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Enter into the Kingdom by the Blood of the Lamb |
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Most Recent Post In many dissertations, parables, and examples Jesus, God the Son, declares the nature, reality and overshadowing presence of the Kingdom of God. From the time I received Jesus Christ as my Savior at the age of five and through the precious washing of the Lamb through baptism when I was twelve, I have been on a journey to find my mission, purpose and ultimate deliverance in God's ever present Kingdom. Beyond our primary purpose, which is to Worship the Lord our God in Spirit and in truth, there is for each of His disciples a mission. For those who have entered into the Kingdom of Light since 1948, the year the reformation of Israel as a Nation occurred, we have been hyper aware of the historical empires who have tried to take the Kingdom of Heaven by force, and even more aware in these "Last Days" of those minor empires and warring factions both domestic and abroad, who are burning down everything to take Heaven and make it their own. But even as Lucifer failed and was cast out of heaven, so are pagan emperors failing even as their lives are wasting away to nothing. Our last mission as the Church of Christ is to invite men and women to give up their own devices for creating a "Heaven On Earth," and come to the One who actually rules everything. Jesus is coming back. He may return in the next moment, the next hour or the next day. No one knows. But we are the generation that has seen the fulfillment of nearly all the prophecies that proceed His coming back for His Bride. To God, the Sovereign and all powerful God of the Universe be all praise, honor and glory. May God bless all those who read, understand and are putting into action the applications for life that may be found written in God's scriptures. "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and sowed in his field, which is indeed the least of all the seeds; but when it is grown it is greater than the herbs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and nest in its branches." Jesus around the Sea of Galilee [Matthew 13:31-32 English Standard Version (ESV) of the Bible.] Psalm 137:1 Psalm 137:1 There we sat down by the rivers of Babylon; also, we wept when we remembered Zion. 2 We hung our lyres on the willows in its midst. 3 For there our captors demanded a song from us; and our plunderers demanded gladness, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. 4 How shall we sing Jehovah's song in a foreign land? 5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget. 6 If I do not remember you, let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth; if I do not ...if I do not prefer Jerusalem above my chief joy. 7 Remember, O Jehovah, the sons of Edom in the day of Jerusalem; who said, 'Make it bare! Make it bare, even to the foundation of it!' 8 O daughter of Babylon, O destroyed one! Blessed is he who will repay to you your reward which you rewarded to us. 9 Blessed is he who seizes and dashes your little ones against the stones. Next Entries |
 Here is President John Kennedy’s last state of the Union speech, that proclaims the rise of a New Camelot, where all despotic foes will be beaten because of the “goodness,” of the American people, the sacrificing citizens of a great nation, who would be an ally to all “good nations” all around the world. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  On this day, November 22, 1963, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Texas at 12:30 p.m.. He died 30 minutes later. The evil actors in the assassination were never brought to justice. Not long following that dark day, a whole generation began to rebel against the whole notion of President Kennedy’s vision for a New Camelot. Long forgotten black listed professors, on liberal college campuses across America, welcomed with open arms the first wave of future socialist, and communist advocates. The war between democracy and totalitarianism was embedded into the fabric of American politics forever. President Kennedy’s dream of a society that would ask “...what they could do for their government,” became a society of “what can my government do for me.” The federal government was more that eager to respond. Hundreds of new, federally mandated departments, have been added, empowering the government to be in every aspect of the American household, easily tracking citizens through their trusted communication devices. We no longer have to wonder what living in the totalitarian governments of the “third world,” of the 60’s was like. We are living it right now. You don’t think so? Try not to sell your goods or services to someone you don’t like or disagree with religiously, culturally or socially (Colorado) and see if you are not hauled into the American court system. And if you can’t afford the millions of dollars to defend your actions, guess what? Well at least you’ll probably be able to get a job a Walmart. (At least at Christmas time) But your dream of the great American ideal of free market bliss will be crushed, and you’ll just be a fading memory on the Main Streets, America. Good night, dear sweet Camelot.  ~Kenword~   ![Merit Badge in Inspirational W G
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 2 Thessalonians 1:3-4 3 We ought always to give thanks to God for you, brothers, as is right, because your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of every one of you for one another is increasing. 4 Therefore we ourselves boast about you in the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith in all your persecutions and in the afflictions that you are enduring. COMMENTARY  In a recent post by Jay Sekulow, ACLJ Chief Counsel, this was what was reported:“Angry atheists and anti-Christian extremists have long been abusing the federal court system, rushing to court claiming to be offended by public prayer and religious free exercise. When a crime spree gripped a community, a prayer vigil was organized and city officials, police, and chaplains attended the event. Individuals opposed to prayer sued, and a federal court ruled that the public prayer was unconstitutional.” Why should the atheists and anti-Christian groups care about some people praying if indeed there is no God? What do they think is going to happen? Anything? If there is no God then aren’t the people just challenging the air with their petition in the hopes that something non-existent would move to end crime in their city? In fact if they believe that there is no God, why don’t they listen, publish what is said by the believers, and then write scathing words of rebuke in articles and essays? Shouldn’t the world know how useless the religious exercise of those misguided followers of Christ is? Isn’t the foolish exercise of any group fodder for satire, theater of the absurd, and comedy?Or maybe, they have just as much faith as those entering into the courts of heaven to seek God’s favor. Maybe their faith in a loving God is observed by the angels and carries as much weight to reform a situation the law abiding citizens of a city can no longer tolerate. Perhaps their hearts are just as pained by the acts of violent criminals in their neighborhoods. There are whole sectors in this land of the free where people cannot safely go at any hour of the day. Law enforcement departments only go into those sectors when a crime has been committed. Even then they go in with an army of police because of the violent nature of the territory. These