"When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. Any they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen."
Luke 9:36

Are we keeping silent today? This Sunday we will celebrate the Transfiguration of the Lord. We celebrate God clearly seen as Messiah and Emmanuel. The full glory of God seen beyond all question.

I believe that every day we have opportunities to see the full glory of God. I believe that every day we have the possibilities of allowing others to see the full glory of God in our caring,nonjudgmentaltouch.

Allow others to see the full of glory of God through you today.

God Bless,
Dan

This past Sunday a young boy ran up to me after Sunday School and showed me his creation.  His clever Sunday School teacher had come up with the idea of using a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in clear plastic wrap as the body of a Thanksgiving turkey.  To decorate the cookie, the teacher had provided little eyes and nose and beak along with colorful "feathers" cut from construction paper.  

The little boy proudly showed me his handiwork, and as I was telling him what a great job he had done on it, I mentioned eating the cookie.

"When are you going to eat your Thanksgiving Turkey chocolate chip cookie?"  I asked with a big smile. 

The little boy looked puzzled at first and then frowned.  I immediately realized that he had no plans whatsoever of eating this turkey!  Catching on quickly (or maybe not so quickly), I said that I was sure that the cookie would last for a very long time! 

In Deuteronomy we read that we are to take the first fruits of our labor and put them in a basket and give them to the Lord.   I'm sure that after working in terrible conditions and severely harsh weather, the ancient farmers did not relish giving the best of the harvest to the Lord.  But they did it in order to give thanks to God.  

Thank you for always giving your best to the Master!  I thank God every day for your faithfulness.  May you have a Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving in praise to God for all that God has done.  

God Bless,

Dan   

Last night at the emergency room waiting area where I was with a family, a young father and his two children were present. The young father dealt very well with a three week old baby while also keeping his three year old son behaving properly. When the baby started spitting up, the father quickly took his little family into the restroom down the hall.

About a minute later, the three year old son came running out. I watched him as he ran around the mingling people in the waiting room and back to where the father had left the baby carrier. The three year old reached into a pocket of the carrier and pulled out a cell phone and then ran back to the restroom.

It amused me that this tiny little three year old boy could so quickly and efficiently handle the task that his dad had obviously given him.

If you are like me, I know that many times we feel that God has asked us to do something that is far above our abilities. Our God, on the other hand, like that young father, knows exactly what we can accomplish. Our heavenly Father has complete confidence in us this day and every day!

Please pray for our Wonderful Wednesdays that start back this week. We will have our evening meal at 5:30 p.m. in the Fellowship Hall followed by our regular activities with Children's Choir and Youth Bible Study. We will also be starting our two courses. Richard Brennan will be teaching "Celtic Christianity" in the parlor, and I will be teaching a six week course of "Beginning United Methodism" in the chapel. Both courses will begin at 6:15 p.m.

God Bless,
Dan

This Sunday during the morning worship service our youth team who went to the Salkehatchie Summer Service camp in Lyman this week will be bringing the morning message. I am so proud of them and their accomplishments, and I can’t wait to hear the Word that they will be bringing back to St. John’s.

I remember after a grueling week of working on a disabled man’s roof in his small house in the mountains for one of the Salkehatchie Camps that I attended. We had spent the entire week working on the man’s roof but we knew that it still was far from being totally repaired.

As we were making our farewells to the man, it started to rain a very hard rain. We were all standing in the cabin and began looking up at the ceiling. While the man was still praising us and giving us thanks for our week of hard work, drips started coming through the ceiling from holes that still existed in his roof.

The youth looked rather dismayed, but the man was far from being upset. Instead he smiled broadly and said,

“That’s alright. You should have seen how the water poured through the roof before you came. That is a big improvement over the way that things used to be!”

That’s what Salkehatchie Summer Service is all about. We may not be able to repair every hole and patch and paint everything in a house in just one week…but our youth can make it much better than it was.

St. John’s is grateful for our youth and our adult leaders who worked hard this week in service to others in the name of God. We are grateful that our youth were able to demonstrate the love and care of God to others. Let’s support them this Sunday!

God Bless,
Dan

This past Sunday a lady drove into our driveway before service and gave someone the following note:

"I am asking your church to pray for my husband, Jimmy Jefferson. He is 51 years old, and he collapsed in our church 3 weeks ago. He is currently in Travelers Rest at North Greenville long term hospital. He sustained brain damage that I know God can reverse and heal, I know God is in control. Will you please stand in faith with me and pray. God says if we bind together and agree upon it, it shall be done.

