Toward the sunrise we walked.  Assured that it would rise, as it had without fail each day before.  What a mighty promise we entrusted our steps to.  That the sun would rise again, just like he had before.  With each we took upon the clear water the bottom of the lake faded further into the blackness.  We were far beyond the reach of the shore and too far to swim back.  The cost, you said, was that we would give our all to the endeavor.  You said we were tools not of this world but meant for it.  There was a majesty in every word you spoke, as if the same great force pushed us both towards the East.  Late into the darkness we walked.  The clouds had circled around us and blotted out the heavenly candles that had previously lighted our way.  We pressed on undeterred by the darkness and kept our path straight by walking directly into the wind which gathered strength against us.  I could barely see you  You were but an arms reach away and all but invisible. As the wind grew it nearly overcame us, but we pressed on.  In response the wind sent...

We met again open the sandy hills under the sky at the edge of the earth.  Why twice have we met this way, I do not know.  We neither spoke the first time nor did we speak the second.  We just stood waiting as the tide came in and out.  There was no moon to like the sands.  Unlike the first time, when day was just dawning and we saw the sun break the edge of the horizon and split the ocean.  Your eyes, like mine were fixed there, as if by simply staring, our eyes could command the oceans to part that we may walk across on dry ground.  Upon the waters, as the waves brushed the sands, we could hear the calling from the other shore.  It was a call asking us not to forget about them and to remember that our destiny was no yet finished.  If we could not part the waters, perhaps we could walk upon them.  We waiting expectantly as the stars moved from edge to edge as if beckoning us to follow their path to move beyond our horizon to the next.  Do we follow.  We do follow. I saw you take...

This is not the end.  This is the new, the beginning, the moment where history determines what we are made of.  This it the time in which we are tested and our character is revealed.  The brevity of this life is but the prologue to the story.  The main character is being introduced and revealed through the moments.  Upon the final lines that make up the last sentence of our history, it will say that they story has finally begun.  We will no longer be bound by flesh, by pain, by suffering, by loss.  We will no longer look back upon the ones we loved and lost.  We will no longer long for their restoration to us.  We will not longer desire healing.  We will no longer dream of a better tomorrow.  We will no longer wait in anticipation for the hope that we have.  We will not longer fear to speak the truth.  We will no longer feel the desperation to be rescued.  We will no longer cry ourselves to sleep at night.  We will no longer prayer for our children to come home safely.  We will no longer pray for the cancer to disappear.  We will no...

“You are the son of a king.  You call the Mighty one, ‘Father.’” God made a promise to me by the words of a wonderful Godly woman I call my grandmother, “The enemy is determined to sift you.”  Her gaze was unshaken, “He will not rest until you are destroyed.” One of the greatest ways he has resolved to sift me is by the words of the person I was closest to and trusted the most.  It wasn’t enough to whisper the lies to me, he had to deceive another.  I was called untrustworthy, a liar, annoying, unloving, unkind, selfish, a child, weak, not good enough, not heavy enough, unattractive, thoughtless, ungodly, and a hypocrite. I know they are lies.  Usually I can stand and resist them, eyes focused on my Father.  Yet, I look around from time to time, take my eyes off of the King, and I see the army rising up around me with unyielding intent to see me ruined.  I am overcome and feel my heart grow heavy.  It’s then that others who walk this life alongside me remind me who I am.  Now and again I receive emails like this one: “You are not...

How should we pray? Books have been written analyzing the Lord’s prayer and books teaching the methods of prayer and each with scriptural support and firsthand experience as to its effectiveness. These books are written by men much smarter and greater than I. Many have degrees and have credentials to support their vast wealth of knowledge. I am not going to discredit them nor do I intend to discount the things which they say. I believe there may be great value in the words that these books on prayer offer. I’ll be the first to admit that prayer is strange. It is a one way “conversation” with a God we can neither see nor hear. So that inherently makes it difficult to carry on this conversation. New believers are probably left wondering, “How do I start?” or “How do I know I’m doing it correctly?” I’m going to impart my fallible wisdom on the subject by quoting scripture of my own and by citing my experience. But before I begin, let me make one thing clear. God is simple. Everything about God is simple. The problem is, we don’t understand him. It’s as though we are a two dimensional...