are sectors of cities like Chicago, San Francisco, Seattle, St. Louis and Los Angeles. Meanwhile saints of God go in and out of those areas every day, praying for the sick, preaching the good news of a risen savior, bringing provisions to the homeless and taking people to their doctors. Maybe the atheists and anti-Christians have actually read the end of the "book," the "great book," the "Holy Book," the Bible. Maybe they think that if they shut the mouths of the "people of the book," then the apocalypse promised in the final chapters of the "book" will not happen? Meanwhile anti-Christian groups burn up precious public funds in the court systems. Judges who could care less, review the case. They shut down a prayer meeting, which, by the way, has already been sanctioned as constitutional by the Supreme Court. If the federal judge had any snap at all he or she could request the atheists and antichrists to just remain a bit more patient. A judge with any wisdom could consult the "book" or someone who lives by the "book" and say with confidence that "they should just be patient for a few more hours, days, weeks, months, or maybe years, because, according to the "book" the praying saints of the Most High God will be leaving this world. Not just a few hundred martyrs here or there, or a couple of elderly folk moving from one realm to the next, but by the millions, all at once in the course of a 24 hour period all around the globe. Then you all will be safe from the petitions going up daily to God, because the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ will be gone, and you won’t have to suffer with open air prayer meetings anymore." Of course Christians get a big buzz by anything that goes to court and then they smile and go about their business. It is quite probable, as American justice goes, that the judge knows that no matter the ruling of any court, Christians are going to pray wherever they feel compelled to pray. This fact about Christians is in the "book," too. Atheists and anti-christs obviously believe in prayer as much as the most devout religions zealot, otherwise they would not be so supercharged to shut it down; shut the doors of every church; and shut up the singers who lift their voices in praise. God put the knowledge of all truth in the hearts of every soul born since the resurrection of Christ from the dead. It is even in the DNA of the most devout anti-Christian. They know God will indeed answer the prayers of the righteous. They know too that this is the hour in which Christians will be escalating their devotion to prayer! May His Kingdom Come!The Judgment at Christ's Coming 2 Thessalonians 1:5-12 5 This is evidence of the righteous judgment of God, that you may be considered worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are also suffering—6 since indeed God considers it just to repay with affliction those who afflict you, 7 and to grant relief to you who are afflicted as well as to us, when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels 8 in flaming fire, inflicting vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. 9 They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might, 10 when he comes on that day to be glorified in his saints, and to be marveled at among all who have believed, because our testimony to you was believed. 11 To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, 12 so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ. Thank You Holy Father for always hearing the prayers of Your children. As the workers of unrighteousness work fruitlessly against Your Kingdom of Light may You have Your perfect way in every city in America today. Where there is pain, suffering and disease, please bring relief. Where there is violent crime, send Your angels to tear down the systems of assault, rape, and murder. Empower the law enforcement agencies to do their work flawlessly today, and to be fully funded to keep the peace in every neighborhood across this land. In Jesus Name. Amen.~Kenword~ ♫~ Kenword~♫ (101@100513)_(101x2@030614)__________ (YCM_@122313) |
I was taught as a boy to open the car door for my mother. At first I thought that an odd work for me to have on my to-do list because the handle of the door of our yellow 1957 Ford Ranch wagon was just below my eye level, a level at which my mother's hand could have more easily reached and opened for herself. The door was huge and heavy and I had to make sure I got to the car long before my family because this chore could take a few awkward minutes to accomplish with my slight body and skinny arms.  It took time to learn that "door opening" was a courtesy and did not just apply to cars, but also included house-doors, store-doors, and church-doors. It was not in my intuition to naturally do courteous tasks. In fact it was more in my nature to avoid work and play hard at all costs. It was years of hard coaching from my parents to shape a world view that mankind was created to be for other people. It was through the church-doors that I learned this truth and one thing more, the Kingdom of Heaven is here and now. In my little church in a valley of many churches our family, with all the other members of our congregation, would say these words of prayer that Jesus taught to his disciples: "Our Father in heaven, Hallowed be Your name. Your Kingdom come Your will be done On earth as it is in heaven" When I open the car door for my wife now, she smiles sweetly at me and thanks me. It turns out this courtesy is one of those things in life for which she has great appreciation. My heart to be courteous at all costs has made our relationship a loving and kind one. I would not have guessed it in all the years praying those words " Your Kingdom come" that these precious moments of giving kindness and receiving kindness are in truth part of God's plan for those who must dwell in an evil, corrupt and dying world. For those who run to the disasters and throw themselves in harms way, it is often as though they have the shield of heaven about them to rescue others while being themselves spared the ravages of plague, disease, and natural disaster. Through video capture devices we can even see the faces of those fighting the fires, cleaning up debris, tending to the injured, sick and dying. We can actually witness a bit of heaven at work here on earth. From a simple act of courtesy to amazing acts of heroism and selflessness, we witness and experience the answers to the prayers of generations of Christians who for hundreds of years every Saturday and Sunday lifted up their voices to implore the Creator of all things, the Father of Lights, to bless us here on earth with the monumental beauty, peace and majesty of His glorious heaven. For those who know Jesus as their Lord and Savior there is a place where all "good works done in secret" have become treasures stored up for an eternal life with our Father. (Matthew 6:19-20) And while this is an extraordinary revelation opened up to mankind during Jesus' teaching here on earth, the greater wonder is that there is a place called heaven where God lives, beyond the one bit of it we live in here on earth, where followers of Jesus will have eternal life with riches beyond the imagination of mankind. There is only one requirement to enjoy the eternal riches now and forever more and its not that hard. Call on the name of Jesus and be saved. He brings heaven to earth for those who ask. ~Kenword~ ♫~ Kenword~♫ (101@100513)_(101x2@030614)_(100x6@031820___ (YCM_@122313) |
