Sheep Shearing Days

I recently found an old sheep-shearing machine in the log barn on our old homeplace. The old log barn is the only barn left standing on the farm after all these years. There the sheep-shearing machine was, lying in the dirt. I brought it home and cleaned it up, and since I don’t usually like the color of rust, I painted it black. It is an old model shipped in from Chicago in the early 1900’s. It is a manual hand-cranked machine. My Dad would usually get someone to turn the main handle and then he would take the long handle with a shearer on the end and cut off the wool of the sheep. That was before electricity allowed us to conform to the electric-type shearing machine.

I was only a child when this machine was used because most of my memories are of the electric machine. However, both machines involved the same process. Spring was the time of the year to shear the sheep. After a long winter and plenty of heavy wool hanging loosely on the sheep, they began to show the signs of discomfort. We would take them to the mountain pastureland and put them through the process. We started early in the morning. I can still remember how long the day was and how at the end of the day my skin was pink from the sun.

The sheep were kept in a side pen until their time to be put on the old wooden table to be sheared. When their time came they were caught (which was one of my chief responsibilities) and after binding their legs they were put on the table. The reason their legs were bound was to keep them from kicking and receiving unnecessary cuts. Some sheep would still kick and they ended up with lots of red marks on their beautiful white skin. They wouldn’t lie still for the shearing. I felt so sorry for these sheep. I still do. They would go back into the pen and their blood would rub onto the other sheep. They stood out.

Believers are like sheep and there are times that our wool is hanging loose from the past season. The winter has been long. The old wool needs to come off. When the Father places us on the table with our legs bound, we often misunderstand the process and question His love for us. We kick. Sometimes He uses circumstances or others to hold us back. He often uses leaders (such as pastors) to hold us back for a season, and we don’t like that either. We kick. When it is Father ordained, the holding back is for our best. The more we learn to rest and relax in the process the whiter the skin at the end of the day. As a pastoral leader, it grieves me to hold someone back. I usually have to overcome feelings of guilt about it. However, it grieves me more when they kick and the cut marks scar their beautiful skin. It grieves everyone else when they return to the pen and get blood on others.

One of my jobs was to tamp the wool into the sack. The sack was over six feet long. I would stand at the top of the sack and jump up and down and tamp the wool into the sack. It was fun. Once the burlap sack was full it was tied. It was a huge thing and three or four would fill up the back of a truck. As kids, we would jump up and down on the sacks and roll around. The sacks of wool were the reward of some hard days of work. It signaled the end of a season and the beginning of a new one. We would haul the wool to market and receive payment. The sheep were turned back out into the pasture to enjoy the green grass. It would be another year before they would have to go through the process again. The new season would begin with new spring grass and new lambs playing by their side. The summer wouldn’t seem so hot since they were freshly sheared.

Rewards are often a funny thing. Some are obvious and honorable. Others are hidden and mysterious. Some we just tamp into the big burlap sack of life and instantly enjoy them. Others are just the smile of the Master letting us know He is well pleased. Then, there is the reward of suffering. “May the Lamb of God receive the reward of His suffering.” These words are those of the Moravians as they launched out to share their faith. They left their homelands, families and friends to go where God would lead them. For them it was a new season in which they often had no idea what it would entail or where it would take them.

I recently took the old sheep-shearing machine and placed it in my yard. It is under a dogwood tree. There is a snowball bush nearby. Honeysuckle is growing on a rock cliff beside the machine. Some other flower bushes add to the décor. It is a nice ornament and causes me to often reflect on the sheep shearing days. A prophet recently visited and I explained what the ornament was and how it was used back in the day. As the prophetic gifting began to churn inside…. this was the word for me. “The Father is turning the wheel of the sheep-shearing machine. You have had to tie the feet of several of the sheep and although you, and they, don’t like it, it is necessary for their process. The old wool is coming off. If they don’t kick so much there won’t be so many cuts and so much blood. The rock cliff is nearby and your heart is to search for the one sheep that might fall off the cliff. The snowball bush is significant in reminding us how white we become after the process. The dogwood leaves remind us of the cross. The flowers remind us that Jesus is the rose of sharon and the lily of the valley. He is ever near in all of the process.” Putting it all together, it is a beautiful picture.

