals that have been waiting for a bit of fuel to once again, bring into flame the passion for the remembered fire that blazed within them. A small amount of the spirit is enough to once again, bring the banked fire once again into the heat of fire that can be seen. The warmth begins to radiate out and be a place to rest and bask at.
It is the gift to be the giver of that small amount of spirit, to be the donkey that has the small pieces of kindling fire starters to lay upon the banked fires. To gently walk among the glowing coals in the darkness’ and encourage them, once again to be blazing light that illuminates and radiates to the hungry ones to be the lights in the darkness of the world.
There is joy within the donkey servant that brings that small amount of encouragement to help, once again to a seen flicker of fire. To bring a handful of fuel to create the heat of spirit. To tell the ones that within them that it is good and right to become a carrier of kindling too.
The larger and larger flames begin to grow until the small fires radiate the heat of love and laughter of smiles among the people as it grows. Drawn to the place they know that this can occur once more. The hunger is beginning to be satisfied within with tears of joy. Knowing this is the reason they are together.
The donkey moves along with it’s kindling. Quietly looking for that glow that shows hunger for those thin and light burdens of fuel that once more will fan the fire into a blaze of satisfying joy. The yoke of the wood is easy and well placed to carry. It is early morning as the night fades and eagerness of gathering begins again.
The small donkey knows it’s mission continues and the smile within him grows and becomes visible as the tears flow once again. The shepherd opens the gate and the he moves again, eager to obey.
The view from our front porch on an early winter morning is quiet. There are no homes around in view but we know who lives in the ones just over the hills. Quite a few of those homes are lake homes and they are quiet now too. No one home. Gates on the driveways and no tire tracks either. Up the road about a quarter mile there is a township road that leads to a few homes, one of which we can barely see. Just a window glow when the trees are bare. It’s over a half mile away. The picture is of the sunrise over the barn and the maples. Nice clear and cold morning. No yard light on the single power pole, not needed here. Besides, the power company charges five bucks a month to keep you awake at night.
The dog barks and runs to the long windows to the east when a vehicle is heard coming up the long driveway. Such incredible hearing with those long floppy ears. If it is one of the family, she knows that too and turns away and greats her favorite one in the hallway. As for me, she takes a peek, gives a wag and goes back in the kitchen. Oh, it’s only you. Hi. Maybe hanging around for a pat and scratch or two.
The flag is waving off the porch and we wave next to the flag at family and guests there as they drive away. Early or late. That too is a great ritual of rural life. Seems good and right and most an old tradition going way back to old sepia tone photos. “Y’all come back and we’ll fix you a plate!” Southern hospitality.
Obviously, it’s quiet and except for an occasional half ton ford with a rusted exhaust out on the road. Coyotes at night wake us all up and we get out a rifle but they are gone as soon as the door opens quietly. Maybe is the chambering of a round. Not welcome here and chickens out by the barn are protected. The chickens crow and the coyotes howl. Wake up and grab a rifle.
I think about the folks in the city as they start their day. No Orion in the clear moonless mornings, just street lights and traffic as the city wakes up. I grew up there. No clink of the milk bottles coming up from the alley, just many vehicles and an occasional gun shot. Not coyotes this time. Here it’s wood smoke and the glow of the kitchen light on the snow, you and the stars saying hello. I live in the country now and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator
It was a white van, one of those tall ones that have a contractor’s business painted on the sides. Sometimes on the front hood as well, but reversed so you can read it in your rear view. That is an oddity of mirrors we get used to. I never even think I am really shaving the right side of my face when it looks like the left.
So the van was parked at a loading dock at the local church building. Right away I want to make that clear. The building houses the church. Usually it is called the church of…something. Named after one of the gift’s of the Spirit. A rarely seen one is the First church of Self Control.
The white van had the sides (and the hood) painted with the name of the group: Easy Yoke of Deliverance. Obviously transporting something that was needed for the people at the church building. e)narevileb fo ekoy ysae seen walking up to the front of the van. That way you can see it in your mirrors!
I stopped to chat with the driver and he had a name badge on and was very friendly. It wasn’t long after that he asked me if he can pray for me. Seemed appropriate with the cross over the loading dock and all. I asked him why he would do so for me, a stranger. He told me that compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis of all ministry. A pretty old saying from St. Anthony from the fourth century. Wisdom, given to me from two thousand years ago that was timeless. The more I mulled it over, the more sense it made. I called myself a Christian, but had never experienced nor heard these things. Intrigued and stunned, I wanted to hear more.