God Bless you and yours,

Angel Jefferson"

I am moved that someone would go to the trouble to go around to churches and ask for prayer in this way. I have tried to be in touch with her, but have not been able to reach her yet.

Let's pass the word around to be in prayer for this family.

Thank you.

God Bless,
Dan

Recently I had a heat pump installed in my 1940’s house in Marietta. The work crew came early in the morning with four large panel trucks and about six men who worked all through the day on the project. They did the work with great precision and care as though they were working on their own home. Soon the work was completed, and even though it had been a complicated job, their work had been accomplished in a near perfect fashion.

I couldn’t help but think how great it would be if everything in life could be handled with such ease and expertise. But life is much messier than a new heat pump. We try to handle every situation that arises with all of the care and ability that we can, but many times we simply can’t make all of the pieces fit neatly together.

Right at that moment, we are reminded that Christ has all of the tools that are necessary for any problem and any situation. Right at that moment, we realize that our Savior is at hand for all of our needs.

Thank you, Lord, for all that you do!

God Bless,
Dan

It looked so humorous to see her directing in the same fashion as Ben that I whipped out my phone to make a quick video of the proceedings. But I forgot in the rush how to get the phone to change from taking still shots to recording a video. Before I could figure it out, the moment passed.

It made me think of how many truly beautiful and unique scenes have been played out in that very sanctuary over the past one hundred years. Scenes that are etched in the memories of many as well as scenes that are lost forever. But the spirit of all of those amazing scenes lives on in every worship service that is faithfully continued.

Please pray for our centennial celebration this Sunday morning and evening in our sanctuary. Please be with us in worship that morning as our Bishop-in-Residence Jack Meadors brings us the morning message and as Joseph Martin plays the piano for the service. Make sure to come back to be with us that evening for a special concert featuring Joseph Martin at 7 p.m. in the sanctuary.

Remember to invite others to attend as together we watch truly incredible scenes continue in our dearly loved sanctuary!

God Bless,
Dan

We have had a visitor at the church this week. At first we thought that it was a young eagle, but upon closer inspection, it would appear to be a full grown Red-tailed hawk. The hawk has been on our campus for a few days and appears to be staying here in search of food.

The interesting thing is that the other, much smaller, birds are very unhappy about the hawk invading their space. They are constantly attacking the hawk by flying rapidly at the hawk with beak and claw.

But unlike some birds that I have seen that fly away with the little birds chasing them, our hawk appears to be completely undisturbed by the attacks of the very frustrated birds. The hawk hardly seems to notice them and rarely even moves to dodge them.

My idea is that the hawk is undisturbed because it knows that it has so much greater strength than the small birds. Our hawk visitor has been a constant reminder for me about the strength of God that resides in us.

Whenever the confusions of life come flying at us, we need to be reminded of the calm assurance of the hawk, that no matter what, our God is greater and stronger than anything.

I hope that you are filled with that assurance this day and every day.

God Bless,
Dan

Every Wednesday morning I have a short chapel service for several of the classes of our Child Development Center. This morning I shared with them two puppets that had been made from small brown paper bags. One was an angel and the other one was Mickey Mouse. The point of the puppets was that they both lived in very happy places and that God's presence made this a happy place as well.

The children also enjoy singing with me and really enjoy singing as loudly as they can. When I started leading them on "Jesus Loves Me", they requested that we sing it again very loudly. Their voices rang out in great joy, and great strength as they almost shouted about how much Jesus loved them!

Right then I knew that I also live in the happiest place on earth!

God Bless,
Dan Batson

On our walks in the early morning, Rene' and I circle down several times through the Hurricane Creek Landing on the lake. Most mornings we can hear the sounds of the fish jumping in the dark water and the strange symphony of excited birdsong. This week I have noticed an interesting sight a stone's throw across the lake from the landing. A mountain of wisteria blooms in the trees above the water. I have never noticed the vines in the trees during the regular times of the year, but now that Spring is upon us, the wisteria forms the most amazing sight.