The hum of mom’s Sunbeam mixer roused me from reading my Donald Duck comic book. It was a Saturday. Mom never baked on Saturday. It took me just five seconds to toss my comic and materialize in the kitchen. She smiled at me and gave me one of the beaters to lick. She took the other. The love for chocolate cake batter was something we shared. But I could not ever recall my mom baking on a Saturday.  Mom could always read my mind so she said with an unusual amount of tenderness, “I am making cup cakes for Reverend Foster’s memorial service. You remember we talked about the day he went to be in heaven?” I did recall the conversation. It had not occurred to me that there would be more to it than the sad prayer my father had made at dinner that night hoping that God would comfort Reverend Foster’s family and everyone in his flock. Amen. No one actually took me aside and talked about death and how it all works here on earth. But I had heard plenty about heaven. Growing up in a small town, it was the hottest topic in Sunday school. Thinking back on it now, I am not surprised. Many of my teachers and people we fellowshipped with at church had lost loved ones in World War II and the Korean War. One young couple’s child died with his aunt and uncle in a car accident. Heaven was a big thing when I was growing up, because in most towns in America in the sixties there were as many memorial services on a Saturday as there were weddings. The most classic teaching on heaven was done by Doc Withrow in my fourth grade Sunday School Class. It was from the book of Luke in the Bible. Jesus is talking to a lot of people who want to know what he is all about and he keeps deferring them to parables about this person or that person. Usually one gets the message and meaning of his teaching while the others do not. Doc Withrow always emphasized in his teaching that people could choose to accept a teaching or reject it. In Jesus’ day many applauded his teachings and came to know him as the son of God, many did not. Beginning in verse 19 in chapter 16 of the book of Luke, Jesus talks about heaven this way: There was a beggar named Lazarus and there was a rich man. They both die. Angels come and take Lazarus to be with Abraham, and as Doc Withrow explained, that means that the Angels took Lazarus to a wonderful place called heaven. There were many things to learn in this lesson, and, as Doc reminded us, Lazarus would have only been escorted by angels to heaven if he had received Jesus as his savior. So it became clear to me two things. First, there is a heaven where people who believed God’s promises to save them, are now living. Second, at the moment we take our last breath on earth, Angels come to take us directly to that place where Abraham now lives and that place is heaven. Jesus said in John 14:1-2 “Jesus said, “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God. And trust in me. 2 There are many rooms in my Father’s house. I would not tell you this if it were not true. I am going there to prepare a place for you." It is not hard to know that heaven is a perfect place prepared for those who have put their faith in the loving son of God, Jesus. He came to give us life and life eternal. For now the Kingdom of Heaven is a place where the believers who have passed from this life, now experience a holy, just, true and perfect God face to face. It all happens in a moment. I did not go to Reverend Foster’s memorial. But I did have two of mom’s cupcakes. To this day cupcakes remind me of heaven, the place where my mom now calls home. |
“I got four little verses for you here Skip.” Jerry pushed his Bible towards me. I had many other names, militarily speaking, but it was “Skip” that Jerry chose to call me as did most of the other guys in the Headquarters company of the 502 Infantry, Phu Bai Vietnam 1968-69. There were “four little verses” waiting for me every day. There were a lot of reasons why I never rejected his efforts to reform me. But I guess the main one was he was the best friend I'd had since Kim and I had a feeling he would be the last one for a long time to come. Jerry, wounded in a battle several months ago, served as a cook with me and eight other soldiers. He hoped to get healed up enough to rejoin his unit. In the mean time he was an agent from the Kingdom to remind me of the call that was on my life and the really, really, really big deal that it was to have such a call. His contribution to our hovel was a picture of his Mustang Mach 1, a picture of his girl friend Sheila, a record player, an album by Johnny Rivers and another by the Kingston Trio. In addition he had acquired a guitar and a Woody Guthrie songbook, by which he had learned to play and sing one song. This song I eventually began to hear even in my deepest moments of sleep. And of course there was his thirty-two pound King James Bible with which to enlighten my darkening soul. “Alright,” I said, “What's so important today?” “I thought about some of our conversations lately and I think you are making a mistake pealing off from the church.” Jerry was a church man. Like me he had grown up in church. Unlike me he was nearly a hundred feet tall and weighed almost 4 tons. He was clumsy with most things, but when crates, boxes and machinery needed to me moved he was a planetary force all his own. His thumb crumpled the page before me, but I could see he was pointing to 1 Timothy 4:13 – 16 so I picked up the book and read it out loud: “Till I come, give attendance to reading, to exhortation, to doctrine. Neglect not the gift that is in thee, which was given thee by prophecy, with the laying on of the hands of the presbytery. Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them; that thy profiting may appear to all. Take heed unto thyself, and unto the doctrine; continue in them: for in doing this thou shalt both save thyself, and them that hear thee.” I looked at my friend with “The Sneer” I had been practicing since joining the army but had thus far failed to perfect; so I suppose it was just my usual goofy stare. “Yeah,” I said. “So what. Paul was writing to Timothy not to me or anyone else.” I started to close the Bible but the meaty palm of his right hand stopped me. “Actually I think it is for you. It wouldn't be in the Bible if it was just a historical moment in the formation of the church. These verses seem to fit your situation perfectly.” Jerry picked up his Bible and stood up to his full gigantic height, his head just clearing the main beam of our hut. He read it emphatically back to me. “I'm telling you man, maybe the church you grew up in was overloaded with self righteous bigots who couldn't discern something in the Spirit if they had too, but your pastor had enough on the ball to see the gift that is in you.” A wry smile came over his whole face, like clouds clearing away before a full moon. “So it wasn't the “laying on of hands” or a “prophecy,” you experienced, but what if God was actually using him to speak a truth right into the middle of your life? What then? You shared a burger and a milk shake didn't you? That's a most holy presbytery in my book?” “Your a nut. You know that right?” “And you're a tough case. But I've got another dozen verses that will prove my point. You believe the Bible don't you. That its the truth. God's word and all that?” I wasn't sure. I certainly wasn't sure that something as holy as a communication from God would be coming from an ex-machine gunner like my friend Jerry. Besides I was pretty sure God was okay with my agreement with him that “someday I'd do what he wanted me to do.” At that moment I had one mission: to get back home with no