We talked about fear and how it can keep us from freedom to experience all that God has for us.”
–Dan Arnold (Bear Creek)
“Better is a little with the fear of the Lord Than great treasure, and turmoil with the treasure.”
–Proverbs 15:16(NASB)
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I have a question for you this morning. Can a person have both fear and faith in their lives? Ponder that for a moment. Fear is the enemy of faith. Now, I am not speaking of a natural fear nor the reverential fear of God. There are somethings we should have a healthy fear over, but I am speaking more of how fear can wrack the mind and stir up the emotions. How can one trust and have faith in God if they are in fear of the same thing they should be trusting in?
If you read the “faith chapter” of Hebrews 11, I notice one thing that went along with the faith of those mentioned and that is courage. Sometimes it takes courage added to faith to overcome fear. The devil wants to destroy your faith and he very often does that with fear. He loves for you to be anxious, oh, but how to overcome that anxiety.
Worry, worry, oh, how can it be overcome?Sure, we have the pat answers that can be given, but I cannot know another’s heart, mind, or situation completely. I can easily say, trust in God, but to do that one must cast away fear, and that takes courage along with faith.
I think sometimes we take Scripture out of context, most often because we do not take the time to study and fully contemplate what is being said.
There is no fear in love [dread does not exist], but full-grown (complete, perfect) love turns fear out of doors and expels every trace of terror! For fear brings with it the thought of punishment, and [so] he who is afraid has not reached the full maturity of love [is not yet grown into love’s complete perfection].”
–1 John 4:18 (Amplified)
This is a valuable and important Scripture in regard to fear. I added courage to faith, but here we see that there is no fear in love. But look at it more carefully: “full-grown” or “complete, perfect” love is what does away with fear. It is important to look at this first from a spiritual perspective. Remember that John is writing to the Church, not to unbelievers. The believer does not have to worry (fear) about punishment from God. If he does, he needs to be reassured of the love of God, and that he is a child of God. He has no fear of eternity.
But there is a reflection of life in this world as well. This is where we live, therefore, we must strive to overcome our fears by knowing that Christ loves us, cares for us, and those we love. So many fret and are stressed in this life. For some reason the devil makes us nervous over many facets that come our way. We are to have confidence in God.
“We’re not nervous, and God’s not nervous either… He is firmly on His throne, and Satan can’t do anything about it. Nobody can.”
–Dallas Willard
Perhaps that is what we need–a renewed and refreshed look at God on His throne.
Don’t be nervous about the future. God is on His throne. Don’t be nervous about the outcome of the election, nor fear what might happen if the liberals win. God is on His throne. Take a spiritual view of what is happening, have courage, have faith, and know that the love of God will “expel every trace of terror.” With Thanksgiving in front of us it would do us good to begin thinking about how thankful we should be. Begin, now on Friday the 13th, to be grateful and thank the Lord for what He has done and for what He will continue to do in your lives.
Month: November 2020
Echoes From the Campfire
He [God] gets the last crack at them. Some day they all got to stand there in front of that gate and let Him pass judgment.”
–Elmer Kelton (Captain’s Rangers)
“The sea gave up the dead who were in it, and Death and Hades delivered up the dead who were in them. And they were judged, each one according to his works.”
–Revelation 20:13(NKJV)
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There has definitely been a difference in response from the people in the election of 2016 and 2020. Why weren’t there the riots by the right, the conservatives? The left has little moral ground, therefore, what else can they do but show out their exasperations. There is no hope in their ideas so what is left them?
Now, what do we do? Right now we let the lawyers and the courts, and yes, even the politicians fight it out. My mercy, wouldn’t the liberal-left have a fit if the election was found to be in favor of President Trump. But, what do you do in the meantime? What is our responsibility?
The words of a song, which I thought was just a Sunday School chorus, came to my mind. It was written back in the early 19th-century by Elizabeth K. Mills.
“O land of rest, for thee I sigh!
When will the moment come
When I shall lay my armor by
And dwell in peace at home?”
I have thought, perhaps you have as well, oh, let’s get back to normal. We might sigh, just as the composer said, when will the time come? When can I relax and rest and dwell at peace? Ah, but we must “put on the armor” and not take it off until that time when Jesus comes to take us home.