In the very dim light of early morning, the wisteria looks like lovely gray flowering vines instead of the vibrant lavender which characterizes that plant. But its presence is unmistakable. It reminds me that God brings forth the hidden in us each day. God knows that the strength, the caring, the truth, the nobleness reside within us. And our gracious Lord makes sure that at some time during each day, others will see and know of the beautiful peace that our Savior has given through our ability to live out Christ through our actions.

Thank you, Lord, for bringing out our hidden talents!

Please pray for the family of Seth Foster who will be traveling to Anderson for his funeral Saturday. Also, please remember Katie Beth Ashley and Ed Johnson as they are married on Saturday.

God Bless,
Dan

This establishment saw no reason to advertise, it saw no reason to upgrade the furnishings, no reason to change the menus or even to paint the outside of the building. The fact that nothing ever changed created a lot of its charm. People who had been eating at the Piedmont for most of their lives enjoyed the fact that they could eat at the same table using the same chair with the same utensils eating steaks that were prepared in the same fashion as when they were children.

There is something to be said of a restaurant that knows what it is doing through decades of experience. Over the years they have worked out all of the kinks and the food as well as the service has become very tried and very true.

Other than the long tradition of great steaks and very familiar surroundings, the Piedmont also had another claim to fame. It seems that when Elvis Presley was first becoming famous and was busy touring the country that he gave a performance a the Spartanburg Memorial Auditorium. Knowing of his love of rich foods prepared very well, someone in town took him to the Piedmont. The story goes that he drew quite a crowd and that he enjoyed the food very much. Realizing his growing fame, the owner of the Piedmont took the well-worn chair that Elvis had used and had a sign printed on it simply stating, “Elvis sat here.”

Realizing that the chair did not need to be used again, the owner put the chair on the top of an old oil furnace at the back of the main dining room. From its undisturbed perch, everyone who entered the Piedmont could see one of the claims of fame not only of this establishment but also of the city itself.

One of the first places that a church member took my family and me to eat in Spartanburg was, of course, the Piedmont. I was fascinated by this old building down by the depot with its wonderful reputation. I was also very pleased with the magnificent steak that was brought to the table.

But Tyler had something else entirely on his mind. At this early time in Tyler’s life, he was completely taken by Elvis Pressley. For some unknown reason, Tyler loved the music and images of Elvis and even had a small collection of Elvis stamps.

For Tyler the main point of interest in this landmark restaurant was simply the chair sitting with its small sign on top of the furnace at the back of the room. He kept looking at the chair and studying it long after he had finished his child’s portion of the famous steak.

Finally he could not contain the question that must have been on his mind from the moment that he walked in the building. Interrupting out polite conversation, he suddenly pointed at the sign on the chair sitting on top of the furnace and with a distinct frown on his face said in complete seriousness,

“Why did they make Elvis sit way up there?”

Of course, we laughed gently at his child’s view of the world and explained to him that Elvis had not sat up on top of the furnace but that the restaurant owner had placed the chair there so that no one else would be able to use that particular piece of furniture again.

But a child’s view can sometimes be a very honest view of things. The world to them is simply what it appears to be. We might have explanations of why things appear the way they appear. Our explanation might make perfect sense to us. But many times our explanations are simply excuses.

Thank you, Lord, for helping us to see our church and our spirituality through the eyes of a child. In a fresh and a new way, allow us to see the work that you have for us to do in this New Year.

God Bless,
Dan

My mother had a deep and abiding love affair of fruitcakes. I think that it had something to do with her love of coffee. She would take a piece of fruitcake and a cup of coffee and linger over that seasonal treat like it was the last food that she would ever eat. She loved just about any kind of fruitcake whether homemade or store-bought. She thought that the Claxton, Georgia, fruitcakes were so especially wonderful that they became Christmas gifts to only a few close friends on her Christmas list.

But in true preparation for the big holiday, my mother felt that she had to bake the ultimate fruitcake. For this experience there could not be enough preparation. She would spend countless hours with coffee cup in hand pouring over recipe books examining and critiquing different recipes until she felt that just the right one had been found. In earnest preparation, each year my mother would lovingly and tirelessly hunt for the best ingredients for her fruitcake. All of this effort took a great deal of time and energy, but mother did it year after year with the hopes that her fruitcake would be the best fruitcake ever.

You might ask why she looked for new recipes each year. You might ask why she would spend so much time with all of her friends at school and at church asking for their opinions about which recipe worked the best for them. You might wonder why she spent so much time gathering only the finest ingredients for her cake.