On April 5th of 2013, with water pouring over me, I thought of promises made and promises yet to be kept. I wondered what God could possibly be doing in it all. Then out of nowhere, a deep pain came and the quiet words. Showers are my place to think. Today, it was my place to wrestle with God. As I sat on the shower floor and pleaded with God to make me a father He said, “You already are!” He told me, “They lived. They existed. They are your children. All of them.” However brief it was, they lived. They were sons and they were daughters. I can’t really explain to you in sufficient words, but I was overwhelmed by love for them. And as if to wash away the sadness, I was filled with joy that I would, indeed, one day meet them. So here is the letter I wrote to them that day, written for the in between: I wish I could have seen each of you. I wish I could have held you in my hands and kissed your tiny fingers. I wish I could have seen you play and heard your laugh. I dream...

“Remind me again.” I saw the head lights of the oncoming cars pass me by. Their glow reflected against the midnight and the glare nearly engulfed the world outside. I could see all of their faces as they sat waiting to be helped. “Remind me again of their faces. Show me their pasts, their wounds, and their souls that I can pray for them!” One by one I saw faces and with them stories spanning life times arrived in my mind. Each story ended with them seated in that waiting room of the emergency room. My breath escaped me as I said those words aloud in the car, “Waiting… in the ER…” I trailed of and continued to ponder it, “It kind of takes the urgency away… but I doubt they feel less urgent.” “Remind them again! Remind them that their bodies are fragile and can be destroyed, yet it isn’t the body that is hurting, it is the soul! Remind them that you are not far off, that your heart aches with their pain and that your vision is complete to see past the temporary agony. Remind them of your peace!” “Not just for them, Travis.” “Father, it’s...

“Father, you are…” my prayer trailed off and I stood for several minutes in complete silence waiting for the right words to come into my mind. They didn’t. Instinctively I started again, “You are…” My emotions washed over my like a wave pushing against the shoreline the moment before it recedes. Countless words crashed chaotically against my mind. I couldn’t make sense of any of them. They were truths, they were descriptions of character, they were memories of faithfulness, and they were beyond my ability to contain. But then, as they faded one by one I saw the single word encompass all that the mighty King is. While alone in the morning air, with a cloud of breath it came out, “Father, you are…. my father!” It doesn’t seem to be profound, does it? Yet there, as I stood in the presence of my father, it became so much more. I stand in his holy presence as a son and heir. He is holy, mighty Savior, shaper of galaxies, and commander of armies. He is the definer of morality and the definition of good. He is the origin of love and the maker of beauty. He is truth, judge, punisher,...

Insecurities have a strange way of rearing their ugliness. It’s strange when I think I’m past it all and that I’ve healed, only to discover that a simple delayed reply can bring back fear and doubt again. I can hear from a hundred people that I’m a great guy and a wonder person, but I can’t help but hear those word come back to me. I can’t help but hear all the things that were said about me. I was ugly. I was unattractive. I wasn’t too perfect, yet not perfect enough. If I failed to live up to a standard, then I would lose everything I cared about because of it. I hear those words because just like the enemy convinced her that they were true, he is working overtime to convince me of it too. So what do I do? How to I confront lies that are lies? How do I hear what You think of me? How do I hear that You’re proud of me? Father, I am united with Christ! My value is wrapped so deeply in what has been done for me. Give me security to not act out of the fear but out...

“Feeling awful means you’re healing.” His words flashed on to the screen and my curser blinked as a metronome pacing my thoughts. I hated what I was doing in every way, and I so badly wanted to do the right thing. The reality of my next choices weighed so heavily on my heart, and I tapped my pen on the desk. For some reason that pen needed to be there. Yes, I type, but it seems the writer in me is still unwilling to abandon the tool of the trade. It helps me think. That day wasn’t unusual. I wonder if God ever feels heartbroken over the temporary pain He allows us to experience. While He knows that that suffering will bring us closer and will build us stronger, I can’t help but see a father who agonizes over how it has to happen. If I could help someone grow through luxury, I would! Instead, it seems that the only way to see character shaped and built is to lead someone through the harder roads. It’s not pretty, but it’s something that has to be done for those you care the most deeply for. It’s in those moments that you can...

Those are heavy words.  I don’t really know what to do with such heavy thoughts.  It’s fascinating the difference you’ve built in me between instinct and truth.  Often times the best response is the patient thoughtful response, not the one the heart cries out for at the moment.  So I wait upon you to guide my steps and my heart. I’ve always read the words, “my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” and hoped that that meant these things would not weigh on me.  Yet you referred to the weight of the law.  You referred to the men who pressed on others the strict and impossible regulations.  You never promised that the burden would not still be there.  So here is the burden of my heart.  Though you never promised to take the yoke, you promised to lighten it. I am not bound by the law.  My yoke is easy. Yet grace, she comes with a heavy load.  Like the man along the road paid the highest costs of another, a hated enemy.  This is the cost of grace you ask of me, to love without condition and sacrifice without repay.  You ask that I do not...

