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The Walking Way

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this article years ago as God was preparing me to take a huge leap of faith. Within a few months after writing it, I quit my job and branched out in a new adventure. God spoke to me on my mountains walks with Him, and taught me faith lessons along the way that gave me courage enough to follow Him. I hope these words encourage you to listen closely to God in prayer, and then to step out boldly in faith with Him…

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Most Christians get their marching orders from God each morning in what is widely known as a “quiet time”. Talk to any mature Christian, and most will tell you they spend several minutes or hours with God at dawn or there abouts. To hear many of them speak of it, it sounds quite ideal…

Imagine sitting alone with your Bible, a small candle flickering on the table beside you. A petite fawn pokes her head into your window, while looking at your Bible with curious interest. You look upward lovingly with glistening eyes at the Heavenly Father as He pours the wisdom of the ages into your soul. You breathe a sigh of contentment as your day is suddenly stress-free and perfect.

Just get that picture painted by Thomas Kincade, and you’ve got the stereotypical image of the Christian’s morning devotional time. And all the really best Christians have them – believe me, they’ve all told me so themselves.

Problem is, I generally feel like total crap in the mornings. Having the constitution of a creative guy means that I continually struggle with insomnia and have to drink enough coffee when I wake up to make your average crack addict envious. The real place I hear from God consistently is about an hour after my body rolls out of bed, when I hit the street for a run or a walk.

There’s just something about getting my body moving and the outdoors that puts all the things that would distract me out of my thoughts.

I live in Florida now, but this week I spent some time in my favorite place on earth, the hills of East Tennessee. We used to live there years ago, and it’s usually where we spend most of our family vacations. Every time we’re here, I head off down a particular country road for a walk as soon as I can sneak out the door unnoticed.20130314-105415.jpg

That’s because it is imperative that I go alone, since this is the road I take to talk out loud to God. You can’t do that really well in the city – people who wander down the road mumbling out loud to no one in particular tend to scare neighbors and small children. So this secluded, lonesome country road is my favorite place to spend time unhindered with God, and talk out loud to him like some crazy hobo who hops trains at the rail yards.

I always say there’s no better place to hear from God than a lonesome country road. My friend Lewis says if God is there with you, it’s not lonesome after all. That sentiment sounds a little Hallmark card-ish, but it’s true.

There is a lovely, melancholy feel to walking outdoors alone with no human interruptions. However, there are other potential interruptions…

When you walk on a country road, you need to carry a big walking stick. This stick is not as much to help you walk as for protection from the occasional country dog. A lot of the houses on the road have at least one, sometimes several mangy snaggle-toothed mutts that like to chew on strangers when the squirrels are hiding.

A good-sized stick can guarantee you safe passage, and also makes you look a little bit like Moses, too!

One problem I have is to truly keep my mind on God and not just start griping into the air about how much my life stinks right now. I tend to whine when I’m not getting my way, and although it always worked on my mom with my dad, I’m starting to think God is less responsive to it. I try to communicate honestly from my heart, but I always want to remember WHO I’m really talking to. He’s God, not just some relative you’ve got cornered at a family reunion. Whining and complaining will not move Him to

I always want to remember WHO I’m really talking to. He’s God, not just some relative you’ve got cornered at a family reunion. Whining and complaining will not move Him to action, though it may move everyone else out of your path. Most of all, it shows a lack of faith that God has your best interest at heart.  It sounds like you think you need to “set Him straight” so He’ll get Himself in gear.

Even more important is that I SHUT UP every now and then to give God a chance to speak to me. Too often, prayer becomes a laundry list of gripes or requests from us.

To listen to us, you’d think God was some teenager working the drive-thru at Chick-fil-A, just waiting to take our order. To the contrary, it is we who should be taking orders from Him…

20130314-114446.jpgRemember – He has no need to be reminded of what we desire or need. Prayer is to remind US of what we need to put in His hands. We mention it in prayer so that we’ll remember it when He actually comes through with the answer!

The concept of “listening in prayer” is the missing ingredient for many Christians, I’ve discovered. If we never let God respond with His still small voice in our hearts, how are we ever supposed to learn, to adjust, to change? That’s the thing I look forward to in my times alone with God – the insight He offers, the knowledge He desires to give anyone who asks. But to receive that, we have to stop talking once in a while. And we have to believe in Him enough to have faith that He really will speak if we listen.