additional holes in my skinny frame. As I was about to make my position clearer to my friend, Sergeant Blaine stuck his head in the back door of the hut and hollered at us. “Preach – you and Skip are on bunker 9 tonight. Relieve Delta's boys by 1800. Got it?” “We got it,” Jerry replied putting his Bible away. “Let's get chow.” Dinner was uneventful except that Jerry went back through the line three times, hoarding fried chicken parts and half a loaf of French bread in his back pack. I grabbed a couple of extra cupcakes myself. By 2200 hours we were content to listen to the guns firing a way off in the distance and finish up our early dinner. Flares had been popping off along the parameter since dark. “You sleep first,” Jerry said. This was my third watch with Jerry and I was comfortable with his direction. I had pulled guard duty with every other cook, clerk and motor pool guy in the battalion and they were all flaky in their knowledge of what to do if the enemy actually did show up some night. And with the growing acceptance of “dope smoking” and hard liquor drinking, I was truly glad to be on watch with the most sober person I had met in a long time. The first five rockets came into Camp Eagle at a little after 0100 hours. Before I was fully awake, six more hit, knocking out bunkers eight and seven to our right flank. The two rockets intended for our bunker fell short blasting dirt and steel straight into the upper sandbags of our pitiful outpost. Jerry shouted something that sounded like: “Praise Jesus Boy!” But I'm sure that couldn't be it. His weapon of choice was an M60 machine gun. He grabbed me up from the last garments of sleep and motioned to the pallet of ammo. “You keep the belts moving straight up out of those cans boy and reload the gun. Got it?” “Got it!” I shouted, and he took the massive weapon that looked like a play toy against his massive frame and soon the dirt at the base of some bushes a hundred yards down range was plowed and then the bushes themselves were pulverized by 300 hundred bullets. As the steel left the red hot barrel the bunker filled with acrid smoke. In seconds another hundred rounds sprayed his field of vision. “Do you see anything?” I yelled up to Jerry's position. “No. But we'll keep laying down fire. Gunships should be responding in a few minutes.” Actually it was seconds. Three Cobra gunships hovered above our bunker and the 2 bunkers to our right. They lit up the whole combat arena with the wrath of America and the frustrations of pilots too long away from home. Whole dragon-fly shaped dancing arsenals unleashed hell fury on whatever was left of the Viet Cong assault team. Relief from the M60's smoke came as a soft breeze blew through Bunker 9. Jerry knelt in prayer too soft to hear above the whop, whop, whop of gunship rotors and the blazing gunfire, and occasional explosions. But it seemed as though he was praying the Twenty-third Psalm. I whispered it myself, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want...” I had been spared, once again, a direct encounter with the enemy. I was a short-timer now (under 60 days before going home) and this would be the last time of being in harm's way. It was years later, long after saying good bye to my friend and comrade, that I realized God had given me another angel to save my life. And even now I smile at that revelation. Instead of the usual stoners, alkies, and hop heads I usually pulled guard duty with, God gave me a mighty warrior whose heart broke for the enemy under his weapon's scathing fire, but who never-the-less protected valiantly his brothers in arms. So Jerry, my brother, even as you cruise California Highway 1 in your Mustang Mach 1 with your girl Sheila by your side, I remember you with this prayer and your favorite song. May the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, bless you and keep you. May He cause His Light to shine upon you, your children and your children’s children. Be prosperous in all you do and I will surely see you on the other side, as the Lord wills. Amen. |
My first suspension from school (November 1957) for fighting put me quite unintentionally into my mother’s week day routines one of which, having coffee and chat with three ladies from church, was the most excruciating. Tuesday and Thursday I was fawned over by two of the oldest ladies on earth during the commercial breaks of their favorite day-time Television shows. When they weren’t commenting on my precious looks, personality and manners they were scolding me for fighting at school. The rest of the days I sat near my mom in our claustrophobic living room with its browns, lavenders and teal furnishings and watched television. It was a dreary programming for an nine year old boy. “The Price Is Right,” "Queen For A Day" “Secret Storm,” and the “Edge Of Night,” merged their various sorrows into one single voice that always seemed to whisper, “watch me, buy me, possess me.”   By Friday, 4 p.m. I was aware, deep in my soul that Sunday was coming and that Doc Withrow, Mr. Fourth Grade Sunday School Master, would have something to say about the new god of America – materialism. I was right. Of course I was. Mrs. Esther Withrow was the treasured wife of Doc and had relayed with intricate detail the gory story of my suspension from school. He was also informed of the nature of my punishment and was concerned about what kind of useless, materialistic voodoo had infested my brain cells and thought waves. “Your life is not to be given over to the things. We will accumulate things. You'll get things. But no thing must ever own you. To crave things is to forget the one who owns all things. He is a good Father and will give you what you need along the way. But God has made a place for you in heaven and that is where your treasure should be. Where your thinking should be.” He opened his Bible and read from chapter 13 and verse 22 of Matthew. The parable of the sower. It was one parable I understood perfectly. But I did not do much to act on it. Doc read with passion what Jesus said about the destiny of the seeds and then focused on the seeds that fell among thorns. “As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and it proves unfruitful." “We know about 'deceit' don't we?” asked Doc. He met my eyes soberly as he did each of the other eight boys in the class. “It is like a lie, only it has a lasting impact on who you'll become in life if you swallow it. Today it may be the candy you want, tomorrow it may be the snazzy shoes, or it may even just be about having some time to yourself, but once that selfish deceit grows inside you it will begin to be sour and distasteful to the people you care most about, and it will certainly displease your God and Creator and King of the Heavenly Kingdom to come.” “Warn these boys!” Doc Withrow prayed, “Not to be filled with the greed and lust for the things they see on this TV everyone seems so preoccupied with. Show them Your one and only true path into Your Kingdom! Amen.” We all said amen and in a shot I was out the door and into the car. Mom was taking me to buy my own transistor radio. I could hardly wait to hear the play by play announcers for the Golden West network describe the 1 p.m. baseball game between the Giants and the Dodgers. It would actually be many years before my thoughts of the Kingdom of God would eclipse my obsession with things and the San Francisco Giants. |
