Tag Archives: Spiritual warfare

The next morning, Dad paced back and forth in the office parking lot, when I arrived at 8:30. His neon yellow tie hung at half mast on his white shirt, his top button remained unbuttoned. His gray suit coat draped over the blue and white sign in front of the handicap parking space. A scowl etched his lobster-colored face. He was boiling.

“Jeremiah, we need to talk. Now!” he said through clenched teeth.

Dad knows! I thought. How I wish the gift of faith was still working in me. Guess I’ll have to trust in the Lord’s grace to see me through this.

I avoided his blistering eyes and nodded.

“Okay.”

He reached over and slung the suit coat over his right shoulder.

“Follow me,” he spit out over his shoulder as he marched toward his silver Mercedes. “Jump in.”

I opened the door and sat down in the black leather passenger seat. Dad climbed in the driver’s side.

“Better buckle up,” he said without looking over.

The Mercedes’ tires squealed as we pulled out onto Pine Street in front of an oncoming city bus. Instinctively, my right hand reached for the seatbelt and pulled it tight across my dark blue slacks. I snapped it. Then, I tugged on it just to make sure it fastened properly. I straightened my red tie and ironed out the wrinkles in my light blue oxford shirt.

We headed west on the one-way street. Then, he turned a razor-sharp right into the Starbucks on the corner of Octavia Street. He read the confusion on my face.

“This is a timeout, sort of like you use to pull on me when you were young,” he said without smiling. “I was so upset that I didn’t brew any coffee this morning. Like Napoleon, I am senseless without the stuff. Would you like one?”

With our two coffees, we drove north to Lafayette Park. Dad pulled over to the curb and parked. He sipped some coffee. Then, he rotated in his seat toward me, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Now, what were you thinking about when you pulled that stupid stunt yesterday at City Hall?”

The only other time in my life Dad had been that angry with me was when I dropped out of college and broke-up with Kari. This was out of character for him. Usually, he joked around and carried on a light-hearted banter with people.

“Where did you hear about it?” I asked.

“Arlene phoned and said she saw you on Channel 26.”

“Good old Arlene and cable TV, huh?”

“And if Arlene knows, everybody knows,” he mumbled. “Right?”

I nodded.

“So, answer my question, will you?”

“The Lord told me to do it.”

“Oh, boy!” he said with a deep groan. “Does this have to do with your thinking that you’re called to be a prophet?”

“Yes.”

“Jeremiah, Jeremiah, Jeremiah. I thought we were past that by now.”

I blew out a deep breath.

“Dad, it’s my calling – I can’t just lay it down because it causes discomfort to loved ones or me.”

He rose up and pointed a finger in my face.

“Listen son,” he bellowed, “shooting off your mouth in San Francisco will cause bad things to happen to you. This is not the Bible Belt, you know. Open your eyes. This is the liberal capital ofAmerica. San Franciscans hate having their noses shoved into their crappy smelling sins by a Christian who thinks he’s a prophet. Do you hear?”

I looked out the window at two junior high kids who walked by just then. The smaller boy slapped the pudgy one on the back and took off running. The victim stood still for a moment, his mouth hanging open. Then, he ran after the other one yelling, “I’m going to kill you when I get a hold of you.”

The smaller boy stopped a half block away and put his hands to his mouth. “You ain’t never catching me, fat boy.”

Then, he turned and scooted down the street.

“Son, do you hear what I’m saying?”

I nodded but swallowed the hasty words, waiting just behind my teeth.

BUZZ! BUZZ!

Dad answered his cell phone.

“Yes.”

He listened for a long time.

“Okay, we’ll be right there. Tell everyone the sales meeting is canceled for this week,” he said as he started the car.

“It seems the switchboard is lit up with calls for the prophet. Six people want to list their homes with you. Can you believe that?” he said as he shook his head. “I would have guessed your career was buried yesterday, but what do I know, huh?”

The news about possible listings mellowed dad. He reached over and touched my arm. “Son, I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, dad.”

“Did you know Kari got married?” he said as we drove down California Street.

“No, when?”

“Last year. She married a trial lawyer. They bought a home two blocks away from her parents in Pacific Heights.”

“She deserves a good man.”

He glanced over.

“Jeremiah, that should have been you?”

I shrugged and looked out the window.

The years of training in the high desert helped me to not dwell on the what-if’s of life. Still, it required extra discipline on my part to shove this news aside.

Kari in Pacific Heights – oh Lord!

