"The most important of life's battles is the one we fight daily in the silent chambers of the soul."

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Hand Pointing To Heaven, The Hand Of God Descending From Heaven

And he touched her hand, and the fever left her: and she arose, and ministered unto them.

Matthew 8:15
"Few are they who by faith touch Him; multitudes are they who throng about Him."

Author: Augustine
Lying on his bed and with a weak hand he tries to communicate. Lifting his hands, making them into a fist I watch. A index finger is extended with great effort. The hand now making a point. Raising his pointing hand, he directs it towards heaven. His face smiles with a reassuring look. He shakes his head up and down with a nod of yes. Lowering his arm, he moves the still extended finger toward himself. Guiding my eyes to him. As I observe his finger directed at him, he makes a motion toward his other hand. Putting the outstretched finger into a point that touches the palm of the other hand. With his voice gone from the illness, this simple gesture spoke volumes. The look of Love had overtaken him.

I believe my father's hand gestures was his way of communicating what he was seeing. God was revealing His hand to him. As he was pointing toward heaven, I believe he was touching God's fingertip. The Savior's hand directed back at him with an outstretched index finger. He could witness and experience this. Through his hand gestures, he was disclosing this fact to his family. Showing God's blessing and grace being transferred from God's hand to his.

Pointing symbolizes trying to show something to someone. Pointing it out, so to speak. But like before my little boy could speak good, he pointed at things he wanted. Oh, how my Dad pointed, longing to be with his Lord.

This reminding me of Michelangelo's image of God touching Adam in the sistene chapel painting. In this image he bestows life to Adam. My dad had eternal life bestowed to him by a touch.

Our hands seem to speak the truth even when our words don't, and perhaps they reveal secrets, too.

May I point to You, Christ, enough in my soul search.


Lance Gargus

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Fall Rain

I listen to the raindrops pour off the tin roof, as the sound of plopping water hits the ground. My heart feels like the rain in the autumn. Everything has died on the ground, preparing for the winter. The rain has fallen to the earth, only to bring forth no new life. It's kind of pointless I believe. Just like my teardrops that fall to water this same soil. Nothing grows in this season of my life. No amount of rain or raindrops can awaken the green shoots of life. It just makes everything wet. People avoid it to keep themselves from getting drenched. Just as friends avoid your troubles, in the believe that your sorrows will rub off on them. They just slog through the mud of your life and comment about how muddy it is. Basically, what a mess your tears have caused.

As you try to stop the teardrops with the things of this world, you can no more stop it than the rain that falls from the sky. You can seek shelter in your house, use an umbrella, or a raincoat. But the rain still comes. The teardrops still come.

Why are we the only creatures that shed tears? We do in physical pain, yes, but emotional pain the most. We seclude ourselves from others to cry, wiping each one away as another takes its place.
And just like the rain, it eventually stops. But in the autumn, the dark clouds remain. Cold winds blow across the landscape, chilling the body and the heart.

And so we bury the teardrops, as the autumn buries the rain. Hiding it away. Hiding it away for what? Is the rain ashamed it came in the fall instead of spring? Are we to be ashamed to feel loss, pain, or loneliness?

The rain remains deep in the earth until needed for the springtime of your life. Just as the teardrops remain deep in your heart. I cannot say when that time comes, but I feel like the tree in the fall loosing my leaves and pulling inward for the coming winter. Hoping for and remembering the days of spring, the days of life. But those days are behind me. So I prepare for the road ahead. And the rain will come, and tears will be shed, to help me prepare for the days of winter in my life.
Lance Gargus

Sunday, October 25, 2015

The One

they shall be one
Genesis 2:24

In my life,I could have taken so many different roads.These roads could have wound up with such different results. As a child, I read Choose Your Own Adventure books. Reading the stories lead to a crossroads in the adventure. The chapter ended, and you had to answer a question. The question forced the reader to become actively involved in the storyline. Choosing one answer lead to one page and another lead to another page. For example,the question posed maybe,"Should Jack go into the cave? Choose page 24 if he should and page 36 if he shouldn't." You had time to shut the book and think on it. If you wanted to cheat, you could look ahead to where it lead. Either way, the choice lead to the character's demise or lead to another decision futher up the road.

Life is alot like those books. Everyday is filled with choices. Choices we either regret or glad we made. Sometimes those past choices come back to confront you from time to time. A road not traveled and still left unresolved. Memeories are funny things. A song, a place, a date, a thought can bring old feelings, past things, and long ago dreams rushing back. I've moved on and alot of water has went under those bridges,but I'm still trapped there at that moment in time. My former self still holds on to what might have been. The other person who has touched your life in an intimate way has taken a different way too.