It is springtime and the time of the shearing of the sheep. Are we ready for the process? Do we feel tied or shelved by the Master? Are we relaxed in His hands or are we kicking? Do we smell the flowers of His presence about us? How long has it been since we have seriously looked at the cross? Have we felt the Lord washing us and realized that we have become as white as the snow? (see Psalms 51:7) Is it our earnest desire that the Lamb receive the full reward of His suffering?

The Father Revelation

Growing up in Appalachia I listened to people and their theology. One common thread I found woven into almost everyone’s theology was that Jesus loved us, but you had better watch out for His Father. It was the Father God who had lightning bolts coming out of His fingers, and we needed Jesus to protect us from His wrath. So most of my life, even after conversion, I feared the Father and felt a big distance between us. Somehow I had come to the understanding that this was the way it was supposed to be. Anything less or more would be irreverent and would get us into deeper trouble with an angry God. So I fell into the trap of Bible-belt religion, believing in a loving Jesus and an angry Father.

Then in 2003 I went to the Toronto Renewal in Toronto, Canada. It was the fall of the year and the leaves were evidence of the change of the seasons. I arrived in Michigan and rode with a friend to Toronto. I have to admit I was nervous. I had heard plenty about the Toronto Renewal and had been hesitant about going. I remember like yesterday riding into Toronto that night. It was already getting dark. The lights of the city were coming on. My plan was to find a seat in the back and just observe. I had heard about all the wild stuff that was happening there. Laughter and other extremes had gotten them lots of criticism. So what was I doing there? I had no idea. I just knew I wanted to experience in this life all that there is to experience of God. I had planned to eat the meat and spit out the bones.

Arriving at the church, I found a seat in the back because that was the only place where there were any vacant seats. The huge auditorium was packed out. Sure enough people were laughing, crying, hollering, running around, and doing almost everything. I kept a low profile that night. I was not offended by anything although it was way outside my box. I later realized that when you become desperate, as I was at that time in my life, it is harder to be offended. I may not have liked or understood everything I saw or heard, but I was after God and man could only be a small distraction in comparison to what I was looking for. Even if something seemed like a distraction, it didn’t hold my attention long, because I was looking for something really big. There were aspects of God I wanted to see and I am thankful I kept my eyes open long enough to see some of it.

One day a little guy who called himself the Jester came up and tried to shoot me with a play gun. The weird thing was that when he shot me, I felt like God touched me through this simple act. Eventually I did some weird things myself. We won’t even mention them here, not that I am ashamed or afraid, but because that is still not the main focus. Manifestations are never to be the main focus. There is something greater. Needless to say, I loosened up some. Compared to those around me, it may not have looked like I loosened up, but I did. My heart and my mind were really loosening up. Each speaker and each message touched something deeper in my heart.

Most of the messages were about the Father. Everyone seemed to be so in love with the Father. So many scriptures were being opened up about the love of the Father. It was like big flood lights were revealing the Father unlike anything I had ever seen, heard, or imagined. My theology was changing without me even knowing it. I began to see loving Jesus and loving Father. I began to see them as an exact representation of each other (see Hebrews 1:3). Then I got the biggest revelation I may have ever received in a lifetime. Suddenly, I realized that Jesus didn’t come to shield me from an angry God, but He came to connect me to the Father. He came to show us the Father. He came to bridge the gap between the world and the Father. The life, death and resurrection of Jesus would bridge the gap between God the Father and man. Jesus came to invite us to know Him as Abba.

I can remember so clearly how I struggled with the word Abba, which means Papa. I would try to address the Father as Papa or Daddy and it was hard. Even in my discomfort with saying it, I continued to call Him Papa. It took a long time for it to become easy. A couple of years later, I was helping with a women’s retreat. It had been a very special moment in the retreat and I was closing with prayer. I said, “You are a good Papa” and there was a peace that came into that place unlike anything I had ever known. It seemed everyone was touched by that simple line. It was then that I knew I was in love with a Father that was the sweetest God that man could ever know.