(The above is an excerpt from my soon to be published book, Jonah)  

I’ve included the excerpt to remind us:

Then Jesus told them, “A prophet is honored everywhere except in his own hometown and among his relatives and his own family.” (Mark 6:4 NLT)

If you are called to be a prophet, don’t expect your relatives to be cheering you onward as you point out the sins of cities, states and nations. Jesus had a problem with his family and you can probably expect much of the same.

(Continued in Part 6)

What about Harold Camping’s prophecy of the rapture taking place on May 21, 2011? When the prophecy proves to be false, will its failure muddy up the waters for the true prophets who are coming? Will the waters then be so muddied that most believers will turn deaf ears to the prophetic words coming from these heaven sent prophets?

But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son … (Galatians 4:4)

The four hundred years between the writings of the prophet Malachi and the arrival of John the Baptist’s ministry in the wilderness are called the “silent years.” During this period, there were no inspired prophets who heard the voice of God and then spoke to His people. Thus, God was silent.

During the period, much changed in Judah and many Old Testament prophecies were fulfilled. Alexander the Great conquered most of the known world (331 B. C.). Antiochus Epiphanes conquered Jerusalem, defiled the temple and destroyed scrolls (170 B.C.)  The Temple was not restored for 2300 days until Judas Maccabeus cleansed it (165 B.C.). The festival of dedication (Chanukah) was instituted as a commemoration of the Temple’s cleansing. Then, in 63 B.C., Jerusalem and Palestine came under the power and authority of Rome.

And although the word of the Lord was not heard in this four hundred year period, there was no lack of false prophets. Many pretenders wore animal skins just like Elijah and proclaimed they were the fulfillment of the last two verses of the Old Testament.

Behold, I am going to send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and terrible day of the Lord. He will restore the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to the fathers, so that I will not come and smite the land with a curse. (Malachi 4:5-6)

There were so many false prophets, that anyone who claimed to be a prophet instantly became a laughingstock and a joke to all the Jews.

Yet, when John the Baptist clothed himself with camel’s hair and wore a leather belt and then proclaimed, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand,” all of Judea and Jerusalem came out to hear him and to be baptized. Religious leaders feared him and the people called him a prophet of God.

So, what elevated John the Baptist above the false prophets?

He had the anointing to set people free and open their blind eyes. Plus he walked in the season which God had designated for his ministry.

You see, God has a plan with specific seasons within it and He is not swayed by our human foibles or the tactics of Satan. He knows His true ambassadors will move His plans forward when they do it His way and in His timing.

Thus, Harold Camping’s false prophecy is not even a bump in the road for God’s plan nor will the waters remain muddy for long.

(Continued in Part 5)

It was one of those mornings when the church service sprang to life. The worship team sang songs of celebration and their joyful attitude soon caused members to move out of the pews and into the aisles. People were dancing, clapping their hands and shouting for joy. Youngsters jumped up and down with excitement and expectation. Something good seemed to be happening in their midst.

The conservative pastor clapped his hands and tapped his foot to the music. He turned his head to scan the whole congregation. Then, he saw him, sitting in the second row by himself, near the wall. The middle-aged man was weeping and looked like he had just received news that his best friend had died.

The pastor walked over to the man. “Jeremy, what’s the problem?” asked the pastor, his eyes revealing a deep compassion.

“I just had a vision,” said the man in between sobs, “and in it, I saw our church going through horrendous times ten months from now. Many in the congregation will lose their jobs and the congregation will be reduced by half. We will be forced to cut back on all of our community programs. It will be devastating!”

“Oh my!” said the pastor, wondering if the prophet would be as accurate this time as he had been so many times in the past.

Ten months later, the church service resembled a funeral. The worship team sat in the first row, none of them felt like singing, and even if they did, there were so many empty pews, just too many empty pews.  All felt the crushing agony of the closing of the mill. People were out of work and losing their homes. Everything seemed to be changed forever for the worse.

The pastor sat lost in his thoughts, hoping to stir up a message within himself which would encourage the group. But he himself had suffered the pain of his wife leaving him and he wondered if he should resign his position and find a different career.

Then, he looked over the congregation and saw the man named Jeremy standing in the second row, near the wall.  He was jumping up and down, waving his hands and shouting for joy. It looked like Jeremy had just won the Irish Sweepstakes.

The pastor strolled over to the man. “Jeremy, why are you celebrating when the rest of us are suffering such agony?” asked the pastor.

“Pastor, I just had a vision,” said Jeremy, “and in it I saw that eight months from now our church would be bursting at the seams with new members. A foreign  company will buy the mill and enlarge it. And your wife will return to you and your marriage will be better than ever.”