I’ve walked and talked to God here in every season of the year. It’s summer here right now, so the view is nice but not overwhelming. In the fall, the trees and mountains are breathtaking with their blazing colors. In the Spring, there are lots of yellows and lavenders as everything is blooming. Even in the winter, there’s a sad melancholy to the barren trees as the mountain wind cuts through you.

I see beauty here, regardless of the season. And in the same way, I’ve learned that God’s presence makes every season special in its own way. It’s easy in life to get focused on the circumstances surrounding us, and to hope for a particular kind of season to bring us fulfillment and happiness. But real joy is found in just being with God, no matter the season. Even during a dull patch of time, sensing God’s closeness can make the day special.

So I guess I need to focus less on how to change my circumstance and get out of the season God has me in. I need to focus more on listening to God within that circumstance…within that season.

Today I’ve walked my usual route, which takes me about 20 minutes one way down the road. I’ve survived the onslaught of “the house of a hundred dogs” (probably a meth lab, I’m thinking) with stick held high so all can see and back away accordingly. I’m really feeling like I want to walk further than usual and spend more time with God. But I’ve now come to my usual stopping point where this road intersects another.

There’s a continuation of the road across this intersection, but I’ve never followed it any further. Might be bigger dogs there that are not impressed by my trusty stick, or more meth labs. It is pretty heavily wooded, so I can’t really tell what might be coming around its bend.

This is the point at which I have always turned back…

But today for some reason, I feel like I’m supposed to go on. Honestly, I’m at a point of frustration with my life where I find myself saying “so what” to many supposed threats that I’ve let hold me back in the past. We don’t normally think of frustration as a tool God uses, but He has been using it overtime in my life.20130314-114614.jpg

I think that when God is waiting on us to step out in faith…to MOVE…He allows the level of discomfort where we are sitting to increase. Finally, our irritation outweighs our fear of change, and we grumpily step out beyond the safety of our well-traveled, familiar surroundings.

That’s pretty much where I am right now. I’m irritated by my own apprehension of the unknown. I’m mad at myself for giving in to it like some bully on the playground of my life. I’ve got my stick with me, ready to do battle. And I’ve got my trusty cell phone, so I can take good pictures of the paramedics who’ll come when I’m bleeding to death from either the dog bites or the gunshot wounds. So I take a deep breath, say “so what” (or its equivalent under my breath), and walk across to the further section of road.

So I take a deep breath, say “so what” (or its equivalent under my breath), and walk across to the further section of road…

As I make my way down the road and the trees clear, I’m not hearing any dogs at all. Then I round the next corner, and BAM…I gasp as I see a beautiful mountain sprouting up right in front of me. Mountains are my favorite things (next to raindrops on roses…and maybe whiskers on kittens), and I feel closest to God near the mountains. I take a few minutes to drink it all in, and pull out my cell phone to snap a quick picture.

But then I think to myself how stupid I am for never walking this far before. All those other walks and I had turned back, when this beautiful scene was waiting for me all along! As I came to the end of the road (it met up with a highway), I turned back and God started lecturing away at me…

“This is where you are in life right now. For too many years, you have let fear dictate how far you would follow me. You focused on your own ability to protect yourself and your own puny tools (my “sticks”). The problem was you needed to be focused on Me instead – on My ability to protect you and my resources. There are beautiful places I want your life to go, David. But until you get tired enough with the way things are…and frustrated enough to move forward past your fears, you’ll keep missing out on the great adventure your Daddy wants to take you on.”

20130314-114701.jpgHow many things are we missing because we aren’t taking the time to really listen to God?

When God speaks and says “Go on and take a step farther”, do we respond?

Or do we just turn back and return on the same safe path we’ve always walked along, fighting off the same puny attacks with our same puny weapons?

So, do you have the faith to go farther with God?

I think I’ve got the combination I need now: faith + frustration. Those two take me a lot farther than I used to want to go. But I think that’s the way God planned it all along.

All photos taken by David Gipson while walking along Cummings Chapel Road in Sevierville, TN

 

 

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.