The answer, sadly enough, was that mother’s success in baking a fruitcake was rather dismal. She certainly put all of the right efforts into the baking. But year after year, the cakes never turned out quite right.

You might think that if you put enough fresh nuts and enough candied fruit of high quality into a cake batter that it would have to bake up into something that at least resembled a fruitcake. But, alas, my mother’s fruitcake always resembled a big brown boulder.

One year, mother decided that she had finally found the best foolproof recipe. She carefully calculated the necessary ingredients and then made her pilgrimage to the candied fruit shrine of preparation. Cash & Carry of Greenville. There on the old wooden floors in the vastness of what was indeed the very first supermarket of the area, mother would go to the converted meat counter and stand with an empty buggy and a long list. She would carefully examine this year’s harvest of candied fruit that looked like something from the Land of Oz. The glass counters contained wonders from the candied fruit trees of some far away very colorful land where the fruit grew covered in thick layers of beautifully crystallized sugar.

Every imaginable color was available and every imaginable flavor had been painstakingly prepared. Mother would examine the fruit carefully and then ask for a sample before buying just the right quantity according to her list.

The selected fruits would be scooped up by a man in a white uniform and a white cap who looked like he had just arrived from the land of the candied fruit trees. After being weighed on large hanging scales these mystical treasures would be neatly wrapped in white paper and gently placed in her buggy. By the end of the time at the counter, mother’s buggy looked like she had purchased a side of beef, one small white package at a time.

Mother mixed and baked with confidence because she knew that she had finally figured out exactly what the problems of the past had been. She was so sure that this year’s cake would be the very best, that she decided to bake a triple batch.

She was going to have enough fruitcake to feed a large percentage of the fruitcake eating population of Marietta, but she was sure that it would be the best one ever.

How terribly disappointing it must have been for her that this fruitcake turned out like so many had before. A big brown boulder. Only this year, the brownness went all of the way through. This year the brownness was more like burntness, and in great dismay, mother realized that in tripling the recipe, she had somehow managed to burn the fruitcake.

In great haste, she consulted all of her favorite cookbooks for a solution. The obvious solution of throwing the cake out and starting over was just not thinkable since the cake had the expensive, carefully selected nuts and fruits. A more practical solution had to be found.

The only thing that came close to a solution was the fact that some of the recipe books stated that for extra moistness the cake could be sprinkled with rum. Since we were a family who had never had any alcoholic beverages on the premises, mother decided that if rum might work, then orange juice might just do the trick as well.

I can still remember seeing my mother taking the gigantic deeply brown boulder and wrapping it carefully in clean cheesecloth and then generously pouring orange juice over the whole thing. We all thought that it was the funniest thing in the world, but we kept our snickers to ourselves.

Maybe mother thought that like a fine wine, the cake needed to age for a while. But for whatever reason, the big brown boulder mummified orange juice covered thing was taken to the basement and put on a high shelf above the freezer.

Beyond the explanations of the natural laws of the universe, the cake did not soften or even turn to a lighter shade of brown. All that happened to the cake was that it gained an alarmingly bitter taste of orange juice. Mother decided that it would do, at least for us, and so proclaimed that the fruitcake preparations had been accomplished for the season, and since we had more fruitcake than in years past, she would not be doing any more holiday baking.

Now as bad as her fruitcakes were, mother could indeed make some wonderful pies, chocolate cakes, and cookies. Our family was not at all shy about eating sweets, and the holiday sweets were among some of the best. But the big brown boulder orange fruitcake was all that was offered.

The troubling thing was that no one would eat of the thing that lived on the shelf in the basement, and since it seemed to be growing down there, mother was not baking.

One day, my twin brother, Don, came up with a daring plan to end the baking standoff. Without consulting anyone, he took the fruitcake and buried it in the woods behind our house. You would think that mother might have gotten rather upset about that turn of events, but with the cake missing from the basement, mother didn’t ask questions and rather happily decided that it was time to bake some of her really great butter cookies.

All of our careful preparations for Advent can go extremely well or they can turn into one disaster after another. I pray that this might be a time of wonderfully rich traditions for you and your family and that the spirits of everyone that you encounter might be enriched with the fact that some time was spent in preparing our hearts for the Coming of the Lord.

