My Sorrow, when she's here with me,

Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.

She talks and I am fain to list:

She's glad the birds are gone away,

She's glad her simple worsted gray

Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,

The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know

The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

And they are better for her praise.

–Robert Frost

For a slight departure, a more comical post than normal. *

*at the time there was not much humor involved.

Picture it: A quiet Tuesday evening staying at Kerilyn's house while she's on vacation. I've just polished off an evening snack (the first carton ice cream I've eaten in forever), and I've decided to do something constructive, like wash laundry. So I gather up all the clothes I'd been piling in a corner of the bathroom, for want of a laundry basket, and head for the washer (which is just adjacent to the kitchen). I'm nervous.

Flashback: about 10 minutes or so earlier I'd spotted a roach–no one should question Keri's house hygiene, its swampland in Florida, and we had a hurricane like storm the night before that would make El Nino blush. The roach stood there, mocking me. Taunting me. I grabbed a cup and slowly approached it [again, please note the courage] but it slyly ran into the dark crevice beside the oven. Right beside the Laundry room. One must keep in mind for the rest of the story that I detest roaches. I fear them. They terrorize me. I have and would rather let a boa constrictor dance around my neck, then a roach get near my shoe. Its just that simple, I fear them. It stems back to my childhood when one jumped on my back, and refused to be dislodged, no matter how many laps around the house I did. It was a bad day.

Back to the Present. I decide to defy my fear and start a load of laundry with the full knowledge that the chances of the roach being in the same room with me are about 70%. I put the load in, and there out of the corner of my eye I spot it. It runs in the crack between the dryer and the wall where the Ironing board is stowed. I decide to go look for some raid. Keri either has a soft spot for insects, or is really good at hiding chemicals for when the toddlers (and occasional house-sitter) drop by. The raid is nowhere to be found. So I see the bottle of oust in the cupboard above the dryer. I begin to Oust the area into a dense fog, akin to your average New England port at dawn.

Eventually the roach ends up in a basket of crisp, clean, folded laundry Keri had left on the dryer. "Great", I think to myself. I try to fog it out with the oust, but to no avail. At last an idea strikes. Making for certain that the roach is still on the basket, with one fell swoop I grab the basket and set it outside on the air conditioner hub.

Now I can't just leave Keri's clean laundry outside to face what could become another storm gale, so I go back into the kitchen, grab a pair of tongs, find a broom, and with oust in hand head back to the battle.

Not knowing for sure if the roach has rooted deeper in the pile of clothes, I begin to deftly pick up each article of clothing (be it blouse, sundress, skirt, or shorts) with my pair of tongs and shake it with a vigorous movement until a point at which I'm certain the average roach would have lost hold. All the while bathing the clean clothes in a thick mist of oust. After each article meets my approval, I deposit it back in the house, and head out to the thick of the fight. I'm only hoping that the neighbors on campus are in bed by now, and aren't watching the man outside in the yard wildly flailing women's clothing held from the end of a pair of tongs. Finally after what seemed to be the eternal pile of clothing came to its end I grabbed the basket, gave it a few kicks with my foot, sprayed the last of the oust on it, and took it back inside. The roach had left. I had won. With a great sense of accomplishment I write these words.

I conquered the roach.

I heard this song over a year ago, but recently listened to it again, and have listenend to it many times over the past couple of months. It has become one of the most powerful songs in my life. I want the last part to truly become my heart's prayer. Hope it impacts you the way it has me.

I Corinthians 3:18


Charlie Was A Fool
Did You Hear What He Went And Did?
He Quit His Job, Threw It Away
Gave His Life To A Bunch Of Kids
He Said He Was In Love With Jesus
But His Friends Didn't Understand
He Could've Had It All
But He Just Smiled And Said
That He Already Did.


He Saw The Big In The Small
He Saw The Beauty In The Call
Even When No One Else Approved
He Took The Job Only A Fool Would Do.


Sarah Was A Beauty Queen
Miss Something Or Another
She Took Off Her Crown
Rolled Up Her Sleeves
Gave Her Life In A Mission To Others
She Said She Was In Love With Jesus
But Her Friends Called Her A Fool
They Said She'd Never Find Happiness
She Just Looked At Them And Smiled
And Said She Already Did.


She Saw The Big In The Small
She Saw The Beauty In The Call
Even When No One Else Approved
She Took The Job Only A Fool Would Do.


The Way Of The World, It May Look Wise
The Way Of The Truth Is To Realize
Wisdom Will Only Come Through
To Those Who Are Only The Fool.


Show Me The Big In The Small
Show Me The Beauty In The Call
Show Me The Road That I Should Chose
I'll Take The Job Only A Fool Could Do.


Show Me The Big In The Small
Show Me The Wonder Of My Call
Even When No One Else Approves
I'll Take The Job For Only A Fool
Only A Fool, Only A Fool.


