My Own Dreams Of My Father

My father has always had a voice that could travel right through the thickest of walls. That low tone could slip through the cracks in those old wood floors no matter how gently he was speaking. Even a groan or sigh as he woke up in the morning would carry right up the stairs and through the door to where I slept. It was one of those timeless things in my memory that no matter how old I get I will never forget. That feeling of waking up and knowing that my dad was still there.

See, the father I grew up wasn't the one I was born with. My biological father, as we learned to refer to him as, discarded me like he did with most everything and anyone. That was a wound that took years to heal. See, the father I grew up with was the one that I heard when I woke up in the morning, the man I heard when I fell asleep at night.

I remember rolling over in bed in the morning and hearing the most beautiful thing in the world. It wasn't the birds outside or the sounds of the world beginning to wake up alongside me. The most beautiful thing I could ever hear was the sound of my father as he woke up the world, my world. Because every morning I would roll over and hear him as he got up and did the most wonderful thing a father could do...

My mornings began with listening in on my father's prayers. I would listen to him pray for everyone in the world it seemed. Yet I was only awake for one reason. It wasn't the fact that his voice was so strong that I could imagine it rattling the windows and shaking the floor itself. No, I was waiting. I was waiting to hear my father's voice as he prayed over me.

There was such a passion in his voice. I could hear his soul in those words as he prayed over me with the start of every morning. I could feel his love through the sound of his voice. And for a boy who had experienced the rejection of a person who was supposed to love me no matter what; that was heaven on earth. It was in those moments I knew I had a father. I knew that my father was praying for me to my Abba... my G-d.

Now that I'm grown and on my own I still roll over in the morning and dream of hearing my father lifting me up in his prayers. The sound of my father's voice still wakes me up. No matter how far away, no matter where I have gone or where I'm going, my father's prayers still echo in my ears. That love, the love that healed my childhood wounds, it still lives in my heart to this very day.

"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."

Proverbs 22:6

My father may not have known that I was listening to those words in the early morning hours. He may have not known that in his devotion he was showing me how I should live. His compassion, his empathy, his love for others; all of these things he was sowing in my heart and soul. His faith was being passed along. And though both of us have had our battles to hold onto our faith, the resolve that he was showing in those moments of dedication was passed down along with his words. 

In the smallest of moments, in the times when we think we are alone, we are often affecting the lives of others in ways we will never know. My father's morning prayers were those small moments that turned into most momentous of times in my life. And though they were done in the hours just before the light of day, those prayers ushered out the darkness of night in my young life. Those words set me on the path that has carried me to this day. 

In Proverbs G-d shows us that we are to train up our children in H-s way. This means that even in those times when we don't think we are being watched, listened to, or looked up at... we are meant to take these small and fleeting moments to continue that training. It is in these moments that we can either be a hindrance or a blessing. And no matter which one we choose the results will be without measure. The affect we have on the future is after all recorded by the lives our children and their children carry forth long after we ourselves are long gone.

Hiding in Foxholes

When I look out upon the world I often can't help but see a barren landscape. Looking at the people I come across in my daily life I often see the a pain they can't shake, wounds that won't heal, and troubles that simply won't pass. I see it in the way they treat the people they don't know and then how they behave with those they do. In the defenses, the paranoia, and the through the facades they build I can see the scars of a life spent fighting off the vultures.

This is a part of life in what I call "no man's land" that I never have gotten use to. The pain that floats just beneath the surface is almost palpable. When I'm around a person with especially raw wounds the pain almost has that wretched scent of gangrene. It deteriorates the very nature of it's victim. It strips away the humanity and leaves nothing for its victim to replace their loss with. In the end they are more zombie like than anything else... barely alive and yet still going through the motions.

This is what the enemy does to people. It is a tormentor that knows no limits to what agony it can inflict upon it's victims. By delivering blows that the prey can't heal on their own the enemy makes wounded animals out of human beings. They know the pain is real, they can feel the suffering in their minds and bodies, yet the wounds can't be seen. This is the slow death the enemy offers to people.

Day after day I find my foxhole to duck into. Peeking over the filthy edge all I see is a broken world all around me. The dead and dieing walk all around me. Their numbed faces fake smiles as they pass one another. But the smell of infected wounds can't be hidden. And I should know, I have plenty of my own.