There was a king in an ancient land who could have easily said in the last moments of his life: "I was lost, but I didn't know I was lost." He was a youthful rounder partying kind of king. And why not? His fortress was an empire. As the son of the great emperor Nebuchadnezzar, he had inherited the pleasure of the nobles of his time. He had already accumulated a vast treasury of wealth of his own making with the requisite wives, and concubines and various party girls to make every evening one of fleshly delights. Besides the usual treasury increasing the wealth of the prince Belshazzar, for that was his name and his one true asset, there was set aside in the kingdom another treasury. Not quite as accessible to the noblemen. It was taken from the temple in Jerusalem when it was sacked by his father. It seemed to have a future purpose and so was never used, as though it was reserved for an appropriate celebration yet to be discovered. He, King Belshazzar, a proud Babylonian prince, now of age to rule an empire in his own right decided to elevate his party's importance. In the Book of Daniel of the Bible, chapter 5, it is written of this Belshazzar, that he "...made a great feast for a thousand of his lords and drank wine in front of the thousand." When he had tasted the wine he, "...commanded that the vessels of gold and of silver that Nebuchadnezzar his father had taken out of the temple in Jerusalem be brought, that he and his lords, his wives, and his concubines might drink from them." I sometimes wonder about those who indulge their obsessions and cravings up to the moment of their last breath. Would they have chosen a different path if they knew that the lips they were kissing, would be their last. If the savory wine and delicate foods would be the last tasted in this life, would they reverse the curse they have been to be some kind of redemption for the poor and oppressed whose toil, flesh and blood placed the obscene opulence on the majestic table of the feast? What if something from the Throne Room of the Most High God, Adonai, suddenly appeared to declare the party over; and yet in such a way that it strikes terror in the loins of the stallion king? Could never happen. Youth is invulnerable. Invincible. Let the party rage! Daniel 5:4-6 They drank wine and praised the gods of gold and silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone. Immediately the fingers of a human hand appeared and wrote on the plaster of the wall of the king's palace, opposite the lampstand the king saw the hand as it wrote. the the king's color changed, and his thought alarmed him; his limbs gave way, and his knees knocked together." King Belshazzar offered all his wisemen great reward for interpreting the writing on the wall and when they failed the Queen Mother suggested that Daniel, an advisor to King Nebuchadnezzar be brought in to tell the meaning of what had just happened to the palace wall. Daniel told the king to keep his rewards for himself. Then he said, "this is the interpretation of the matter: MENE, God has numbered the days of your kingdom and brought it to an end; TEKEL, you have been weighed in the balances and found wanting; PERES, your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians. Daniel was rewarded with purple clothing, a golden chain, and made third ruler of Babylon. But, in verse 30 and 31 the Bible declares: "that very night Belshazzar the Chaldean king was killed and Darius the Mede received the kingdom, being about sixty-two years old." The legacy of Belshazzar? It could be said that "he was lost, but he didn't know he was lost." His wealth gave him privilege, friends, lovers, and all the pleasures that cause the flesh to wear out in a few decades. His eyes, ears, mouth, flesh and nerves were all elevated to enjoy the carnal delights of this world. If he had listened to his father's story of how he, Nebuchadnezzar, was humbled by God, well then he would have known he was lost. Wasn't Nebuchadnezzar filled with pride, wasn't he turned into a grass eating, dew drenched ox of the wild for seven periods of time for that sin? And when he was restored to his right mind didn't God give him back the kingdom, and didn't he praise God for that adventure? And lastly, and more importantly, didn't he make a declaration and decree in his own hand describing his adventure in detail from the dream to the actuality for every member of his household and palace to read and wonder? He did. He did just that. So in Belshazzar's unawareness that his lascivious life style was taking him down a road that would cost him his life, he might complain. He might say that "he didn't know he was lost." But Daniel said, "And you his son, Belshazzar, have not humbled your heart, though you knew all things, but you have lifted up yourself against the Lord of heaven. And the vessels of His house have been brought in before you, and you and your lords, your wives, and your concubines have drunk wine from them; And you have praised the gods of silver and gold, of bronze, iron, wood, and stone, which do not see or hear or know, but the God in whose hand is your breath, and whose are all your ways, you have not honored. Here is Nebuchadnezzar's truth: every soul ever created, or is being created or will be created is lost. To not know one is lost is to ignore the greatest book ever written, the Bible. But as the ancient king experienced in the "wilderness days" of his kingship, to be lost is to be found. God is always searching for the lost, but those who live life as though they "have it all," are truly the lost ones, because they will not be found. Only those who know they are lost are willing to go to a Bible teaching church that instructs on how to be found. Only those who know they are lost are desperate enough to ask God to guide them to the place of being found. Only those who know they are lost will be found in the eternal city, because God will never leave them lost or forsaken. Today and Always, whom the Son, Jesus Christ, sets free is free indeed. I pray that the family and friends of Tim Bergling have found peace and comfort. That the sorrows and grief that they have experienced in losing their son, has found a resting place of remembrance. May they things that their son was seeking be found by them. May what they have lost be restored to them, now and forever more. In Jesus' Name. Amen ~Kenword~ ♫~ Kenword~♫ (101@100513)_(101x2@030614)_(100x6@031820___ (YCM_@122313) |
Her name was Margie May and for one gosh awful moment in time she was my pearl. My buddy Ricky, greatest friend of all times, got his mom to take me with him to their church group one Sunday night. It was one of those nights when my parents didn't feel like taking me into town for my usual church youth group meeting. He introduced me to Margie. Ricky went to be goofy with some of his other pals and I fell into instant conversation with her. To this day I don't know why. From the age of 7 to 11, four precious years of male macho development, girls were taboo. But there was something about Margie May. She was a tomboy with short blond curly hair, bright blue expressive eyes, a smile that never seemed to leave her face and a devastatingly coy way of keeping me close to her. She seemed fascinated by every one of my stories and laughed with a sincerity that sparked within my heart a love and devotion for her that I would not experience again for a long long time. As we said our good-byes that night I knew that I had found my new church group and all I had to do was convince my parents that going with Ricky to Sunday night church would make their lives so much easier. What I didn't know was that what ever was happening for me about Margie May on the inside was showing on the