Listen to Geoff Moore's Only A Fool

Adoration in the Darkness

When the Night, tossing and turning,

In its bed of velvet black,

Awakes in flashing glory

And the thunder answers back,

When the stars have gladly fallen

Down between the billowed clouds

And slept their fill, their cradles rocked

By Blowing whitened sounds.

When the sun is still afraid to rare its

Haughty head of day

And the rain is playing hide and seek

Above the rolling waves,

When the wind is singing softly in

Some mournful minor key

And an orchestra of hollow trees

Has trembled gradually,

It is now that I will still myself

And listen with my heart

To what I know I've heard before

Yet rarely taken part.

Now the thunder claps the time to

What will grow to be a song

Of Creation sounding praises

Of their God, and then the throng

That gathered here to hear it

Will cry aloud as one

Worthy is the Lamb of God

And Honor to the Son

All Power be to Him, alone,

That sits upon the throne

All Glory, His Eternal,

And His it shall remain

Forever captive in His love

And His Eternal reign.

When the song has softly faded

In the whispers of the waves

I will watch the dying darkness

And anticipate the Day,

For I know with Dawn comes Sunset

And the Dusk is sure to bring

A myriad of praises

With the night, sung to my King.

17 August 2009

Travis Shillington

Yet another one. . .

Check it out.

Sometimes I wish I'd have sat down more and just listened to what they had to say. Listened to their stories of growing up during WWII and what it was like to see the world then. I wish I could listen to how they felt after all of their children lived in a different country, and how they coped with life's problems over the years. I wish I could sit and ask them what their favorite memory was of their birthday, or hear my Grandma talk about her mother getting her and her sister up and dressed to watch a thunder storm in the middle of the night, just in case they would need to go somewhere safe. I wish I could listen to them laugh at each other's jokes, or hear my Grandfather's soft voice as he walked down to the basement to get the strawberry preserves out of the fridge. I wish I could hear them talk about their old dates, or say "eh?" at the end of a sentence. I would give alot to go to A&W again for a burger and root beer with them or sit in their living room and listen to stories about the Canadian prime minister from Grandpa. I wish I could look at the photographs of old family members that they missed as much as I miss them now. I wish I could hear the stories firsthand again of how the house my Grandfather was raised in burnt down after they were married. I want to see that smirk on my Grandma's face before she said something funny, or that wide toothy grin Grandpa gave her. I wish I could hear them tell them they loved us with tears in their eyes as we drove off again, most likely not to see them again for another year. I wish I could've stayed in the room longer in that cold hospital where Grandma laid dying and held her hand longer than I had.  I wish I could sit on the couch with Grandpa again as he looked at a young picture of Grandma after she died, crying as he told me what a beautiful women she had been. I wish I had overcome my fear of hearing about people dying and truly showed that I cared when he became sick. I wish I hadn't masked my concern with apathy when he began to grow weaker,  And I wish I had talked to him one last time before he died. . . Someday I will. 

I had a whole lot more to say, but don't think this is the venue, so I'll just say this. 

"Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks at the Heart". 

I am so tired of the energy that many around me exert in keeping up with the latest news of who is doing and wearing what these days. Who's hair recently got shorter, and who added the wedding band to their daily routine of getting dressed in the morning.

[the absurdity of the sentence above to most of the world struck me. It bothers me that this is even something I can relate to].

 God help me to keep my eyes on Him, because I know I'm tempted and have been guilty of the same thing. I have so many times tried to reason my salvation based on the fact that I've earned it because of what I'm not doing. What a lie I've fallen for so many times.  I pray that God will open my own eyes wider to His abounding Love and Grace, and the inner things of the Heart that He sees. 

On the other side I know there is a tendency for those with more "Freedom" to label those more conservative as legalists. I just wish we could all just forget about the outside appearance and realize that Grace is a Free gift and the most we can do is give Christ our all in return as Gratitude, not payment. 

