Crimson Lane

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He stopped blood red, at the Intersection of Crimson Lane.

He wanted left.

He could have left.

He could fight.

But He chose Right.

Not My will, but Thine, He said.

I’ll climb this hill

I’ll face this cross

I’ll bleed, I’ll die

But Father, please, don’t leave My side.

But hanging there, it seemed... His Father lied,

My God, My God why hast thou forsaken Me?

He cried.


Alone and scared,

Day went to night…

Into Thy hands I commit My Spirit

He died.



He left, but not far.

Hell’s gates to jar

Then, He did fight

The enemy of Light



And for what?

For who?

For me,

for you.



He won. He returned. He said

I AM with you always.

He could have chose left…But He chose Right.

~~
For prayer requests feel free to slip an e-mail to dougspurling@aol.com

part of ~

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Homonym Christmas Report

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Homonym Christmas Report

My colleagues and I submit to you this report after a careful and in-depth study using Palaeographists (those who study ancient writings), Anthropologists, (study of humankind), Papyrologists (study of ancient writings on papyrus).

And we hereby declare that an altercation to a word, a typo, if you will, has resulted in a delusion and distortion. The central theme and purpose of Christmas has been altered from its original and intended purpose.

Findings:

Our preliminary findings uncovered a jolly bearded fellow, quite plump indeed, flying reindeer delivering Old Saint Nick, as he’s called, to housetops, whereby he somehow manages to ascend and descend chimneys to deliver presents to all good boys and girls, and he doesn’t even get his red suit dirty. (Due to the fact that we have not been employed to research the nature of these events we will neither confirm nor deny the validity of such).

Our keen observance deduces that Christmas has become a celebration of giving of presents. By whatever the means; whether by above mentioned, jolly bearded fellow, or by over extending the master card and visa, in either case, the main purpose appears to be the giving of presents – and for many the reception of presents if of primary importance.

Our findings have determined that a homonym (words that sound the same, but are spelled differently and have different meanings) has caused a veering from the intended path and purpose of the original meaning of Christmas.

Prior to the very first Christmas ancient documents have clearly stated, the reason for the season is the word Immanuel; עִמָּנוּאֵל (עימנואל) in Hebrew, also spelled, Emanuel or Imanuel meaning: God with us; His Presence.

Due to the homonymic error humankind has replaced presents for Presence. Sounds the same, different meanings entirely.

Christmas Stress Syndrome (CSS): We have observed noted behavioral and psychological problems directly stemming from this diversion from Presence to presents. The increased pressure to provide presents and party has notably increased stress levels resulting in a substantial rise in depression and suicide during this period.

Conclusion:

We conclude that the proper methodology to reverse the trajectory of the Christmas Stress Syndrome (CSS) is to return to the original purpose and meaning of the word we mistook for presents. Immanuel, עִמָּנוּאֵל (עימנואל), Emanuel, Imanuel; God with us; The Presence Of God.

If we will change our function, plan and purpose from presents to a celebration of His Presence, we will be able to change Christmas Stress Syndrome into Christmas Phenomenal Phenomena. And then, if we choose to give a gift to another, we will be free to oblige with a heart full of, Joy to the World.

It doesn’t matter if we give many presents or few. The kids remember our presence more than our presents. And that is what God did when He started this whole Christmas phenomena. He gave His Presence. Now let's go and do the same.

Remember, don't sweat the small presents just Enjoy His Presence.


Merry Christmas to all and to all a God bless us everyone.
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Endless Silent Night

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Like cackles from a henhouse, trivial comments fill the facebook page – except for his.



One here, “What did I do to deserve this,” and one there, “Why is this happening to me.” Lonely cries for help. Bobbing up and down, like flares from a lifeboat, in the middle of shark infested waters, he posts his comments.


You’ve seen him before, remember? He sat near the wall, all by himself. Everyone was smiling, eating and laughing – except him. He just pushed food back and forth with his fork. You wondered if you should do something to cheer him up, just say hi, or simply tell him to have a nice day. But, you were busy. Me too.


And he silently screamed for help, all alone in a crowded room.