“No tranquil joys on earth I know,
No peaceful, shelt’ring dome;
This world’s a wilderness of woe,
This world is not my home.”
There is a fleeting joy, a fleeting happiness, but not one that is deep in the soul unless you know the Lord. This world, read the news (even social media) and you quickly see that this world is one of woe. Christians, you best wake us and realize that this world is not your home.
“To Jesus Christ I fled for rest;
He bade me cease to roam,
And lean for comfort on His breast
Till He conduct me home.”
Rest is only to be found in Jesus. People cry for peace, they even riot for peace (think of that), but true peace only comes through the Son of God, Jesus Christ. Search for a substitute and quickly you will find that there is none. Until He comes for us, we lean upon Him.
“I sought at once my Savior’s side;
No more my steps shall roam;
With Him I’ll brave death’s chilling tide
And reach my heav’nly home.”
What’s going to happen now? Oh, woe is me, where are you Lord? My friend, rest, lean upon Him. When the time is right He call us home, whether by rapture or by the grave. But back to the early question, what do we do now? The liberals, the crazies have won the election, what, oh what, shall we do? The chorus of this old song has the answer.
“We’ll work till Jesus comes,
We’ll work till Jesus comes,
We’ll work till Jesus comes,
And we’ll be gathered home.”
No, not just a little Sunday School chorus that the kids can sing to make them happy. Hmmm, perhaps the reason it is no longer sung is that we are too busy hopping and jumping wanting to be entertained. Perhaps it is because there are fewer who will work.
Echoes From the Campfire
I felt more secure around veterans. They knew what to expect.”
–E.B. Slege (With the Old Breed)
“For we do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, of our trouble which came to us in Asia: that we were burdened beyond measure, above strength, so that we despaired even of life.”
–2 Corinthians 1:8 (NKJV)
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In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Veterans’ Day, and as is my tradition, since 2001, I post the famous poem by John McCrae.
How many have served, sacrificed, and died in service to this great country of ours. No, today is not Memorial Day, but in a sense, it is a memorial of its own. All who served gave of something, if nothing else–time, and an obligation to duty.
There are many things that could be said concerning this day and the service of our veterans. A veteran was a part of a cohesive unit, all with many jobs that must be maintained and accomplished in the fulfilling of the mission. I would like to list the family members who have served (at least those in the 20th-century).
Kenlock Jones — U.S. Army (World War I)
Harold Jones — U.S. Navy (World War II, Korea)
Bobby Jones — U.S. Navy (World War II)
Carl Adkisson — U.S. Army (World War II)
Ted Adkisson — U.S. Marine Corps/U.S. Air Force (World War II, Korea)
James Adkisson — U.S. Air Force (Korea, Vietnam)
Donald Adkisson — U.S. Air Force (Vietnam)
Walter Baker — U.S. Army (World War II)
William Baker — U.S. Army (World War II)
Howard Baker — U.S. Army (World War II)
James Swank — U.S. Army (World War II)
John Swank — U.S. Army (World War II)
Both Annie’s and my fathers served in World War II, plus all our uncles served in the military. We also had many cousins who also saw duty.
There is a staunch reminder in the last verse of this renown poem; it speaks of those who break faith with those who have served and lay beneath the sod. There is a warning! Have we turned aside the torch? Have we dropped it? Have we refused to take it and hold it firm? Lord, help us, for those who went before did their duty.
The Saga of Miles Forrest
The half-pot of coffee I made Dr. Webb, chug down didn’t seem to faze him much. He was able to mumble some, mostly about the nightmares he faced. He would be coherent for a spell, then wander off into the horrors of the War of the Rebellion. After that he might speak of the atrocities on humans made by his fellow man. I was able to gather from him that he remembered removing a bone from a man’s hip. He said he had to dig some as the bullet was lodged in his hip. The man would have a permanent limp.
From what the doc told me, Shaw must be in town or in one of the nearby camps. His wound was bad enough to keep him from traveling. I pondered for a moment what it must be like to live in the world where the doctor lived. One of nightmares, madmen, and horror. I tried to tell him that there was a better way–finding the Lord. When I said that he scowled, and I thought he was going to throw the mug at me. Like the prodigal, a man must come to his senses.