His prayer was short and unusual. There was no ‘Christianese’ and flowery language. He prayed right into me and told me simple things that I struggle with and that there was great hope in Christ who lives in my heart. Stunned and pleased with that directness, I began to follow the people that hopped out of the van. They waved a plastic pass card and entered into the building.
They knew the driver had prayed for me and waved me in with them.
It was fairly early in the day and the lobby had only a dozen people moving about. It was obvious that ‘services’ were being anticipated and the waft of fresh brewed coffee was in the air. It was pleasant and there was a genuine welcome in the air too.
The driver came alongside of me and showed me about this large and pleasant atrium and the second floor area as well. Everyone we met had a name badge and they were moving about cleaning, preparing snacks in a room for them and popping popcorn! My escort prayed with a handful of them and I saw from the balcony other groups of two and three doing the same for one another. My escort (Bryan) prayed for the popcorn man and we walked about with a fresh bag and greeted and prayed for more staff and volunteers we encountered.
Escorted into the huge empty sanctuary I promptly began to feel tears welling up and asked if it was hunger going on with me or an anticipation of the people soon to fill the empty seats. The answer was yes. This was definitely not church as usual. I was in love and knew beyond doubt, I was in love with the builder of this building, the town, the city and the planet. The builder and giver of life to me and everyone that I saw. Never had this happen before and I have never been the same since. That answer “yes” just came into my thoughts with clarity and authority. Still does.
I stuck around and I was captured by this love. Eventually, I joined this team I met and the joy at praying for people was so refreshing, I had to do this. Not only in the building, but everywhere I went. I began to be bolder and found baristas and store owners along with commercial drivers that deliver packages to me, welcoming the prayers. I now ‘see’ the hunger for that romance of Christ’s love. What a gift! I never seem to run out of that gift I can give now. There was a lot of preparation for me before I saw that white van. It became very clear that my life had been formed and fashioned to cradle the love of Christ. It took a long time for me, but there are similar stories. I thought I was through and tired of life. I was actually tired of death.
A new ‘job’ or calling as the van driver told me. One of the best jobs and the benefits are all written down in the company brochure, the Bible. It’s pretty good. See you there. Jack Gator scribe
It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.” ~Fyodor Dostoyevski
It is indeed, Doubt that is essential to the path of faith in Christianity. At first, it seems that doubt is gone, once faith is embraced. But is it? I must confess that I doubt at times in the seemingly impossible promises of eternal life and all that precedes it.
Protection, provision, guidance and comfort. At times it seems my life is not protected nor provided for and the comfort I desire seems as though it is the carot out of my grasp. The guidance is forgotten for a bit and I lapse into some sort of swampy thoughts. It takes the silence to look back on my life when I have been blessed by all the excellent things that I have not even asked for.
Simple things that have been the foundation of the questioning expression on my face. You know that move of your own face. A slight tilt of your head, a slight frown and the wrinkle of the forehead. Looking down a bit and your eyes pulled in along with the frown. Sort of a sad look combined with the look of puzzlement. Trying to understand a missing thing. A lost tool or something said that you didn’t quite hear. Doubt of your ability to understand or grasp reality. Doubt and confusion coupled. That can’t be right. I just saw that object. What did she say? Things akin to doubting your own understanding and not quite trusting your memory of touch, sound, sight and proprioceptive sense of balance. Off kilter in puzzlement.
Perhaps tripping over your own feet and falling to the ground or falling to the depth of your being. Doubt.
In isolation it can be devastating. With the help of someone who loves you, there is a helping hand. Reaching in to pull you up out of your fear. Love abounding to once again, reassure and rescue us from our own self doubt. A rescue that can give faith. “You’ve got this, your OK and I am here beside you, always.
Faith in another one’s words and showing you your own worth. Faith in the words of your rescuer.
This is the path to remove the doubt, the doubt that diminishes and eliminates faith. This path is well known and written about in scripture. Everyone has doubts. I look back when I feel the doubt sleeting into me. I look back on the miracles and to others, impossible communications I have been blessed with. Indeed, the helping hand of our rescuer. Jesus. He has been with me when I did not know who He was. He has whispered words to warn and guide my life to love rather than follow my indifference or even hatred of other people and really, myself.