He keys in questions, but what he really means to say is a statement, “I’m dying. Please help.” Desperate for an answer he rephrases and sends out another SOS. “I pray and pray every day for this pain to go away …this is so heartbreaking… not being able to see or hear or talk to my kids is killing me… I don't know what to do… I just wanna give up and forget everything.”

He pulls painful breath through heavy air, and prays for this endless silent night to end. Christmas glitter only rips opens and salts the wound.

Finally despair gives way to fear, and fear, to fight-or-flight: “I CAN’T TAKE THIS #!% NO MORE. I HOPE SOMETHING HAPPENDS SOON.


He spells happens: happends. Probably a typo, but an accurate description of his hearts’ cry: whatever is happening must END soon.


His friends reply with words of comfort… “Everything’s gonna work out… Stay strong bud…Hang in there…You’re a lot stronger than you think…Love You.”


I figured maybe we could talk, so I sent my own message.


“I just read you're goin' through a hard time - call me. I've been in your shoes and know the choking feeling of pain. There is a way to ease this and in the long run honor your children. I'll be praying for you.”


He called. I drove up to the little country church where it was quiet, and I could be alone, and talk on the phone. I sat in the parking lot and for an hour or so we burned up the phone. We talked, and talked and talked.


And then we prayed.


We finished praying. He said, “Wow, I’ve never heard one that long before. And um…maybe it worked.” And the phone went silent for a moment or two. “Because, I got a couple tears.”


I failed to stifle a chuckle and said, “The length of the prayer doesn’t matter, but the depth of God’s love does. And that’s, plenty, deep, enough to cross this river. And if I was better at prayin’ it wouldn’t have taken so long. Sorry.”


We cackled a little like facebook-chickens and said our good-byes. Sometime during our call, night had fallen. I stared out the windshield into the starry night, the endless silent night, and felt peace and prayed he would find the same.  

Later that evening I saw him post again on facebook. Only this time it wasn’t flares from a sinking lifeboat, but fireworks from a Celebration Cruise: “I guess praying does work cuz I got a call from my kids. I talked to them for about an hour. I will be seeing them this weekend. They are coming to stay with daddy, I am so happy.”


Prayer works. God cares. He does, He really does.


But, I’m not so naïve as to think all of life’s problems are settled after one pep-talk and a prayer. Life isn’t quite that simple.


Life is like trying to wrap a puppy for Christmas. It doesn’t sit nice and quiet in a pretty little box, with a pretty little bow under a pristine tree. The puppy shreds the paper, pees on the presents and runs off with the angel-tree-topper knocked off the tilting tree by Uncle Bob and his eggnog. Wrinkled paper, bows and ribbons litter the floor and the kids play with the box more than the toy…


But, in the midst of all the chaos there is a song playing, a place of quiet rest, a place near to the heart of God where a Silent Night, is a Holy Night, where all is calm, and all is bright, where glory streams and angels sing, where Loves Pure Light brings sleep in heavenly peace.


God's gift is good tidings of great joy, to all people; Immanuel : God with us.

When we spend time with The Answer, the questions don’t seem so hard.


He cares for you, He really does.


Have a merry, a very merry Christmas.

This is a part of:

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The First Christmas Tree

                                                                The

                                           First

                                    Christmas

    Tree…

Stripped of leaves – bare of branches

The Gift lay not under – but on that tree

The star

a cruel

crown

And

One

Light

hung

down

Red stripes dried

On that tree – the Gift died…

The First Gift given – for us, He Is Risen

The Train

We're in Rising Fawn, GA. We're here to watch our son-in-law, Kenny, graduate from SLTC (Southeast Lineman Training Center). Since a boy he's always wanted to be a lineman, "It's just something I've always wanted to do" he says. His previous job had dwindled to almost nothing and he figured, "it's now or never." And so, here we are at the end of his four months of intensive pole climbing and electrical gobble-de-gook-learning. We're here to encourage, to congratulate but mostly to spoil the grandkids.