I walked out leaving him at the table. Pulling on my moustache a couple of times I thought how I might come to find Shaw. He wouldn’t know anyone here, but there were those that would hide a man if they knew he was running from the law, and there were also those good Samaritans who would help a person in need. I’d start asking around, but first I would go up and find Frank Black.
For a small town, Silverton was extremely busy. There were wagons of people going and coming with supplies. Ore wagons, moving to and from one of the smelters. People walking the street, visiting one or more of the various shops in town. Amazing what gold and silver can do; at least temporarily. As I rode Hawk up toward the end of Greene Street, I caught a glimpse of Rev. Chapman talking to the proprietor of a grocery. He gave me a wave, then went back to his conversation.
There was one run-down saloon, the Empty Diggings. I had to smile a little; proper name for a saloon. A place to take your money, take your hope, and leave you broke. Draping the reins over the rail, I started for the door. There was a motion at the entrance that have me a start–a rat ran across the boardwalk and then under it. I shook my head; that fits for this place sure looks like a rat’s hole.
Entering I stepped to my right, a lesson I learned with the Texas Rangers. It gave my eyes some time to adjust to the darkness and this place was dark. I’d be afraid to consume anything from here, but the place was half-full. Mostly down and out miners, now without hope and just bums. There were a couple of worn out ladies of the night strolling among them. What a place; a good showcase for the results of a life of sin.
Since it was so dark, it took a minute or so for my eyes to begin to adjust then I moved up to the bar. A man wearing what was once a white shirt with an apron that was similar in color but stained with beer and whiskey and who knows what else came up to me. Wiping out a glass he set it in front of me.
“Lookin’ for Frank Black,” I said pushing the glass away.
The bartender frowned when I did so, “This is a bar, you drink at a bar,” he said curtly.
Reaching inside the pocket on my vest I pulled a little pouch out and threw him two-bits. “Here, this will pay for a clean glass. Now, I’ll repeat myself just once, I’m lookin’ for Frank Black.”
He turned to walked away. I picked up the shot glass and flung it at him catching him on the back of the head. He gave a yelp, then grabbed the back of his head. Quickly he reached for a shotgun under the bar, that is, until he heard me cock the Greener.
“I wouldn’t,” I warned, “just tell me where I can find Frank Black.”
Allowing my eyes a quick glance around the room, I found that the eyes of the customers were on us, except one drunk slouched at a table sleeping.
“Mister,” came a voice from the side where two old miners were sitting. “There’s a room upstairs. I imagine the Black might be in there.”
Nodding, I then spoke to the bartender. “Take the shotgun by the barrel and place it gently on the bar.”
When he had done so, I walked by picking it up. I wanted to whack him alongside the mouth just for a reminder to answer a civil question. Looking around the room once more I started toward the stairs carrying both shotguns. At the top of the stairs, I removed the shells from the bartender’s gun and set it against the railing in the corner. There were two rooms which I figured might be Black’s office and his living quarters.
I knocked on the door with the barrel of my Greener. A few seconds later, I knocked again a little harder. Moving down the hall to the other door I didn’t waste time with a little tap, I banged on the door.
“Mason! Go away!” came a voice.
I banged louder, if I wasn’t let in the next time I would smash it open. The door jerked open, “I told you Mason,” he snapped, then saw I wasn’t Mason. “Who’re you?”
“Name’s Miles Forrest,” I said pushing my way inside his room. As he turned to look at me, I asked, “Are you Franklin Blackstone?”
His eyes flickered for a moment, then looked downward. That’s when I noticed his vomit covered shirt. He must have slept in his clothes, which I reckoned he did most nights.
“You’ve got the wrong man. Never heard of a Blackstone.”
I tried to look him in the eye, but he wouldn’t meet my stare. “You don’t know a Jessie Blackstone, or a young boy by the name of Connor?”
He started to say something, then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and moved back toward his bed. On the table by the bedside he reached to open a whiskey bottle with only about a third of it remaining.
“You’re Blackstone, or were!” I barked.
“Another life,” he stammered in a low voice then started to take a drink.
I hit the bottle with the barrel of the Greener, smashing it sending glass flying. “There’s a little boy named, Connor who was very disappointed that his dad was not there to meet him at the train station,” I replied with disgust.
His eyes opened wide, partly in surprise, partly in horror. “They’re here?”
“They’re in Durango.”
Putting his face in his hands, he muttered, “I can’t…”