Setting in my foxhole I know I have a secret. Tucked under my shirt I have a cure for my own disease. From the pages of this weapon I find strength to endure. From these living words my wounds are healed. Setting in my foxhole I know I have something I can't hide.

Looking over the ledge of my foxhole I can see in the distance another head pop up over the ledge of a distant foxhole. Through the crowd of wounded souls I can spot another person just like me peeking out over this barren wasteland. And in an instant we both duck back down and out of sight.

I look over the ledge once again, this time in another direction. Again I see another person just like me peering out from yet another foxhole. And once more we make eye contact just before ducking back down and out of sight.

Day after day I have hid in my foxhole. I have watched wounded souls wander past without giving it much thought. I all honesty it just hurt to much to look at them. But now I realize I'm not alone. Looking out of my foxhole I can see the field around me is dotted with distant foxholes. Like gophers we peek out of our little comfort zones. Day after day I had hid in my foxhole... never noticing all of them.

I know I have a weapon, a tool, a cure... and suddenly I realize so do all of those other ones just like me... hid in their foxholes. So now all I can see is a world full of people just like me. Hiding in their foxholes they hold onto the living word as they duck down and out of sight. But why? Why do we hide in our foxholes?

Now when I look out upon this world I see a landscape dotted with foxholes. And all I can think of is what it would be like if we came up... over the top... into sight... word in hand... ready to fight.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

Joshua 1:9

Surrounded By Hyenas

"Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the J-hovah El-him He it is that does go with you; He will not fail you, nor forsake you."

~ Deuteronomy 31:6

As believers in G-d we often picture ourselves as coming under attack when we meet resistance in our walk with the L-rd. We accredit this challenge to our faith to an enemy that is relentless in its attempts to lay siege to us personally. And though there might be some truth to this natural reaction there may also be more to the battles we face than we first realize. 

If we are truly living as G-d commands us to there will certainly be obstacles to overcome in our own lives. Habits that we form and the ways we might desire to conduct ourselves may be contradictory to the habits and lifestyle G-d's commandments lay out for us. Yet rarely do we consider this a part of some exterior force attempting to bombard us. It is mainly when we step outside our own walk with the L-rd that the enemy appears to attack. 

And that is where our liberation from sin begins to threaten the captivity of others. Once we begin to grow beyond our own personal relationship with G-d and begin to influence others (either directly or indirectly) we step out onto a field of battle. Most of the time, we do so without really knowing that we are. 

The enemy has laid claim to the very ground upon which we stand. Even more importantly it has claimed the lives of all that walk upon the earth for its own devious intentions. Just as it has been made miserable it too intends to inflict the same wretched bareness upon the ground and all living upon it. By doing so the enemy seeks to destroy the souls of its victims through the current captivity and eventually the eternal separation of that soul from G-d.

When the followers of G-d step out onto this territory they become invaders. Those who intentionally decide to stay become occupiers. And those who move further out into the enemies territory become conquerors. All of which must be dealt with. Their advance must be stopped and the occupation must be ended. For this is an enemy that can not and will not give an inch let alone bear to loose a captive soul. 

During the adolescence of a male lion the young male reaches a point where it must move on. The desire to claim new territory is inherit in the young lion. But most of all, the young male needs a pride... he needs an army of souls. 

There are only two ways a young lion can achieve the goal of forming a pride. He can either challenge and kill an existing male lion who has his own pride. Or he can set out and find a start a new one of his own. 

The second way of forming a pride is hard. A lion without a pride is doomed to starvation or at best a life on the brink of it. Hyenas and jackals rarely challenge a pride of lions openly and aggressively. Yet a lone lion is fair game even for the lowest of predators. The lone lion can't defend itself effectively. He is simply a loose end that nature finds a way to finish off. 

And yet G-d calls his followers to set out into the enemy's territory and form one pride after another. At times he even calls upon us to do so even when we feel like lone lions. Yet even as it appears the odds are stacked against us and the enemy is closing in from every angle, G-d prepares the field and snatches us from the jaws of defeat only to hand us the victory. 

These are the times when we shouldn't look at ourselves as the victims of siege but rather the aggressors routing the defenders and claiming new ground. For even when we least expect it, when we think that nobody is looking, we are often liberating the lives of fellow captives. By living as G-d has directed us to, we can set others free from the suffering to which we too were once bound. 

"The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them has the light shined."

~ Isaiah 9:2