From the deck of this trailer, rented out for SLTC students, I'm surrounded by what looks like foothills to some mountain range, which I should know the name of, but I probably skipped that day of school. I lean against the rail and take it all in. The fading green grass, the grey remains of fallen autumn, the white house with the wrap-around porch on the distant hill, like brush strokes on a water color canvas they all sweep upward into the grey-blue painted sky. An icy wind slaps me from my warm musing of the mountain.

And I hear it, the thing that fascinates my two-year-old grandson, Peyton, most – the train. I decide to walk the hundred yards or so and see what fascinates this child so.

 She whistles to me and I hustle down the hill. I feel her vibration when I reach the track. Now rather than a faint whistle she screams, "GET OUT OF THE WAY, I'M COMING THROUGH." I stand close and click camera's shutter as she clacks down the track like thunder. Her whistling wind blows off my hat and pushes me back. I can't believe how fast she flies.

Train cars slap by all in a blur…like the years of my life, the thought occurs.

I'm too close and they're too fast, to see anything clear. All I can do is feel the railcars wind pushing, and the rumble like thunder under my feet.

And then she's gone. Her thunderous rumble reduces to the hum of a slowing ceiling-fan. Her tracks lay bare, still and quiet, unchanged, exactly the same as before she thundered through tooting her own whistle in all of her glory. Nothing here to show of her passing. Nothing.

Is it that way with me? Will there be nothing here to show of my passing? Empty tracks. Empty.

Mountains un-climbable surround me, unbendable steel rails lie before me, cold and hard. I'm cold, and sad at the parallel. Life slaps by too fast like cold steel screaming through the night and no one is awake to hear – no one wakes to listen. I'm alone.

I wonder about those who have wandered this track before me. Have they too felt the brevity of life? After the whistle, the wind and the thunder, all remains are still and quiet. Two rails ramble through these hills as far as I can see. Where do they go? Where do they lead? Is there a destination? Or do they just ramble on eternally?

I decide to walk the track. And I find a big rusty nail, a spike. This spike is used to hold the track in place. The track is used to carry the train across terrain it could not otherwise travel. The track directs and steers and stays. It lays, unchanged, unmovable. It does nothing, it does everything. And now I see a beam, a discarded beam used to lay under the tracks, used to accept the spike that holds the track.

And now what's that I hear?
A-Still-Small-Voice, a distant thunder.
"I accepted the spike
and carried the beam.
To carry you across terrain
you could not otherwise travel.
I direct
and steer
and stay.
I lay down My life
to give you safe passage
over the hills and through the night."

And I hear it… again, the distant thunder down the tracks. I watch her one more time. This time I focus, I look close. I tie my eyes to one railcar coming fast. My eyes grasp and pull my head around as she speeds past. I see it clear, The Answer. In blood red the artist's graffiti fancifully written: Jesus Loves You.

And the rumble and thunder become a gentle familiar hum. I know that sound. The track taps out the chorus and the whistle keeps perfect tune. I sang it as a child in Sunday School, Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…

Maybe that's what fascinates Peyton so, maybe he can hear the song too. He can't read, but he can see Jesus Loves You.

~

This post is also shared with a train load of inspiring posts at:

Young America

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“It’s across the road from The Depot Diner. You can’t miss it.” I hate it when they say that, because I can usually figure out a way to prove them wrong, and miss it. But this time I didn’t. Then again, considering the size of Rising Fawn Georgia it’s hard to miss anything, since you can stand in one spot and see from end to end.


“We’re so glad ya’ll are here this morning.” The small country church greeters made us feel right at home with their southern charm. We sat near the back but we were the center of attention when the singing ended. I think nearly every person in the church looped around to shake our hands and ask us “Where ya’ll from?” and tell us “We’re so glad ya’ll are here this mornin’.” Yep, they sure made us feel welcome.

Before the Preacher started preaching a young man from Young America Ministries out of Chattanooga Tennessee spoke.

“Young America Ministries is located at what you might call Ground Zero in the war for our teens. We go to the homeless, the orphaned, the gang-bangers and the street smart. Week after week they come, from the highways and byways, the alleys and street corners they come. Sometimes our task seems overwhelming and daily we are faced with situations that we can’t handle on our own strength, be we know where our help comes from, and we know The Answer His name is Jesus!”