outside, and while thoughts of my new girl friend were held secretly in a place I would never speak of to another person, my mother knew. Somehow she knew. When I suggested Ricky's church group would benefit everyone, especially my spiritual growth, she smiled and said, “I'll think about it. Don't say anything to your dad. I want to talk to him about it first. We'll think about it.” Her smile was reassuring and I knew that dad would be for me in this since he didn't like going into church on Sunday nights. With these assurances in place I let the memories of Margie May's laugh, and smile and sparkling eyes linger for hours out of each day. So occupied was I with my dreams of Margie, I failed to notice that my mother was watching me and somehow reading my thoughts. I think my dad began to notice it too and sometimes I could over hear their chuckles after some of their “soft talk.” I spent each day in the wonder of what it would be like to spend time with Margie. And I think it all would have went along just fine, but on Wednesday evening, before I could secure a promise to go to Ricky's church, Margie called me. My mom picked up the phone, listened and then turned to me. Holding out the receiver she looked at me with the queerest expression on her face I had ever seen. “It's someone named Margie May, and she wants to speak to you.” I'm sure my face burned hot, throat, chin and cheeks turning apple red. I could see my mom's head shaking an emphatic, “no!” The voice on the line was sweet and exuberant and expectant. Would I come to her party on Saturday afternoon? She just knew we would have a good time. In that moment and for months after, maybe even years, I wanted nothing more in the entire universe than to go to Margie's party. I longed to see her again, like I had never longed for anything in my life. I had been cruel to dopes that had expressed such feelings when we hung out together and now here I was, one of those dopes. The urge to be with my new friend consumed me. “I'll ask and call you right back,” I said. But I never did. My mother's “no!” rose up from somewhere in her gut. Her eyes seemed on fire, and I had never seen such cruelty in her eyes before. She gave me no reason or assurance that this was just a momentary pause in my friendship, what she said was, “You are to never see or talk to that girl again. Go to your room now.” My eyes burned. Even before the tears broke out, it was like all the salt in my body mounted an attack on my tear ducts. My sight was blinded by salt and tears. From my room I heard my mom on the telephone talking to a parent in Margie's home. Her voice was stern and with a few clipped syllables declined the invitation to the party and asked that Margie not call our home again. “Good-bye.” I couldn't stand it anymore. Mom had to know how disappointed I was. I ran into the kitchen, balling my head off and screamed: “Why?” With no answer and no mercy she watched me stammer, and whine and cry as though some vital organ was being ripped from my body. I stood before my mother unashamed of my emotion and wrath and poured it all out while she coolly observed my tantrum. Then, mysteriously I was done. I mean not just done with my tantrum. Done with something else. “Dinner will be ready in several minutes,” my mother finally said, “why don't you go wash up.” We were done. As the days went by I regained control of my inner most thoughts and feelings. Something dreadful was playing out in real life that could not bear a young boy's happiness or self expression. I could be happy, glad, or sad, it didn't matter what, but everything had to appear cool on the outside. With cunning and well executed plans I began to succeed where in the past I had failed. I still had emotional outbursts but it was in the war with my internal secret vaults that had to contain all evidence of my feelings. One could hurt me, but I was in the process of shutting off any outward expression of the pains. I could even be happy. But there would never be an outward sign of it again. I created a vault for all things labeled emotion in the deepest part of my soul. In that process I also curbed my passions for anything and everything. I would want for nothing ever again. I would continue to strive for this or that, but it no longer mattered whether I took possession of anything. I no longer cared. I shut myself off from potential friendships. What I cherished were my own thoughts and every one of those went into the vault marked: "Top Secret." Being at the ripe old age of twelve I had advanced into a new Sunday School class with an entirely new kind of teacher. Mrs. Bollinger. She was younger than most of the mom's at church and wasn't impressed that there was a heaven and a coming King. Her Bible seemed newer and shinier and matched her purse, lipstick and jewelry. Her teeth were blessed with a magical florescent glow that matched the shimmer and shine of the string of pearls she wore around her neck. Most of the time in class she would talk to the girls about school, and pop music and parties and other such nonsense. The number of boys in the class dwindled and the number of girls increased. I had nothing to contribute so just listened to the chatter knowing it was the new background music for my life. Mrs. Bollinger, one Sunday in February 1961, handed her Bible to Linda G. and asked her to read Matthew 13:45. Linda in a clear voice read: “Again, the Kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who on finding one of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it.” Before a clarification of what the parable meant could be given the girls were soon chattering about shopping, dresses and an upcoming wedding. I didn't need anyone's interpretation of that parable. I had met my pearl and I would have given everything for her. Discovering that the Kingdom of Heaven was the true pearl took many lonely years. In fact, it would be a long, horrifyingly long, time before I gave up everything of this world to make King Jesus the Lord of my life. My problem was I had nothing in this world I cared about, that is nothing but the one thing that mattered more than life itself - my secret vault for all my thoughts and emotions. That vault had become more and more valuable with every passing year. It was my Pearl and it was the price my Lord required. I held it out to Him and He took it. At last I was able to give God my "Pearl" and obtain the Kingdom. |
With the loss of my first love, I developed an extremely morose countenance that helped divide me away from troublesome beings who might have wanted to be my friend. Not that I didn't have a few friends, but generally they were diagnosticians come to investigate what my problem was. My family knew what my sullen attitudes were about and chose to ignore my darkening moods. My father's answer to everything was to “work-it-out” on the farm. I dug trenches, plowed the fields, tended the orchard, raised a lamb, cut and pitched hay. But rather than be the antidote, farm work gave me time to furnish my Top Secret Soul life with idols that I could bring to life in ever increasing exotic scenes. Farm work also gave me the one thing an underachieving 8th grader needs at school, an excuse for why my homework was not being done. A starlit night arose over the dark road of my soul on the day after my Spanish teacher, Mrs. McNalish, died. Her name was Miss Maria Montoya. She would be the interim 8th grade teacher for the rest of the year. Beautiful, graceful, and young, I had never imagined a teacher could be so full of life and light. She