The only way for me is to silence my mind and listen. A very old desert father in the third century put it perfectly. “Where is your savior? Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He said listen” He doesn’t lie to me and if I really am quiet and listen, He will talk to me and tell me truth about the path of Holiness. That narrow path that anyone can walk. Neither looking left nor right but walking true. Listen and walk true to the spirit of God.
It began in the Navy when the Russian guided missile frigate came after Norm’s ship at midnight. The missiles were aimed right at him as he was walking aft for midrats. A Tomcat fighter came down from above at mach1 and the Russians veered off , That was a miracle and death was averted. (Six day war, a proxy war between Russia and us.)
Next time, Norm was in lockup for a drug crime he did not commit and the man he pointed out as the culprit was in the same bullpen as he was. He came after him at night and a best friend fought the man off. The next night, Norm and his friend escaped by climbing down a three story drain pipe and went on the run. Eventually, the charges were dropped and the record expunged. Military stuff. Brig time for the escape and an honorable discharge followed.
A motorcycle adventure with another good friend went sideways down in Kansas. They had foolishly given small town girls rides on their motorcycles. Attracted to these ‘romantic’ motorcycle men, by their bold appearance perhaps. They camped outside of the town and after the pleasant riding, the small town cop asked them if they would like to spend the night in his jail. Startled them and then the cop told them “their boyfriends are coming after you tonight at your campsite” We declined as jail was unappealing. We thought about the warning and what we would do if those townies came. Bruce ( a vet fresh back from ‘Nam”) put forth the idea that we could take the tent poles and hold them under our arms with only the metal ferrules exposed and they would appear to be shotguns. “Is that the best idea you’ve got?” It was, and sure enough the slam of pickup doors resonated close by and it was time for the walk to the parking lot. Side by side they walked in the moonlight with those tent poles pointed at the sidewalk and Bruce spoke, “Don’t shoot till they get close” The pickup doors slammed shut and the big block truck roared off.
The town cop showed up soon after to view the carnage and we stood there, unarmed, and told him it was all peaceful.
We decided to beak camp and head for Oklahoma quickly. Night riding and the traffic was light in rural Kansas.
As we motored into a very small town in Oklahoma the next day, Bruce’s bike came to a halt and with throttled twisted would not move. We quickly dissembled a few parts and found a woodruff key had sheared off to the driveshaft. Great. A young man appeared behind us and asked about our trouble and as he jingled his key ring. he proclaimed, “it’s Sunday but my dad owns the hardware store, let’s go take a look!” Inside the back door he pointed out a Graymill’s cabinet and the top drawer had woodruff keys in compartments. “Eight millimeter right? Better take a few” Very few people have experience with a shaft driven motorcycle and know the size of that key by glancing at the empty half moon slot. Especially in a rural town with about 600 people. A miracle for certain. ‘His dad owned the hardware store’, it took quite a few decades to understand that truth. his Dad owns everything. Everywhere.
Back at the bike the key fit perfectly with a satisfying ‘snick’ and we turned to thank the young man and he was gone. “What a conicedence!” people say sometimes about this story. Providence is a better word.
At our destination in Berkeley, I began to work for a group of men that smuggled heroin in airplanes. Good money. I really liked the drug. As I was getting ready to take another hit, I heard a voice in my room say: “Life or death, Choose now” I hesitated a bit, and then chose life. No withdrawal nor desire and I was quickly out of work. Bruce rode back to Minneapolis. He had been on painkillers when he was blown up overseas in battle and he knew the struggle with them. He left before I got hired by the ex-Luftwaffe pilot. Not warning just, “watch your six” The fed’s were very interested in the pilot from previous ‘business’ experiences and found me at my new job. I knew nothing and they also knew that. I went back to where I was living at that time. Enjoying Maclure’s beach in San Francisco while relaxing at my new home, the back of a Chevy pickup with a wood camper I had built. It had french doors and I would sit with the doors open and heat up a can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Next day I would go back to work in Oakland.
I lived in that truck that I traded for the worn out Enfield bike and made my living on a limited salary playing guitar in front of Safeway supermarkets. A big young man came up to me and stated. “what you goin’ to do if I take that guitar?” Immediately I told him, “I’ll just fight you for it till one of us dies” We stared at one another for a while, unblinking, and he turned away and said “that’s cool” Soon after I drove off to a commune in Eugene and stayed for a bit as the bread baker and part time mechanic. The bay area had lost it’s romantic appeal. The summer of love had faded. Saved again. Providence.
