As we navigate the road of life…

Dear Readers;

This journey we call life is moving faster than we expected, isn’t it? Daily our challenge is to rein in the galloping moments. Our focus on the eternal destination must be protected.

We will never forget Reverend Johnny King’s message at West Coast Conference: Sing Me One More Song About Heaven. That message drove home the truth: many of us have lost the focus on Heaven. Our worship songs no longer speak of the streets of gold or the Lamb as the Light. We do not focus on how everybody will be happy over there, or how they tell us of an unclouded day.

So, the tragic result is that the next generation are raised up know worship as the beat of a fast song instead of the depth of verse after verse of memorized lyrics about the glory land way. And we sleep as it happens.

I am writing this note so those who get it will search for the old hymnals and pull them out for their children and grandchildren. Let them learn to speak the words and sing the melody of the songs about our eternal home. Give them hope of the victory in Jesus of which we will one day partake. For, when the role is called up yonder and we are there, we will understand it all by and by. The children need this hope and the joy these lyrics impart.

Please do not let these great songs die with the baby-boomer generation of Christians nearing their reward. Soon and very soon we are going to see The King, and we want to see you all, young and younger, cross the mighty Jordan on that great homecoming day. We get what we think about. Energy follows thought. Let’s think and sing about heaven.

I love the modern songs, many of them are very edifying; it is the old paths, the ancient landmarks that we must look to, however if we are to preserve this great truth, and triumph in these great and final days.

Please, sing me one more song about heaven, and teach them to the children. We are running out of time. Look up.

Deep Calleth unto Deep

There is a place in prayer where all the fake goes away and we stand before God in complete honesty and openness.  This is the true place of repentance.  When God sees this honest inner searching, it gets his attention.  He draws nearer to us as our honest repentance draws us nearer to him.

It is here, this nearer relationship, that prayers for others can be fervent and effective.  As long as we have the slightest chunk of pride, arrogance, indignation, or anger clogging up the well of life, the depth is missing and the prayer less than effective.

When we pray, do we ask amiss desiring to consume the answer according to our own lusts?  Do I really pray for my lost loved ones because my heart breaks to think of them in the eternal realm of the damned?  Or do I pray for them to return because it will make me look good?  Do I pray to be led to a lost and hungry soul to teach because of the burning burden birthed in the depth of my prayer life, or because growing the Church is my obligatory calling?

It is  time to perfect with carefulness the depth of our prayer and to truly seek God with a heart of repentance.

Those baptized in Jesus name are the ones who are called by his name.  Look slowly at that important chronicles verse: “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”  Of all the times in history, America needs deep prayer!  Of all the times in history; of all the people and generations, this time and this generation demands our best.  For this is the generation upon whom the ends of the world are come.

America has turned its back on God.  We have removed him from the schools; from the hearts of the next generation.  America has killed its unborn for years, and now openly turns its back on Israel.  Just how much do we expect God to tolerate before he dishes out the judgment our nation deserves?

Yet, his mercy endures unto al generations IF those called by HIS NAME will repent, turn to him in humility, and PRAY!

There is a rhetorical question asked in the scripture.

Does the crown endure unto every generation?  The understood answer is, no.  Perhaps we are the last generation that will carry this crown of salvation.  Perhaps it is truly up to us to usher in his return AND A NATIONAL HEALING AND REVIVAL with our devotion.  In any case, it falls to us to carry the torch, to pass the sword to the younger runners, and to see to it that this Apostolic Gospel endures.  This great and lofty responsibility is born on the bent shoulders of our deepest repentance.

Let the spot light of the Holy Ghost search out every little thing that might displease the One for whom we live.  And may He grant us repentance as we seek it with all of our hearts of pure intent.  In Jesus Name; and then open the windows of Apostolic Revival to heal, and save.  Our hour is NOW; before it comes that no man can work.  Let us seek Him.

Some ideas for


 Schedule special times to pray deeply.

 Live your day with a goal to pray.

 Eat your meals slowly and thankfully.

 Leave bibles open around your house and pause to read a verse or two.

 Ask Jesus to lead you to a hungry soul before you leave your house each day.

 Pray for the saints and your Pastor.

 Use the concordance to look up the meaning of some biblical names and places.

 Weep over your bible in prayer.

 Repent and search the self for flaws.

 Repent again.

Who are “They” Anyway?