became central in my fantasy world and the cause of even more scholastic underachievement. By unburdening myself from the rigors of scholastic achievement suddenly the mysteries of poetic expression were revealed. Love songs from my parent's generation became intoxicating. I had no aptitude for Spanish but as a tribute to Miss Montoya I became obsessed with all things Mexican and all things beautiful. Her eyes were made of the deepest darkest chocolate ever created and were precious jewels that sparkled in a soft round face belonging to another realm. She took a throne in my soul where she became guardian of my Secrete Vault of thoughts, dreams and fantasies. Her voice, rich, full and melodic was hypnotic and while I could not assimilate and make mine the knowledge she possessed I embraced her warmth and sincerity with a new level of love and devotion that displaced my feelings for Margie, mother, home and family. She was only a dream, remote, ethereal and unattainable but thoughts of her comforted me in a way that nothing else in life could. I began to write. I began to draw. I wrote secret notes to her and drew brilliant pictures of the eyes that were often the last vision of my day before going to sleep. In those days girls seemed to be saying things to me but I could not imagine that they would one day be remotely as womanly and precious as Miss Montoya and I did not return their kindness with anything but blank detachment. Several weeks after taking over my Spanish class, Miss Montoya asked me to stay after school. My facade of cool almost burst into flames and my love for her nearly revealed. It was the greatest test my Secret Vault would have to endure. But without even the slightest blush I simply said, “Yes Miss Montoya.” There is no way to explain our little conference. Mariachi music filled my ears, and my heart beat to the rhythm of the guitars and bass. I believe she wanted me to know that I was an awful student. I think she wanted me to apply myself and show her more aptitude for one of the most romantic languages on earth. It is even possible that she promised to not age a day and would wait for me when I graduated high school and we would run off to Mexico City where I would become a circus clown and a bull fighting novelist and she would be a teacher in a private school for over achieving rich kids. Who knows. I was just thrilled she actually knew who I was. Her place of reverence in my soul would last at least another week or two. That same day the school bus home bound routes changed. They pushed my departure time back twenty minutes and my bus went directly to Walt's Superette where we met a bus dropping off high school students. I rarely looked up from my writings and drawings to witness anything that might be stirring the universe around me. I did not see a blessed force forming to build a new roadway in my soul. She was a girl. But this girl was on the border of becoming a woman and she had the impropriety that is born into the master race of humanity that are destined to become actresses, movie stars, and great singers. The Debbie Reynolds, Doris Days, and Sandra Dees of this world. With a wry smile and three quick sliding steps she took me into her world, offering to be my bride if she could sit next to me. I may have nodded, but I'm sure she was sitting down before our engagement had been fully arranged. As she settled into my life she slipped her arm through mine and took my hand. I smelled the apple/cherry blossom perfume she wore as she leaned her head on my shoulder. “I'm Kim, what's your name?” I told her. “You know that name suits you, it means handsome you know? And you are one of the cutest men I have ever met.” Internally I squirmed but outwardly I stiffened my spine. “Now about our engagement,” Kim continued, “I want a June wedding but I think we should wait until I graduate high school and have gotten a part in a Broadway show. I am breaking my neck for our choir director Mr. Johnson to learn my part in our production of Carousel. I mean the singing is great. I'm an amazing singer. You'll have to come and see the show, I've got a real cool spot in it. But the dancing. Do you like to dance? I bet you do. You seem very athletic too. And those eyes and eyelashes. I'm surprised the cute girls on the bus haven't swooped in to take you away from me.” I heard some shrieks of laughter behind me and I was glad that I had developed a hard outer shell because I could feel the heat of severe humiliation rising in my soul. “Now listen...you know I love you with all my heart and I think our marriage will last an eternity, but I think we should have separate beds after were married, don't you? I mean I love being close to you darling, but when I sleep I really need my space.” The bus ride that day seemed to go on forever. It was time enough to establish Kim's likes and dislikes about everything, (or so I thought) and to elicit from me my undying devotion to her though I had no idea what she was talking about. These things would grow crystal clear in the weeks to come. I had never really appreciated the sight of my family's farm as much as I did that day. As we rolled into the huge “S” curve where the road skirted our back ten acres I just barely croaked out the words, “this is me!” I was ready to jump to the front of the bus a good hundred yards before the bus stop, but Kim held me close. “I'll see you in the morning handsome,” she said and as she let go of my arm she leaned into my face and put her lips ever so lightly on my cheek. Over the next two years my engagement to Kim would be our secret and one that I would come to cherish. It was a long time before I could be as free with her as she was with me, but she always seemed captivated by my joys, sorrows, pains and frustrations and often drew out of my Secret Vault a humorous way of looking at my vow to be a secret agent in the world of despots, fascists and abusers. I learned through Kim that a spouse should be your best friend. I learned that love could be chaste, and pure and reverently holy where you truly want the best for the other person. I learned that your spouse would be the one to place you on a pedestal even though there is no way in God's great universe you deserve it. And one other thing I learned through Kim and that was I think she was an Angel sent to me by the Lord God Almighty to save me from taking my own life. As my relationship with my family grew distant and cold, Kim was always there to help me through it. And there were a few times when I held her as the disappointments in her life became to great for her to bear. We laughed together and cried together. Then one day, as oddly as she had entered my life, she made her exit and I would never hear from her again. I would learn under the careful tutelage of my youth pastor Harold that in the Kingdom of Heaven there are Angels. Scripture illuminates the many roles Angels perform. They are emissaries, warriors, and worshipers of the Most High God. They are also guardians of his beloved creation – mankind. It was spoken of in the writer's exaltation of God the Son Jesus Christ- Hebrews 1:14 Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation? It is revealed in a warning Jesus gave to all mankind - Matthew 18:10 “See that you do not despise one of these little ones (children). For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven. God Himself said of His relationship with us and His Angels - Psalm 91:9-11 If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. My actual God assigned Angels would be vigilant to protect me in the many years to come and to the Lord God Almighty who created me I give my praise, honor and worship. And I pray His blessings to be on Kim, my teen Angel, where ever she may be. |