Back in Minneapolis I had a girlfriend I met on a folk music tour out east and we had a comfy little house on the west bank. I worked hard on a railroad track gang and it was OK. The truck was traded for a 1941 Ford coupe with a new flathead V8. One night, while I was out at the 400 bar, the neighborhood rapist victimized my girlfriend in our bed. The next night, I walked the streets of the westbank neighborhood with a German 9mm military luger tucked in my back, looking for that man. A half block away, a cop walked across the street and I quickly placed the gun behind a bush. I ‘lost interest’ in revenge and later came back and retrieved the side arm and gave it back to a gangster that gave it to me. Saved again by providence it seemed. The girl and I parted company. The usual consequence of trauma for her.
Five decades later, I had moved to rural Wisconsin right after the West bank experiences, got married and have two wonderful sons and a beautiful wife. Minneapolis had lost it’s charm and Bruce lived a half mile away from my new run down farm. The house got fixed up gradually and a new friend told me to remodel the kitchen because that is the way to find a good woman. It worked and I eventually met my wife. (That story is in ‘Bicycle built for two’ at this website) more providence.
Now, as a man that embraced his Lord Jesus (finally!) I realize who had my six, my back. Saved me again and again from myself and danger. I am Now on a media and prayer team at a large church, back in Minneapolis working with my oldest son, the team director. I know without a doubt that I have been set in a place I was meant to be. Almost 80 now and in love with my rescuer from sin. I Thank God’s Mercy and Providence again and again . It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
Driving home after dark settled in and the lighted billboards line the freeway. Bigger than our driveway markers but somehow, looking similar. Runway lights. Closer in to the ‘cities’, the billboard money flows free and the led panels change several times a minute.
We don’t really look at them, they just do that subliminal thing and linger …somewhere in our minds. I want to change them to tell the truth. The casino ones that promise gaiety and a pocket of Franklin’s should have a stealth vacuum hose sucking the money out of the smiling couples pockets as they watch the roulette wheel.
The lawyers, all with four letter last names, smiling as they exude joy at your auto accidents injuries. Perfect Teeth grins, smiling morticians of misfortune. Bjorn and I count the ones with the man with outstreached arms selling cash for homes ( seven so far from Forest Lake to Blaine) A bit of humor as we drive to the Blaine campus of Eagle Brook to get the media production set up and running.
And there I am, my face exuding the billboard of my past. Selfish, confident in my past victories meaning nothing to anyone but me. Looking in the mirror of my behavior and seeing the same old anger and unwilling spirit to listen or look upon a face that shows compassion and encouragement. Another billboard seen as others pass by as unpleasant and perhaps, known.
Agony as I realize a piece of my past that I hold onto is not who I am now. It gets in my way and tells me lies about everyone that loves me. I am not worthy, I am at fault again and reminded of my failures. Hearing condemnation from within and also hearing love breaking in again and telling me of what I am becoming. Be at peace, quiet my spirit and listen to Him.
I begin the agony once more of realizing these things and suddenly, the beauty I have been blessed with for 40 years unfolds and begins to burn away the false images that I have embraced for most of my life. Tears and a quiet voice tell me a destiny that becomes clear and clean.
Called to be a warrior for Jesus and embracing more and more his gentle and firm voice. The new path, the astonishing and breathtaking path that has been laid before me. Paving that road on the narrow highway of holiness. Not looking right or left or in my life, not looking behind at the pain and struggle for fame, fortune to replace the pain I have endured and embraced.
As a well known song says, I am no longer a slave to sin. It is true and it is not an instantaneous process for me. My past beginning now being seen as straying off that path I have been set upon for decades. Saved from death many times and lovingly, steadily helped to become what I have been created for. Strength, true and right seen as the lighted path to the love of Christ.
Sad but true. What do our enemies abroad think of us? What sorts of images come to their and our minds? Big box stores where all of us overweight people park our overweight vehicles and waddle up to the automatic BIG doors and grasp a hold of the ubiquitous shopping cart. Testing it’s alignment and pushing it through to where we need to go to fill it up.
I find gazing at things and parking the cart out of the way to to allow room to fellow shoppers. It feels right and is grace to them. (I do like the early morning empty car lot pleasant and park at row 7. close in.)
The freeway isles of the Big Box are tricky and heads up when you swing around the corners! Speed is of the essence and yielding has to be done way ahead of time. I like to take my time, just like I drive my car. Observant and switching lanes when it seems prudent for traffic flow.