Still a part of who you are stands on that bridge waiting. Waiting for that person. That piece of you waits hour after hour, day after day, year after year, for that person. All the time unaware that person never comes. Emotions that ran deep and left you vunerable took on a life of its own in your mind and soul. How can you leave yourself so exposed and not realize that it takes on this life? Past loves will leave the heart bleeding and longing. When you see them, you realize that a piece of you still stands on that bridge looking up at the stars. I spent hours looking up at those stars and praying that God would send me the love my heart so desperately needed.

As each time I held someone and then they left, they chose their own adventure just like the books. A different version of me was left standing on that bridge wondering about the heavens. I went away like a wounded animal to lick my wounds and left that part of me there. Only to be reminded of them when these past loves passed by. Whether bumping into them in the store, talking through a friend, or meeting their new spouse and find out who their married too. A conversation can start about current events on jobs, family, or homelife. But sometimes it turns to what happened to us, and what went wrong. No answer ever fully resolves it. I walk away and see that part of me staring at the stars. Him still believing the past love is still standing beside him. He's oblivious to my words. He refuses to take his eyes off the heavens. I try valiantly to get his attention but with no results.

I scream,"Get over it." But he doesn't even realize there is anything to get over. I touch them, everyone of the many different selves standing on that bridge. Each one is of various ages. Younger to older, each one has an intense stare at the sky. I can't get them to look down. I touch each one on the shoulder and feel the pain and anguish of a soul left raw and exposed to the cold. Yet,they are forever optimistic that God hasn't abandoned and the true love God has sent still stands beside them. Never realizing no one stands beside them but a phantom. A mirage of a past that might have been but wasn't meant to be.

Only one can speak to them and get their attention. The one God had promised to me underneath those stars. She stared at those same stars in someone else's arms then and how the substitutes I held pained me. I refused to believe they were substitutes for her until she arrived. I tricked myself into believing they were the one. Now only the one, can break through to them and the lies I told them. The one has to take them by the hand and look at the stars together. Telling them in her small,tender voice,"My love, the one you have been waiting for has arrived. The one who will laugh with you, cry with you, dream with you, and live for you. I have come to pick up the petals that have fallen from your hands. And restore the blossom of love to you."

Only a soul mate can take the broken pieces of her lover's longing soul and make them whole again.

"There is no feeling more comforting and consoling than knowing you are right next to the one you love.”

Lance Gargus

Monday, October 05, 2015

Light In A Window

O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me; let them bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles.
Psalm 43:3

Childhood, night-time play,

whither around the house, or barn or meadow

the light in a window was a beacon,

to guide our way.

We didn't have the electric light in those times,

just a kerosene lamp, flickering, but rich and mellow,

the flickers of light, beckoned us home,

not unlike the church bell chimes.

As time went past,

the light never dimmed or died,

boyhood excursions call us to distant points of fun and pleasure,

from those loved ones at home,

when thoughts of home prevailed,

to that light we hied.

When grownup and wander-lust captured our minds,

The world was, a wonder-world to simple country boys,

The sights were marvelous, but unfulfilling,

leaving room for the yearning,

for the old home and light left behind.

The pure sweet, honest, simple love and family ties,

were so satisfying and comfortable,

relaxing the worldly tensions,

that the crowded throngs brought,

the withdrawal was a heritage we shared at home and fireside.

Dad with the Bible ever at hand, shared the words of love,

Mother in her apron, the smell of fresh bread,

the old tom cat by the hearth, the light at the window shining,

always twas paradise below a picture of Heaven above.

The light still shines from that same window,

though times has erased the forms of the loved ones so dear,

the light will ever shine in our minds and hearts.

The light is brighter now as the cold science has replaced the lamp,

but we're guided by that light from above,

comforts us below.

We visit the old homestead,

the shadows and influence of lost loved ones still linger there.

We're still going home, twill ever be so,

we've so much invested there,

remembering the love, the comfort, and care.

Dad's old Bible is still on the table by his chair,

Mother's checkered apron folded neatly upon the arm of her rocker-

the memories are so heavy,

the old tom cat,

gone long ago,

his padded mat still there.

It seems in our experience, our sentiments,

are little shared,

(by the world)

by the masses of get and gain,

I don't believe they have been blessed by a home of love, caring,

or a window of welcome by loved ones whose very souls were ever honestly bared.

Our hearts desire is to remain true to that promise,

that all the darkness of dismay or night dark,

can never blot out the wonderful, thought filled rays,

of love displayed by a family dedicated to each other and neighbors,

the entire length of days-

A window of love, hope, welcome,

of refuge from cradle to grave,

we must keep this spirit alive.


James Gargus

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.

Psalm 119:105