I played clarinet in the school band. I sang in the choir. In honor of my 14th birthday I was given a guitar, a book of the 100 great folk songs of America, and the 1962 number 1 hit album “Peter, Paul and Mary.” My destiny was sealed. By my sophomore year in high school I had taught myself to play guitar and sing like Glenn Yarborough. I added twenty-seven of the dreariest, darkest most depressing songs ever written to my repertoire. I was a hit at church summer picnics playing for the potato salad, baked bean and hot dog crowd. I even performed at a few ice cream socials. Eventually I was booked into a Sunday morning service introducing, what would become my signature song for the next decade: “Early In The Morning.” My friend Kim urged me on in my endeavors helping me to write a few morose tunes of my own. And when it seemed I would perish in my Junior year Chemistry class, she encouraged me to change my major from “College Preparation” to “Music.” By some miracle my parents agreed. Instead of learning useless experiments I found myself in the high school Acapella choir singing tenor. In the spring of 1965, preparations were underway for the high school acapella choir presentation of “The Sound of Music.” Kim, who spoke less and less about our engagement and more about how great it was to have such a great brother like me, was playing Maria. Actually she was Maria. It was a mixture of joy and sorrow as I saw her star rising. I had not thought of her as beautiful, but something vibrant and joyful was beginning to blossom in her. She was in fact morphing into a total beauty. Her voice, angelic, sweet, sultry and pure made me smile as few things could. Between my growing narcissism and Kim's growing celebrity status there developed a distance between the two of us that tried our friendship. There were fewer rides together on the bus. Our intimate conversations were growing fewer and far between. When we did meet she seemed to look at me with a sadness that reminded me she was going away soon. “Did you like the play?” she asked me on the Monday morning bus ride after the weekend performance. “Not really. I mean I was moving scenery all night long,” I said, “I didn't get to see much of it.” She took my hand and waited until I turned to look at her. “You thought I was great though, didn't you?” My eyes burned with the tears I was fighting back. My throat was tight as if my body had produced something to cram up into my esophagus. This was the moment. I had rehearsed a thousand times what I wanted to say to her, but instead of coming out of my mouth it all seemed to want to gush out through my eye gates. In misery I only thought once more of the words I wanted to say, “You saved my life Kim. You're like the best sister I could have ever had and I don't want you to go. Not now. You are beautiful, gorgeous, amazing and the truest friend I have ever had. I can hardly wait to see you in the morning and I pray for you every night. I know you are beyond me in every way and you have a big life out there somewhere, but I will always love you because you rescued me from teen-hell. You made me feel worthy of love and kindness. You own my heart and you always will. My dearest sister please don't leave.” Instead I bent my head towards her and mumbled a, “you were very good.” I felt her stiffen. Our one moment of truth was passing as we rolled into the industrial end of town. The pear orchards were in full bloom. The hills around the town were a lush green for the first time in months. The temperature was to be in the mid-eighties that day. I had smiled when I saw Kim dance up the stairs of the bus. She was wearing her favorite white skirt and a floral print blouse. Her hair, which she said many times “drives me crazy,” was full of life, cascading in vibrant shades of gold, auburn and bronze. “Look Kim,” I finally said, daring to look into her face that was streaked with a few of her own tears, “I thought you were cool. Better than that Julie person. Way more cool.” Thankfully she laughed and wiped her cheek with a tissue that appeared from no where. “I was pretty good wasn't I? Not as good as that Julie person, but I'll get there.” She let her smile linger as she searched for what more needed to be said. I'll write you when...well you know, when I'm on my way.” “I know you will,” I said, having heard it a thousand times now. As the bus rolled into the school parking lot, Kim squeezed my hand. “Listen, Carl is going to be picking me up and will drive me to and from school now. You know now that he's my...” “Carl? Mr. Christopher Plummer!” “Yes Carl. We've started dating, I told you that.” “I know you told me. But I didn't think you meant it. And as a Captain Von Trapp, he was pretty lame!” “I thought you didn't see the show?” “Well I was kind of drawn to the bad parts so I saw a lot of your “Captain.” Kim laughed and gave me the look I had seen for the last couple of weeks. It was her version of cute and she puckered her lips as if to kiss me. “I will miss your dark moronic ways of looking at life,” she said. “And I'm gonna miss you sis,” I thought. “Anyway I'll see you in choir and at lunch with the gang though, right?” “Right.” But she was truly Carl's girl now, and her conveyance out of my life just served to affirm that I was right to stay cool. Never want anything too much or count on having anyone to have and hold in this life forever. I knew in the days of preparing for Kim's inevitable exit from my life that the “Sound of Music's” happy ending was total bunk. That evening, with these affirmations tucked safely into the Secret Vault of my soul, I began working on the message I was to bring to the Sunday night youth group at church. As a senior member of that group I traded off giving the message with youth Pastor Harold. My text was from Judges 16:4 – 31, the story of Sampson's betrayal by Delilah, his being made blind and his ultimate destruction as he, after twenty years of battling Israel's enemy the Philistines, finally killed more of them in one moment than he had in all of his life. I had thought of ways of making the message relevant for my group. But on that Sunday night, casting off the last tie I had with Kim, I did not even try to find an application. I just read the verses that meant the most to me: 28 And Samson called unto the Lord, and said, O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once, O God, that I may be at once avenged of the Philistines for my two eyes. 29 And Samson took hold of the two middle pillars upon which the house stood, and on which it was borne up, of the one with his right hand, and of the other with his left. 30 And Samson said, Let me die with the Philistines. And he bowed himself with all his might; and the house fell upon the lords, and upon all the people that were therein. So the dead which he slew at his death were more than they which he slew in his life. My message, not finding much to hope about, or expound about, only served to introduce, “If I Had My Way,” a song I had wanted to perform in front of a young, impressionable audience for a long time. As I viciously put my fingers to the strings of my guitar, my voice growled out the words with such an intensity that I was physically gone at the song's end. Without so much as an amen, I packed away my stuff and left for home. |
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