Watch out for the speeders! The parking lot can be dangerous as anxiety takes a hold and a 15 mile and hour speed is pretty fast. On or off the road, speed limits are to be interpreted in our favor and the cops are far and few. Again, this goes for any vehicle. Car, truck or cart. The staff move even faster as they know where to go, sometimes and they have huge carts. They shop for drive through lazy boys and park their huge carts in aisles that you need to navigate. Oh, and watch out for the fruit squeezers, they take their time with alacrity and park right where you need to be. Park next to the keto display and you will be out of their way.
Looking with disdain upon the box food in the baking aisle, I search for my list elsewhere. The unsweetened and organic chocolate require patience but again, the shelves are full. I try to escape from the on sale bakery goods that are usually sold out or down to the boxes with a dozen or more within them. That will not do as I cannot eat them all before coming home. The evidence of my clothing and the mess would give me away.
I would also be fat and running with my treasures. A plain cake doughnut and some yogurt will suffice for a snack I can easily eat in the parking lot as I wait for the rush to park to subside somewhat.
To be disgusted or empathetic is my decision and these emotive responses are my hearts response. I can decide to call employees by the name tags I surreptitiously see. My choice of seeing all of creation as fascinating and wonderful or to be the judge of people by my selfish heart. Life or death, Choose now. Jack Gator With thanks to C.S. lewis’ ‘Men without Chests’
Working the railroad section and riding the crew car to the work site. You’ve seen them, short and yellow metal with the crew riding in the open. Putt putting down the track. An amazing thing about them is how they go in reverse. Shut the ignition off and as the slow, single cylinder engine puts it’s last putt before coming to a stop turn the ignition back on at just the right time, and it begins to run in the opposite direction!
Handy, no gear box needed. This is a akin to my life at times. When I feel that I am going in the wrong direction, I have to quiet my self and listen to someone else to discover the path that leads to peace and even back the way I came and finding the place I began. Just shut off as His spirit begins to quiet my chattering mind.
As I like to say, “A suddenly occurs” and a sunrise begins to warm my face and reminds me, once again, there is light that shows that path upon the narrow road. A path that I am guaranteed not to go astray upon.
I am reminded at times about navigation with a compass and sextant when lost at sea, going in the wrong direction. The reliable clock in my possession tells me where the sun and compass should be. I ‘shoot’ the sun and drop it to the horizon to tell me where I am with the compass and chart and make a correction of direction. Harder to do in an area with strong magnetic fields but through a learned skill, I can now make what is called ‘dead reckoning’ a good decision to continue.
I know I am off course at times and the quietness gives me time to realize I am dead again and I need to hear that still, small voice that tells me the course to take. I reckon and quietly hear the true course laid out. The chart book always is right and after reading it, the course is set once again.
It’s relatively easy to get off course, we all do it. We have to shut our engine down and often reverse course to get to where we started and find the track we should have gone down. Love and forgiveness of offense, forgiveness to our self image for taking the wrong course too. It happens to everyone. Listen the the true navigator of our lives and look to the Son and bring his light close to our horizon. Not easy, I have to learn how to use that sextant of my spirit and read the chart. The Bible. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
It was of great delight that a perusal of a second hand stores book shelves revealed another gem. One of the Harvard Classics, It was printed when I was in my early 20’s. Roughly 6 decades ago. (The 1st publication date is 1939) What a find for a dedicated fan of reading books and storing them away with groaning shelves everywhere in our house.
This book has English essays from Sir Philip Sidney to Macaulay. Ben Johnson, Joseph Addison, Johnathan Swift and David Hume to name a few of them. Quite an assortment of analysis, praise of earlier authors is in this book. A treasure to a writer to glean ideas, precious quotes and insights. They did it, why not me?
The essay by David Hume on Taste was intriguing. It struck to the bedrock of philosophy on human behavior. That sort of subject has been on the best seller list since the times of Homer and the Greek writers of that era.
Everyone, well, most everyone likes to know if their visions of civilized society and the world we live in have been written about. Written and put into practice for all of known history.