God Bless, Dan

Mother tended to like yellow roses and white roses, but in looking over the catalogue she made the choice of one of Jackson & Perkins’ most showy red roses. I seem to remember that it was called the Abraham Lincoln rose and from the picture of it in the catalogue it appeared to have rich red blossoms that looked as though they had been cut out of the finest red velvet cloth available.

Dad immediately ordered the selection and then started talking with his friends at the station about how to best plant the bushes. They told him that he would need to have trellises and that the soil preparation was one of the most important aspects of growing healthy roses. In anticipation of the arrival of the bushes, special preparations were made as though we were expecting some important out of town guests.

The area where the three rose bushes were to be planted was carefully selected for the right sun exposure and drainage. Mother wanted them planted on one end of the carport where the driveway wrapped around the house. The rose bushes could then be seen from the house and from the driveway. Dad carefully cleared away all of the other plants that had been growing in that area and then started preparing the soil.

Normally Dad would have tilled the soil and then added some rich wood’s dirt together with some of his favorite type of fertilizer and worked all of that into the area. But someone at the station told him that roses liked to grow in cow manure. Since the roses were something that Dad really wanted to have succeed and since we had a bountiful supply of cow manure from the farm, Dad dug out all of the soil from the side of the carport and replaced it with fresh manure from the farm.

We thought that it was very funny mainly because we didn’t have to help in the transportation of the manure but also because now that end of our house smelled like a cow barn. But mother didn’t seem to mind saying that it was simply the price that you had to pay to have great roses.

When the roses arrived, Dad took great pains to carefully plant the thorny stems attached to dried clumps of roots in the manure. As though expecting them to immediately grow beyond reason, three beautiful redwood trellises were purchased and placed behind the small brown stems of the rose bushes in anticipation of having healthy growth and many blossoms.

Dad talked with his friends at the station and was told that he had done a great job in his preparations but that it was probably all in vain. His friends told him that last year none of the roses in town had done very well because of a rather virulent strain of mite that had gone through the entire crop of roses and had pretty much reduced everyone’s bushes to nothing more that sad looking thorny stems.

I always wondered why his friends didn’t tell him about the mites before he hauled in the truckload of manure but had an idea that it was some sort of station humor that I didn’t fully understand. But Dad wasn’t deterred from the project in the least. He was used to dealing with the fact that insects liked to eat on crops. And he knew exactly what worked for every sort of insect that existed in our part of the world…bean dust.

Dad had an old and very reliable bean duster that no one was ever allowed to touch except him. It was kept always fully loaded and mounted above the door on the inside of his workshop so that it could be brought into use in a moment’s notice. After Dad found out about the Marietta rose mite menace, a day did not pass that the poor little rose bushes were not subjected to a heavy coating of bean dust. That end of our house now smelled like fresh manure and bean dust each and every day. The vast quantity of bean dust tended to get on mother’s car so that as we rode through town we appeared to be dusting everything in sight. But mother didn’t complain because she knew that if there was one thing that Dad could do, it was to grow things.

As funny as the manure and the bean dust seemed to be to us and as many jokes as we made about the new rose project, we could not help but notice that the roses seemed to be growing at an amazing rate. Maybe it was because of the care in the soil preparation or maybe it was due to the constant coating of bean dust or maybe it was just because Dad could always grow anything, but before long we had some of the most magnificent red velvet roses that I have ever seen anywhere.

The vines and leaves were kept constantly white with bean dust, but the huge red blossoms covered the trellises and their fragrance soon overpowered the smell of the manure and even the bean dust.

God’s grace overpowers all. God’s love is evident in our lives even when we think that it could never be seen above everything else that seems to be so prominent in our day to day existence. The radiance and magnificent beauty of Christ’s love and our Savior’s undying hope and faith in us overshadows all that we do. The fragrance of the peace of God always prevails.

Thank you, Lord, for the fact that faith in you never fails to blossom.

God Bless,
Dan

Her late husband spent many childhood and teenage days swimming and playing in the river and had made many overnight canoe trips down the river. Following the currents of the Lumbee, he and his friends would travel down the river until it merged with the Pee Dee River in South Carolina and finally to the Atlantic Ocean. They would sleep in hammocks tied between trees on the shore so that they would be a little bit more out of reach of the snakes.

The river snakes, he had told her, would sometimes fall out of the trees that provided a tall canopy of green shading the black waters. The Spanish moss hanging from the cypress trees hid the snakes from view, but their distinctive plop in the water as they fell from the branches always alerted the young men of their presence.