Some of us are afraid of our mistakes.  It’s harder to explain to someone how the best things in life are traceable to our failures, so we instead try to deny the failure all together.  Or worse yet, we try to justify the failure. “I’m so grateful for my addictions because my life brought me here to where I am now and I wouldn’t want to change a thing!” This is a broken way of thinking!  Imagine a man who’s overdose hospitalized him.  In the hospital he met a pastor who lead him to salvation.  Over the course of the next few years he walked in faith and lead many others to salvation.  Would it be right to say, “His drug use wasn’t a mistake because it brought him here.”?  No, that’s incredibly shallow minded.  It discounts all that God is! Let me give you another example:  A sixteen year old girl gives birth to a child.  Are you allowed to talk about the sin committed?  The child is a blessing right and you wouldn’t want to minimize that, right?  God is a God of forgiveness and a God that longs to restore us.  Yet if I am unwilling...

Who is this woman I kissed in my dreams With hair of painted gold and eyes of the sea? Is she just a ghost and a vision of things Or is she a prophecy of what’s meant to be? What a strange line to wake in utterance of. Stranger still was the dream. There was a line, a contest of sorts, where each man approached and asked the same question, “My dear, may I have a kiss?” These were the rules, they’d been predetermined and all were content to oblige, that she would grant the request of but a single man there. So along moved the line, each man made his request. Along moved the line, she smiled at each, said nothing, stayed seated, and withheld her lips. You might be wondering now how I came to this line. I don’t really know, don’t forget it’s a dream. Alas, the line moved and each man turned away, the host yelled out encouragement, “It’s not your hair or your smile that she doesn’t like, but rather she’s waiting for just the right guy!” Another odd note that I noticed while there, I was the last man standing in line. There...

“Though you have allowed me to see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again.” Some translations say, “you have made me see troubles”.  I marvel at this.  On one hand you allow me to see trouble, yet on the other, it’s you who made me walk through it.  With that still, you are the one who walks me through it to restore my life once again. I love that about you!  Each one of your promises is for hope.  While calamity comes, there is hope.  It’s not just hope that the darkness may end, but that I will be restored.  Healing will come.  I will stand on the other side a better servant unto you.  Though sin brings havoc and though destruction is inevitable in my life, you will save and restore me from the brokenness caused by my own fallen nature.  And though I have walked the loneliest road and have been abandoned by the one I thought closest to me, you have not only walked with me, but you have restored life to me.  Further, your promises are for even greater things of you.  You have given me dreams and visions of those promises!...

The maker of the mountains and crafter of the seas, you have formed the hands that hold on to these. You have brought intrigue, you have open hearts of men to the wonders of the earth. You have exposed that which was hidden and left it to be found. Is that what I see when I look into the eyes of those before me? Grant me intuition to know the reality of the words and the actions that they take. Do not let me be blinded to the false pretenses placed above the truth. I am weak. I cannot see the things others see. I search for the beauty in the hearts of anyone I find. I seek the wonder in their smiles. Does this make me naive? Is it a weakness to see the things you’ve crafted, not for what they are, but for what they were meant to be? I don’t see the scars upon her face, but the years of walking next to you. The broken smile tells me his story, how far he fell before coming face to face with his savoir! Limping by me, I wonder at the sacrifices he made to run the...

Last night God walked me into a room and sat me at his table.  He then said, “Travis, ask your questions.  State your requests and see if I do not answer them.” I gingerly removed a tattered piece of paper from my coat pocket and unrolled it on the table.  Upon it, in different colored ink, were many little jotted notes and scribbles, each written during a different journey in life.  Some were bold and written in large hard to miss print.  Others were just footnotes or offshoots of thoughts.  Even others were underlined, marked with stars, or circled.  Each thought came with a story and a need.  Each important and each desired. I looked up at him and thought, Surely I am asking too much, such a thing isn’t even possible.  “How can I ask this?  I don’t deserve it.” He smiled and reached across the table and touch the fragile page.  There, a light flickered from his hand and the page, torn from years of folding and refolding, began to be restored.  From each tear, strands of gold reached out to grasp the other edge and together the stitched the spit edges.  The words, which had been...

I haven’t had the inspiration to write. It’s more because the thoughts are the same thoughts over and over. It’s seeing the world stuck in a landing pattern. The coming months will be ruled by patience and endurance to walk righteously and with integrity. Father, walk near to me as I walk this road. Keep my eyes on you that I won’t waiver. Put the desire in my heart to always stand on your foundation of truth. I will walk north, as long as your guidance directs me. Walk north with...