We all know people that trumpet their woes in life.  Shirking personal responsibility, fault is placed elsewhere as these people puff out their dissatisfaction with this or that circumstance, accusing the faceless, nameless “they.”

“They cheated me!”

“Landlords are unfair, they are all alike!”

“They lied to me!”

“They will be sorry they messed with me!”

“No one at that place cares; they are just after my money.”

And on and on it goes; the heart expressions of those with the mentality of a victim.  Their sense of reality says everyone is out to get the poor, misunderstood innocent in this evil and heartless world.

The victim mentality is forever seeking an adversary; looking for a fight; determined to validate the unfairness upon which their reality rests.  In recent years, this character trait seems to be more and more pervasive.  Victims make excuses. Responsibility is avoided by magnifying imaginary blame, and by pointing fingers at the nameless, faceless ‘they.’  And, it becomes a habit.

Lots of people jump into the victim box unconsciously.  So addictive is the focus on perceived injustice and the foot-stomping adrenalin produced by the same, that victim-hood becomes a literal ‘drug of choice.’  This just makes me want to stand on something tall and shout to the whole wide world “You are not a victim!”

For in truth, the imagined ‘they’ so targeted for blame are actually just other people doing their best to succeed.  ‘They’ have faces and families; ideas, plans, hearts and souls.  ‘They’ have decisions to make, and sometimes those decisions are difficult.  Here is an example:

Recently, we made a purchase.  We paid half down and financed the remainder with a promised 0% interest.  Next, ‘they’ wanted our checking account information so the remaining payments could be automatically withdrawn.  This is a practice in which we never participate, so a phone call was made requesting a coupon payment book.  ‘They’ said that would be fine but would add a 2% interest on the balance.  At that point, listen, at that point…I had a decision to make.  Was I going to puff and snort, pay the 2% and accuse ‘them’ to any listening ear for the next six months?  The victim mentality would have done that.  Or, was I going to gently but firmly stand my ground?

“That isn’t going to work,” I heard myself say. “We do not participate in automatic withdrawal with any company, and we also will not be paying a 2% interest.”  My tone was soft, kind and determined.  I was not starting a fight, looking for an adversary, or displaying an ugly spirit.  The truth was simply spoken, and the ball passed to the ‘they’ on the other end of the call.  We tossed the ball back and forth a few times as ‘they’ stated their position, and I restated ours.  Always my gentle but firm tone was maintained.  Then ‘they’ said, “Let me see what I can do and I will call you right back.”  The coupon book is in the mail, the worker went home that night satisfied that he had had a good day at work, and we will pay 0% interest on the remainder of the purchase.

What is more important is the fact that no one was victimized.  No one walked away with an ax to grind and adrenalin pumping.  We both won.  The issue was solved for us, and ‘they’ felt satisfied in their customer service.  All is well.  Here is another example:

As people go through life working for others, they often have no concept of what it takes to own and manage a business.  Having never made a payroll, some employees are quick to blame employers for any transgression; real or imagined.  When payroll taxes go up and less money appears on their check, it is the evil employer who is ‘cheating.’

Some employees do not realize the cost just to stay in business.  The insurance and paperwork involved; the taxes and regulations imposed, and the responsibility for the health and safety of each worker falls on the shoulders of the ‘they’ that sign the front side of paychecks.  Employers are constantly looking over their shoulders to make sure every i is dotted and every t is crossed.  Running a business is a challenge and a huge responsibility and cannot succeed without loyal and talented employees.  But there must also be an element of trust so no one feels like the victim. This mutual trust is a treasure born of mutual respect and effort; and comes from a heart of love, not a mind set on accusations.

The difference between a victim mentality and the mind of a victor is as stark as the difference between light and dark.  Each of us must decide to be victorious.  Accusing the faceless, nameless ‘they’ is easy.  Assuming responsibly for our own behavior, now there’s the proof of character!  Maturity derived from the soul-searching intent to give love, respect and trust makes us all victorious.


‘Grandma’ is Not an Adjective

‘Grandma’ Is Not an Adjective

 “Oh no, dear, my hands are too old now…”

“Please try, Grandma, please play for me again…”

She was ninety years old that day in the retirement center.  How I loved her! All of my life was filled with her piano music because that is how she made a living during those dark days of the great depression, and that is how she calmed her mind and made her granddaughter smile as I grew.  My Grandma, sustained by rugged faith in God, weathered incredible storms in her long life.  The youngest of twelve children, she came out west with her family in the early 1900’s.  Her husband made peanut brittle in a big copper kettle that stands proudly in my living room today.  He sold it along with tamales and nickel hamburgers to all who would stop along the Everett-Bothell highway.  And on Friday and Saturday, after dinner, Grandma would play in the honky-tonks and make five dollars a night.  She loved to tell me these stories over and over again.