Stunningly, yet another movement has begun to re-write history to suit tastes of some group alienated from truth. Akin to ‘1984’ or ‘Brave new world’ classics are these attempts. Always for power and influence as though anybody with the ability to think and read would fall for it. Propaganda is the term and even during WWII there was a ministry of propaganda in Nazi Germany. It was headed up by Joseph Goebbels and his pal, Leni Reifenstahl. The movie that Leni made, Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will) showed the Nazi dream and is still known as the most successful propaganda film of all time.
It’s an old story that, driven by insanity, drives the insane to rewrite human history to fit their version of reality. Today it is the denial of truth of humanity itself. Not only revisionist history to enable money to be funded to people that feel they are owed for things that happened over a century ago, but to rewrite history that somehow enabled these things. The oppression happened but not at all as re-written. Some of the derogatory language had been imported from Scotland as well as their lightening quick deadly response to insult, real or imagined. These things are still embraced today by youths that do not know real history. Read some Tomas Sowell for clarification.
Oh, I forgot, no one reads these things today going back to Greek philosophy forwards to today. Movies of distraction are popular. Considering our confused nation and the recession, it fits the mind set of the great depression of the last century. Scholars and thinkers are passe’ and it’s the New Thing that captures the hunger of our nation. “History is false” “Change your sex if you feel like it” “Educate the children to all these lies”
Why? Indeed, the question of the hour. Even our government has been deluded and encourages lies much akin to the WWII ministries of propaganda. As Solomon wrote, all is vanity and there is nothing new under the sun.
Why do these things happen over and over again throughout our history? It goes back to our very beginning. “Did God really say?” And thus, the battle had begun. Read all about it.
It’s interesting and sometimes pretty good. Jack Gator
There is, in all of us, a wish to be known as a good man. A man of morals to always be a good neighbor. But we know we are not good. Selfish, angry and full of …ourselves. My boot laces can’t lift me to be all I think I can be. They aren’t even tied when I try.
There are moments of frustration, and anger, that seem to supplant our good and replace it with self-justification. Driving is a good example for me. Reacting to a driver that I feel is a threat or foolishness. Whatever or where did that anger or at least, that judgment become paramount in my mind at the time? If I promptly examine the emotions it becomes clear that I am not ‘totally good” but quickly justify myself by comparing my good with someone lack of it. Of course, if I act like an idiot does not make me one. There is great hope for me. At the very outset, of foolishness, it begins to be exposed and there is faith that change can occur.
Christianity promises me that I will be cleansed of these things but I don’t like the process at all. As C.S. Lewis so eloquently puts it, then I am like a rabbit and the pulling out of my fur and flesh painfully makes me recognize my real state of ‘goodness’ I don’t even treat myself very good if I am honest. At the point just stated, I become morose about my ungracious thoughts and promise to try and do better. I need help to change.
The only real solution to these problems of trying to be good is the embrace and surrender to Christ. To open the door or window to the gentle and persistent voice telling me that I need more than good intentions and self image of my mind. The story by George MacDonald, ‘on the back of the North Wind’ Comes to mind when young Diamond blocks that breath in his loft and he hears a gentle voice say: “why do you block my window?” There is no window in this loft! ” I did not say A window, I said My window”
I need to listen to that gentle voice and die to my good intentions and my self images . Frustration can overwhelm me with the task of realizing my need to become more and more Christ like.
The death of myself can be stated in a simple parable. Trapped in a rushing stream, soon to drown and be smashed in the upcoming cascading waterfall, already heard ahead as the rocks are funneling the water. Suddenly a hand appears from the riverbank stretching out to rescue me. What must I do? Do I say, “Easy for you, there is a rock under you and you are standing on the riverbank!” Or do I clasp the hand of loving rescue that will save me from my inevitable doom. Always a choice. Life or death, choose now.
Those of us who are tired of life are actually tired of death and we desperately need the life of living waters. I want to be like a tree, planted by a stream of living waters. With my roots that go down deep.
I was blessed by a vision of swimming with Jesus, I was in pain and had my eyes closed, meditating on live worship music in the room and suddenly, I was swimming with Jesus! He said He knew I loved to swim. We swam together doing the side stroke, facing one another. He asked me if I wanted to go underneath the water? “You can breathe down there!”Then I answered, how deep is it? He said, “how deep do you want to go?” Startled, I opened my eyes and was healed of a leg injury that was plaguing me. I instantly went to pray for someone that was praying for me.
We had a good time of prayer that day. Never forgot it,
That was the beginning of my wish to pray for others that want to go deeper still into the loving arms of Jesus. Our Lord and rescuer from the world of ourselves. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
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