In great and loving detail, she shared with me her plans for the scattering of the ashes in keeping with her late husband’s wishes. She wanted to take a short excursion down the river in kayaks to scatter the ashes in the Lumbee from our boats and wondered if I could help in this process. The plans were to have a memorial service for the family and work associates from UNC–Pembroke.

Her late husband had co-authored a very important work on the history of the Lumbee Indians that had assisted immeasurably in their quest for federal recognition as a nation. Because of his work with the Lumbee Nation, the tribal leaders wanted to be in attendance as well. Family members and friends would speak at the service that was going be held at the river near the beach where we would disembark from the river trip. A Catawba Native American named Hawk would also be in attendance to burn a smudge pot full of white sage and other fragrant herbs on the water’s edge. While the smudge pot filled the river’s shore with a heavy earthy scent, Hawk would play traditional Catawba songs on his river flute. Since I had access to several kayaks through my brothers, I volunteered to equip us for the excursion.

Floating down the Lumbee River in our surreal funeral procession proved to be both memorable and beautiful. The widow led the way in a bright red kayak followed by her son and step-daughter in separate kayaks. I came along behind the children in my own kayak, and a friend from the church joined our little fleet in an odd little boat called a gunoe which was equipped with a trolling motor.

The Lumbee River epitomizes the idea of a sleepy southern low country black water river. The quiet low current in no way disturbs the tranquility of the magnificent cypress trees with their knees sticking up through the sandy shores like oddly shaped moss covered gnomes. The Spanish moss and the feathery leaves moved slowly in the cool breeze that seemed to gently push us down the river. Paddling the kayaks was almost not necessary except for steering the little pointed vessels in the direction that we wanted to go.

As we made progress from the landing at McMillan Beach to our destination at Stephens Park, the stillness and beauty of this river world that had embraced us made the sweet sadness of the scattering of the ashes even more poignant. I watched from a distance in my kayak as the widow took ashes and scattered them across the waters. I knew that her tears accompanied them.

The sun broke through the canopy for a few seconds and the ashes that fell from her hand were caught in a small cool breeze. The ashes lingered in the breeze as they came from her fingers. Slowly, the light gray mist created by the ashes danced out from her kayak across the black waters of the river.

I wondered for a second if these sacred remains would ever land in the water, thinking that maybe they would be caught up into the sky. But slowly, almost reluctantly, they gently made their way down to the surface of the waters. Like a veil across the currents, I watched as time and time again, his ashes became one with this ancient river that had contributed happiness and beauty to his life.

Thank you, Lord, for sweet memories of past lives that continue in faith forever. Thank you for peace and contentment in knowing our lives are secure in grace. Thank you for strength for every day and for the challenges that are brought our way. Thank you for valuing our experiences and for adding the Holy Spirit to every precious moment.
God Bless, Dan

The sand must have been reflecting the full brilliance of the sun. Or maybe it was just the fact that the bright blue waters made the sand appear dazzling white. Actually it was more than just dazzling, it was blinding.

God Bless,
Dan

A mountain craftsman near Marietta carves beautiful faces on old sticks. The fascinating thing is that he doesn’t use fancy materials but just an old ordinary piece of wood that anyone might find in their yard. The canvas of his art is just something that might have fallen from a tree.

My brother, Jim, and his wife, Rhonda, gave me one for my birthday. When I opened the package, all that I saw was a stick mounted on a wooden base. I thought, “They gave me a little old stick for my birthday.” So I smiled and thanked them for the stick.

My brother laughed and said, “Turn it over.”

As I turned the stick slowly in my hands, I saw the most amazing face that I had ever seen. Carefully sculptured around the curves of the grain of that old pine stick, the artist had shaped a face of an old bearded man. I say old because in his great attention to the smallest detail, the artist had given the face wonderful wrinkles. The eyes seemed to sparkle even though they were simply carved out of the same pine wood as the rest of the face. The nose spoke of winter winds and bright sunshine as though it had sailed through every trial of life gently leading the way.

The beard swirled from the gentle kind face and then was lost again into the ordinary of the pine wood that surrounded and captured forever this one picture of the man’s face. The whole thing was only a few inches tall, but in this small piece of wood, the artisan had captured not only the beautiful reddish orange hues of the wood but also the essence of a person’s face forever.