As the years have passed this revelation has increased. My view of the Father has become my cornerstone for how I build. It is the foundation of my theology (study and beliefs about God) and it is sweet. Jesus is perfect theology and He came to show us the Father. Everything Jesus did, the Father does the same. Jesus was kind (except for a couple of times) and so is Father. Jesus had compassion and so does Father. Jesus rejoiced (jumped up, and twirled around) and so does Father. The Father sings over us, dances, and laughs. Jesus was humble and it was illustrated in His washing the disciples’ feet. It would not surprise me if upon entering heaven, that my Father might just meet us there and wash our feet while saying, “enter into the joy of the Lord.” Father created and Jesus worked along beside Him. They are so alike. There is no division in them. One is just like the other. This great love we have is about loving Jesus and loving Father. Study the heart of Jesus and you will better know the heart of the Father. Jesus only did what He saw the Father doing. Jesus said only what He heard the Father saying. What a team. What a revelation. What a Father.

Written Words

Written words are a source of blessing, power and encouragement. The prophets wrote what God revealed to them. These prophecies remained and were even quoted by Jesus. There was power in the written word for Jesus as He told satan, “It is written.“ The apostles wrote letters that still remain today. In order for us to be good stewards of revelation, we must discipline ourselves to record and write. Dreams and visions need to be recorded. Revelations that come to us need to be written down. Special times of God’s grace, even the smallest of details that can be easily forgotten, need to be recorded so that we may read the words later and be inspired, provoked, or simply reminded of what God has said to us and done for us.

It is still a blessing and sometimes even humorous for me to read journal entries of special times in my life. One such entry was in the spring of 1993. I was in Linz, Austria with a mission team visiting the Romanian church there. Many of the Romanian people had immigrated into Austria during the communist era. On a beautiful evening we got ready and drove into town for the evening service. Arriving at the service, I suggested to one of the guys that we sit near the window. It was hot and a cool breeze was coming in the window. I noticed that all the women and girls were sitting on that side of the room. They smiled at us and occasionally would laugh or whisper. Being Americans, we knew we were often under the close scrutiny of the people we were visiting, however, after a while we finally figured it out. We were sitting in the women’s section. During prayer we quietly moved over to the men’s section.

They eventually introduced us and asked each of us to give a testimony of our faith. Four of us sang a couple of songs while Gabriel played for us. Not the angel Gabriel. Gabriel was a Romanian youth that we had befriended. Another young man named Radul and some of his soccer friends invited us to play the next day. I hadn’t ever played soccer but was excited about the invitation. These guys were members of a national team. Somehow it wasn’t entering my mind that they were pros. So, we were up early the next morning and ready to go.

Gabriel and Radul picked us up to take us to the park. It was a holiday. Several others were already there in a beautiful open field with trees around it. We gathered around and sang some songs with the accompaniment of a guitar and trumpet. We sang, “How Great Thou Art,” “Soon and Very Soon” and some other songs. This was probably my first experience with park ministry. I loved it. Then the games began.

Radul had played for two years on the Austrian soccer team. We chose teams and I ended up on his team. There were about eight on each team. Although I was only in my mid-thirties, I was the oldest one playing and with very little knowledge of the game. The weather was really hot. At one point when I had the ball, I kicked three times and I missed each time. Once I turned a flip. I did actually hit the ball a few times; I blocked a few times, but we ended up getting beat three to one. However, I wrote in my journal, “This is a historical event for me, and I will always remember my first, and maybe last, soccer game.“

After that game, we went to the water trough to get some water. Then, we sang some more. We added an accordion to the mix this time. They were a repressed people living in a distressed land but they were so happy and joyful. They had not hung their harps upon the willows. Their joy was contagious. Winning the game wasn’t as important as just receiving the joy of life. Life was just flowing through everyone as we celebrated holiday. I never even asked what holiday it was…. looking back, maybe it was only what American’s call a vacation day. It was a momentous day.

Reflecting and reading this almost twenty years later makes me appreciate the passion and discipline of writing. Otherwise I would have forgotten lots of small details. Sure, I will always remember the game, but not the score. I will always remember Austria, but may forget what songs we sang in the park on holiday. May we let the power of our written words encourage us and inspire us to live life abundantly. May our recorded dreams and visions increase continually. It is also my hope that our dreams be more plenteous than our memories. Recording our memories can spark new dreams. Recording our memories can help us to endure until our dreams are realized.