Matthew 6:19-21

Before this year, I can honestly say I've never missed any particular place. I have, of course, missed situations, individuals, and familiar comforts, but I cannot say I have ever longed to just exist in a certain atmosphere. That has changed. It is hard to express without coming across as sentimental or dramatic, but I truly can hardly wait for the day I return to Africa. There is something beyond even the five senses that is inexplicably captivating. It is nothing like any place in which I have ever lived. It is probably less comfortable, in many ways offering fewer amenities than to which I am accustomed. But that does not bother me, which is surprising because I admit I enjoy being comfortable. The food is different. Good in its own way, but not the way I would cook it if I were cooking it, yet I crave it. The people are Beautiful. For the most part unpretentious and unselfish. They give of themselves freely and beneath a thin exterior of formality lies a fairly unguarded heart that is raw and deep in a way most Westerners could not understand. They have dimension in an age of shallow familiarity and surface acquaintances. I wonder if I can ever allow myself to become vulnerable in that way. Respect for those who are in authority, whether you know them or not, is a way of life. Society treats those that are older as people of wisdom, not people to be shut away and forgotten. These Tannies and Ooms are not ridiculed for their older Boer ways, but appreciated for being living Icons of an Age that is fastly fading as an Era of political correctness eats away at an identity or nationalism. There is a way of life, that though dying, is still tangible and visible in the Towns. People greet each other with more than a smile and wave. There is a warmth created by interaction that cannot be duplicated through any other means of communication than raw, one on one conversation. This is what I miss. The culture that is not afraid to set aside time from their plans to truly find out how someone else is doing. A culture that forces you to forget about yourself for a few minutes and find out about the true feelings and emotions someone else is experiencing. It is by no means a Utopia. There are arguably more problems than many other places, but does that make it irredeemable? Is it beyond hope? Can people who really grow to love the country not implement change? The only change that will really transform any place is the one that has eternal significance. People filled with the Love that is God pouring their lives into people who have no true Hope is the something that cannot be underestimated. God created something unparalleled in beauty in the vast landscape of Mountains and Sea, and in the people that live their lives in and around that land. The only thing that remains is to take His Love to them through service and sacrifice. Africa does not need my American thought or my Western trained intellect. It needs the all transforming, redeeming Love of God. A love that can only truly be shared through us when God chooses to use us, and we respond by Whole heartedly giving of our life. our Soul. I can honestly say that whether or not God chooses to allow me to see Africa again, I am in the process of allowing Him to transform me into someone who is not tied to material things. I will never drive a fancy car or own a beautiful home, but I will, by God's Grace, sell my life out to doing His will and showing others His Love wherever He calls me. There will always be a part of my heart that can only be filled by Africa, and I pray I will be worthy of the Blessing of returning to this wonderful place that God has given me such a desire in which to minister. Above all I pray I never lose the fire of service or become blind to the tragedy of the American Dream and the materialism it embodies. I pray God will use me in to radically bring Glory to Him in Africa or wherever He chooses to place me. It sounds scary to say I may never have the safety and security of Home, but I could never call Home any place besides the center of God's will. I know He has called me beyond the comfort and influence of material things, and in that I have an unexplainable trust and calm. People may never understand and say I am being a bad steward by not investing my money in Wall Street or IRA's, but God has not called me to the ministry of sending workers, He has called me to do all I can to be His work. So now I can say there is a place I will always wish to return to. A place my Heart is in. A place I could one day call Home.

Romania [a memory]

Antics in the Schoolyard on the Sly.

"on Golden Rays of Sunlight Trod" or "Becker Farms at Dusk"

Images in black and white,

Sprawling skies in shades of gray.

You with me, and paper kites

Sailing high to greet the day.

Opening, the sky and clouds

Rained down around our paper kites.

We danced beneath the thundering shroud 

And laughed to see the crashing lights.

Racing to the sprawling tree.

Collapsing at its solid base.

Sheltered by its thousand leaves

Casting shadows on your face.

Beneath the tree, we closed our eyes

And hoped the storm would never end.

We fell asleep beneath the sky

And woke to find the rain again.

Travis Shillington

21-4-08

Karis

We did not know that you would go.
You left so suddenly.
We never dreamed that this was how
Your little life would be.

Jesus took you Home with Him.
We'll never understand.
This we know within our Hearts--
Your fingers clasp His Hand.

Today we saw the sunset glow--
The sky in purple hues.
We could not help but wonder if
A part was brushed by you.

Each stroke of pink and purple waves
Across the sunlit sky.
Was painted there by your sweet hand
As God knelt by your side.

Now though our Hearts are breaking still,
Each sky of purple hue--
We will not help but wonder if
The strokes are brushed by you.

Travis Shillington

6 February 2009

Marionette

You do not Journey Alone. . . Tell you're Story

For  you who have ever struggled with your Faith or Doubt. 

For you who have come up to the greatest battles of your Life and Lived. 

For you who have slipped into Despair only to feel the Grip of God's Hand pull you back. 

For you who have Fallen on your face in Sin.

For you who have been Hurt by the choices of those Around You .

Don't be afraid to share your story. 

God leads us through trials for a reason. Allow Him to use your experiences to transform not only your life, but the life of another. I'm not saying we should get up in Church and shout our private matters to the congregation. I'm saying if the opportunity arrises to share your experience with another, and you feel God leading you to do so, do it. Its not easy, its not comfortable, but the impact you can have. The impact God meant for you to have, is unimaginable. You sharing your story could be the one thing that kept another Sane or began the process of Healing and Forgiveness. God may want to use You as His hand in someone's Life, and your willingness to be used could very well impact a Life- a Soul- for Eternity.