I wondered if the artist had just created a fictional face or if, perhaps, it represented the likeness of someone he knew. I could only imagine what this person must have been thinking at the moment that the image of the face was captured in the mind of the artist like a sudden photograph to be later translated with sharp knife into this heart of pine.

What is captured in our minds of the face of God? A kind, wise face full of glory, wisdom, power and mystery? Or a face of sadness over a broken creation? What does our Shepherd’s face look like when our Lord looks into our eyes?
I know that beyond all things and all actions, beyond all shame, there is the look of love and joy of One who blesses us forever.

God Bless,
Dan

Twin boys need twin cats. I don’t know exactly where that thought came from, but somehow it came to be. My pet cat had died, and even though we had many animals at the Batson household, namely: birds, dogs, hamsters, mice, snakes, lizards, and several aquariums of fish, (not to mention two pet calves) my parents agreed that the cat needed to be replaced. My Aunt Wilma, who hated cats with a passion, decided in her compassion over the loss of my cat to drive my twin brother and me to the pound to rescue a cat.

We came home with two cats. Two twin cats. On the way home, the cats did not stay in the nice box that my aunt had provided, but rather were allowed in be in our laps and all over my aunt’s nice car. She still reminds me to this day that that was the only time cats were ever allowed close to her and certainly the last time that cats were ever in her car.
Even though we named the cats Rascal and Haskell, Dad decided to call both of them “Tom”. Tom and Tom were very much at home at our house. They lived in the workshop that was attached to our garage behind our house. Dad did not mind their company and seemed amused by the fact that they followed him all the time. Whether in the garden, the shop, the yard or the swing, Tom and Tom were always with Dad.

Eventually one of the Toms went to cat heaven. We were all surprised because we didn’t even know that he had used up eight lives already, but realized that he must have been leading a much more interesting life than we had been led to think. Shortly after that, the other Tom decided that the time had come to explore the larger world of Marietta and wandered off. After a month, we decided that he must have used up his nine lives in the same way that his brother did. After two months, we had just about forgotten all about the “Toms.”

I never will forget the morning that my father had left to go to work when we heard him call to us from the backyard. After scampering from the breakfast table, we discovered Tom standing there with Dad. Tom allowed us to pet him for a few moments and then ran to see what was in his food dish as though he had been home the entire time. Of course, no explanation was ever found for his several months of absence, but he never wandered again.

God always stands ready and waiting for us to return home. We might not even realize that we have wandered. But all of sudden, we find ourselves in a place where we are not at peace – a place that doesn’t seem like God’s will for our lives. At those times, the best thing to do is to look for the Shepherd. Our Lord is always standing nearby and is always ready not only to call us home but also to help us find the way.

God Bless, Dan

A seawall protects the backyard from the water and the wash of passing boats. This wall makes the perfect place upon which fish, and Tyler and I have spent many wonderful afternoons and evenings catching fish from this location.

One day when Tyler was much younger, he was fishing at our usual location in their backyard. Uncle Buck built a marvelous fishing spot that comes complete with lighting, a faucet, comfortable chairs and fishing pole holders that are sunk into the concrete that is surrounded by a low brick wall.

On that particular day, Tyler and I were enjoying fishing when he decided to try his luck a little further up the canal. Carefully taking his rod and reel, he started walking up the seawall. He was a little too young to go off on his own like that, but I could still see him since he was only a few yards from me. I started getting some really good bites or I would have simply gone with him. But by keeping my eyes on him, I thought that he would be safe enough.

Just as I got a nice tug on my line that caused me to look away from Tyler, I heard a big splash. Before I could take one step, I heard him screaming for help and then the screaming abruptly stopped. Fearing the worst, I ran quickly to the side of the seawall where he had fallen in and prepared to jump in myself. Then I stopped dead in my tracks.

There in the murky waters of the intercoastal waterway, stood little Tyler. He had stopped screaming because something else had completely taken over his attention. After he had fallen in, he discovered that the seawall was covered in oysters. Instead of being upset at being in the water, he was determinedly pulling at one of the oysters in his small fingers.

He looked up at me with great seriousness and said, "Got a knife?"

Sometimes when we fall in, we need to look for the oysters on the walls. Who knows, God may have put a pearl in one of them, just for us.

God Bless,

Dan