Caleb, the one who spied out the Promised Land but had to wait many years to actually step into it again, even at the ripe old age of eighty-five, said, “Give me my mountain.” (Joshua 14) He had not grown weary waiting for the actualization of his dream. The memory of the wonders he had seen forty-five years earlier was still fresh to him, making him as strong as he had been the day he saw the Promise. May our dreams be vibrant and our will and even our bodies be ready to take our mountains – even those we dreamed about half a life-time ago.

Storm Training

The following writing is not in any way being uncaring or judgmental of those who have experienced loss and even death in the recent storms that have hit the South. May God's peace rest over all the destruction. It is my prayer that these words will offer some insight into ways of preparing for the next ones.

Our region here in the Appalachian Mountains has been hit hard with the storms. Jesus faced some storms. A deeper look into the storms Jesus faced can give us insight on how to handle storms today, naturally and spiritually. With increasing storms in the natural and in the spiritual, it would do us good to understand how to provide more protection for our households and communities.

The Gospels tell about a couple of storms that Jesus was involved in (see Matthew 8 and 14). In the first storm, Jesus was asleep when the disciples awakened Him. They were alarmed, because a storm had suddenly come upon them. In the second storm Jesus came walking on the water to his disciples who had been caught out in the midst of the lake. There is encouragement with both examples. In one storm Jesus was already on the boat with them, and the other storm He was on His way to them.

There are times that we may feel that the Lord is with us in the storm. We feel the presence of the Lord and we aren’t fearful. Yet there are other times that we feel sure the Lord is with us but we still feel fear. The disciples knew Jesus was on board, however, He was asleep. This concerned them and they awakened Him wondering if He even cared if they lived or not. With this kind of attitude from the disciples, Jesus knew He needed to correct their lack of faith and trust. Jesus does care if we live or die. He cares for the birds and flowers. He cares about each of us. This is foundational trust and faith. This is the rock we build upon and the storms cannot sweep us from this foundational truth. He cares.

There are other times that we may feel alone in the storm and begin to cry out for the Lord to come to our rescue. The Psalmist talks of a time of trouble in which people cried to the Lord and the Lord brought them out of their distress. He continues to tell how the Lord caused the storm to be still. This excited the people when the storm was quieted (see Psalm 107:28-30). It is always exciting when God shows up and quiets the storm. We often relate storms to trials and tests in life and that is a good comparison. However, there are times that natural storms come, and just like the trials of life, the Lord also desires to quiet them. When Jesus came walking to the disciples on the lake, He acted as if He was going to pass them by. I believe He did this to offer them the opportunity to call out to Him and to receive Him into their boat. It became a choice. It still is a choice. No matter how hard the storms are hitting upon us, it is a time that we can invite Jesus into our boats. He may even challenge us as He did Peter with something new…like walking on water. Or, He may ask us to take charge and speak to the storm.

In these stories about the storms, there is another beautiful nugget. Jesus quieted the storms. He spoke to the wind. Jesus was modeling the way we can face storms. Jesus said that we would do greater works than He did (see John 14:12). Speak to the storm. It isn’t as hard as it seems. Just, simply tell the wind to be quiet. The first time you do this it may get louder but stand your ground. A tree may even fall close by but stand your ground. Be stern (not necessarily loud) and command the wind to be quiet. There are those who may be immature who think they can just control the wind and rain whenever they want. I am talking about times in which you or your family are in danger. I feel this is a way that we care for them much like we provide food and clothes. We can speak peace to the storms and we can speak protection over our homes.

This does not mean that those who have suffered loss didn’t have faith. However, we cannot ever allow the tragedy of yesterday to hinder us in moving towards new levels of faith that will bless us in the future. An example of this kind of hindrance is when a person has prayed several times for healing and comes to the conclusion that it is not God’s will to heal them. There are great testimonies of people who have let go of past prayer attempts that seemed to fail and asked afresh and anew. They experienced powerful healing. The mercies of the Lord are new and fresh each morning. If it seems we have failed in an area to reach God, push the thoughts back and reach for God again. If a storm knocks you down once, face the next one with greater resolve. Step outside the traditional box and speak to the storm. Tell the wind to be quiet. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead resides in every believer (see Romans 8:11). May each storm we face only make us stronger to silence it quicker.