“Our main focus at Young America is to meet young people where they are, show them the Truth of God’s Word, and demonstrate the love of Jesus. We are called to plant the Seeds of Truth and Love, and pray for God to give the increase.”

He told us about how the teens were so looking forward to summer camp. But due to a lack of funding the camp was canceled. They decided to reschedule a winter retreat. My wife and I didn’t need to pray about it, we didn’t need to talk it over, we said yes, when he asked if anyone would like to sponsor a child for the upcoming retreat.


That day was Sunday. Monday, several hundred miles away, a youth minister said he felt led-of-the-Lord to pay for our daughter, Kayla, to go to a winter conference in Kansas City, Missouri. Ironically, the costs for the two different youth events, was the same. Kayla didn't even consider going, figured she couldn't afford it. And who would watch her two small boys while she was away? They had it all worked out, sitters for the kids and all.

Some call this kind of thing coincidence I call it God-Incidence.

As Kayla told me the story, I heard a Quiet Voice say, “You take care of My kids, and I’ll take care of yours.” 

We were just visitors, passing through, but God knew, He always knows. I love it when He shows up like that...I think He loves it too.

Seek ye first the  Kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you. Mt. 6:33

For more information about Young America Ministries click here.

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This is a part to the new Wednesday gathering GOD-BUMPS & GOD-INCIDENCES at Jennifer Dukes Getting Down With Jesus. Click button below to read more God-Incidences.



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Going Home

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In this place I stay

It doesn’t feel like home

So I know I’ll be leaving

To another place I know, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing through

So I don’t mind

If the bed’s hard

Or if the foods cold

I’ll make do, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing through

I’m from a place that’s Royal

There everything’s the Best

But for now it doesn’t matter

I’ll just wait here in Rest, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing through

While I’m waiting

If I can help you

I’ll be of service

If there’s anything I can do, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing though

You go ahead of me if you want to

I don’t mind the waiting

I’m in no hurry now

But soon I’ll be flying, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing though

If you need it you can have it,

I have all I need at Home

There’s nothing here

I hold too tightly, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing though

Why sure I have time

If you want to stay awhile

We can talk of where I’m going

Where Love wears no watch you know, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing though

You want to come along?

Great, but the ride’s not free

You must exchange all decaying

For that which you cannot see, because

This is not our Home

We’re just passing though

When all around is sorrow

How do I hold onto Joy?

It’s not too hard to find

If you look beyond what you can see, because

This is not my Home

I’m just passing though

Soon I’ll be leaving

And I pray that you’ll come along with me too.

~

The Midnight Cry

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No man knows the day or the hour

but watch because you can know

the eleventh hour.

The times and the seasons click by

like a clock tick -tock, tick-tock

Love doesn't wear a watch

But in the fullness of time

the clock will strike stop

and eternity will begin

Make ready for the Midnight Cry



~

The Midnight Cry By Greg Day, Chuck Day

I hear the sound

of a mighty rushing wind

and it's closer now

than it's ever been

I can almost hear the trumpet

as Gabriel sounds the chord

at the midnight cry

we'll be going home

When Jesus steps out

on a cloud to call His children

the dead in Christ shall rise

to meet Him in the air

and then those that remain

will be quickly changed

at the midnight cry (at the midnight cry)

when Jesus comes again

I look around me

I see prophecies fulfilling

and signs of the times

they're appearing everywhere

I can almost hear the Father

as He says

Son go get your children

at the midnight cry

the Bride of Christ will rise

When Jesus steps out

on a cloud to call His children

the dead in Christ shall rise

to meet Him in the air

and then those that remain

will be quickly changed

at the midnight cry (at the midnight cry)

when Jesus comes again

And then those that remain

will be quickly changed

at the midnight cry (at the midnight cry)

when Jesus comes again

at the midnight cry (at the midnight cry)

when Jesus comes again

when Jesus comes again
~


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If you'd like prayer leave comment below or email: dougspurling@aol.com 

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