 Grandma bore three children, two boys and a girl.  Her daughter was my mother.  From the time I first saw her beautiful face; my Grandma had a smile for me.  She loved with abandon and there is no memory of complaint.  I could do no wrong in her eyes, and that day I asked her to play for me, she, as always, obliged.

 Slowly she bent to pull the bench away and I quickly leaned to help.  My Grandma sat at the piano one more time before she died and she played for me with stiff fingers a melody punctuated by knobby knuckles.  She missed several notes and struck incomplete cords but the music rang through the years of my heart like the world’s best symphony.

Her piano rests in my family room now, silent and out of tune.  How I wish I could see her strong back once more shadow the keys and her ready smile beam as the bogey-wogey rolled.  You are greatly missed, dear lady, and even though you have been gone these many years, tears flow as I remember you.  No, dear reader, ‘Grandma’ is not an adjective!

When I was so little, and wept for long hours for my missing daddy, it was Grandma who held me and rocked me against her beating heart until my sobs were quiet.  She knew my hurt.  She hurt with me, and we were bound together with closeness so precious that no thing could ever compare.  Sometimes I just sit and touch the keys on her piano and remember, and weep.  As I grew, so did her love for me.  She warned me to be a good girl, but I wasn’t.  I didn’t see her often enough to hold me together, and the hurt won.  As the years unwound, I fought back my loneliness with teenage rebellion and wildness. Then Grandpa died way too early.  Now, I had NO man in my life at all.  But, Grandma came to live with us! What joy!

 “Honey, we just need to pray,” were her favorite words to me.  And when only distance from home would calm the craziness and everyone wrote me off for lost, it was the prayers of Grandma that held me by a thread to sanity.  Somewhere I have a few letters she wrote me during those months of running.  Always positive and full of love, her words guided me back to a faith I barely remembered.  She always spoke of God.  Her prayers and her love of the Bible formed a net that caught my falling soul.  No, my friend, ‘Grandma” is not an adjective!

 She married badly, I think now, just to relieve my mom of the responsibility of caring for her.  Then, when they moved to a city to the north, I helped her load the van.  She would watch his moves carefully, and when he was out of ear-shot she would quietly slip a treasure into my hand and say, “Here, darling, put this in your car quickly.”  He was a selfish and greedy man that broke her heart many times; the extent of which I knew only after her passing.

 It was then my mother told me how he would make her buy her own food from her meager monthly check, and how he took her name off the checking account one time when she got sick.  I guess that day she secretly gave me some of her treasures, I knew things really were not right with this man.  Had I known fully, perhaps I could have made a difference.  But, alas, regrets pile themselves higher and higher when beloveds pass away.

Through it all, you never heard her complain.  I just remember her smile and cheerful ways that always encouraged me and all of us.  How I miss her!  Interestingly, when I attended the funeral for this selfish man she married, there was only one other person in the room besides his equally evil daughter and her strange son.  I was glad to be there though because she would have wanted me to be there to show respect.  That is the kind of woman that influenced me so deeply.  “Grandma” is surely not an adjective.

She held my two baby sons and watched them grow.  Then she got to hold our little daughter and know her for a couple of years before she left us forever.  I gave our daughter her name in the middle to keep the legacy alive, and vicariously forced the child to master the piano in her honor.  And master it she has!  Grandma would be so very happy to hear how lovely her great granddaughter plays.  Perhaps she hears from heaven.  I do hope so.

Recently, while shopping together, my daughter who bears this legacy frowned at a choice I made in clothing: “No, Mother, that is very ‘Grandma’ looking.” All the tender moments with Grandma flashed in my mind.  All the happy memories of her laughter and her love froze me in place.  She taught me to play poker and made me butter and sugar sandwiches.  She made my bed for me so I could go out to play.  She spoiled me and prayed for me.  She loved me when no one else did, and she listened and believed and gave me faith in my storms of life.  The remark was not intentionally offensive but I wanted to shout, “’Grandma’ is NOT an adjective.”

Grandma is an angel I hope to hug again one day.  Thank you for loving me, dear Grandma and until that reunion over there, I hope to be a little like you to the grandchildren I adore down here.