The pastor shook his head. I hope he’s right, he thought. I hope the prophet is right this time.

Surely the Lord God does nothing unless He reveals His secret counsel to His servants the prophets. (Amos 3:7)

I have declared the former things from the beginning; they went forth from My mouth, and I caused them to hear it. Suddenly I did them, and they came to pass. (Isaiah 48:3 NKJ)

(Continued in Part 4)

Mere preachers may help anybody and hurt nobody; but prophets will stir everybody and madden somebody. The preacher may go with the crowd; the prophet goes against it. A man freed, fired, and filled with God will be branded unpatriotic because he speaks against his nation’s sins; unkind because his tongue is a two-edged sword; unbalanced because the weight of preaching opinion is against him.

Sin today is both glamorized and popularized, thrown into the ear by radio, thrown into the eye by television, and splashed on popular magazine covers. Church-goers, sermon-sick and teaching-tired, leave the meeting as they entered it — visionless and passionless! Oh God, give this perishing generation ten thousand John the Baptists! (excerpts from Why Revival Tarries by Leonard Ravenhill, Bethany House Publishing, 1959)

Is God still dangerous? Is He still a consuming fire who warns people not to touch the mountain while His presence rests upon it less they die? Or is He a gigantic fluff-ball filled with ushy-gushy love who has now decided to go along to get along with us humans and our evolving cultures?

In the early 1990’s, Larry Burkett told a story on his radio program, Money Matters, that still sends shivers down my spine. Burkett had attended a local church and heard a Chinese man tell his testimony.

It seems the man was a lieutenant of Mao Zedong when Mao’s communist army defeated Chiang Kai-Shek and took control of China. Mao then set out to cleanse China of all imperialist influences, especially American connections. Missionaries were sent home or killed. Chinese pastors were imprisoned or killed. Christians were killed. Political leaders, people who had visited America or attended schools there were killed.  Historians estimate 50,000,000 Chinese were executed by Mao during his various purges.

The man, who told this testimony, was chosen by Mao as one of the leaders in the rural purges. He dispatched his tasks with cruel efficiency. But some Christians focused their prayers on him and he was miraculously saved. So convinced was the man that Christ was the answer for China he decided to return to Peking (Beijing) and tell Mao the good news of Jesus.

Mao was not impressed with his lieutenant’s message and commanded him to renounce his new found faith. The man refused and said, “I cannot deny the experience I’ve had with Jesus.”

Mao brought his wife and children before the man. Soldiers stood behind his family with guns aimed at their heads. Once again, Mao asked the man to renounce his faith. The man fell to his knees and said, “Please do not kill my family, but I cannot deny Jesus.”

His family was executed before his eyes.

Next, his parents, brothers, sisters and their families were brought before the man with soldiers standing behind them with guns at their heads. Mao insisted the man renounce Jesus. The man refused. His entire family was executed before his eyes.

All of his friends and their families were placed in front of him, but still he would not renounce Christ. They were executed.

Then, Mao decided death was too good for the man. He was stripped naked and placed in a cold cell. Once a day, guards were ordered to beat him.

His imprisonment and beatings continued for fifteen years. During that time, the man led 90% of the guards to Christ and the guards even risked their own freedoms by bringing Bibles to him.

When he finally emerged from prison, he walked down a road, heading toward his hometown. As he walked, people in the fields next to the road, fell to their knees and cried out to be saved by Jesus. Yet, the man said nothing because the presence of God was so heavy upon him that he just continued to walk.

Larry Burkett said that when the Chinese man finished his testimony he was asked, “What do you think of our American churches?”

The man gazed at the audience with tears in his eyes. “You American Christians do not know the Jesus I know. How sad!” he said.

Get ready! The prophets are coming!

The prophets who are coming may not have the same experience this Chinese man had, but they will be consumed by the fire of the Lord. What Leonard Ravenhill said about Paul will also be true of these soon coming prophets:

He had no side issues, no books to sell. He had no ambitions – and so had nothing to be jealous about. He had no reputation – and so had nothing to fight about. He had no possessions – and therefore nothing to worry about. He had no “rights” – so therefore he could not suffer wrong. He was already broken – so no one could break him. He was “dead” – so none could kill him. He was less than the least – so who could humble him? He had suffered the loss of all things – so none could defraud him…Over this God-intoxicated man, hell suffered headaches. (excerpt from Why Revival Tarries)

(Continued in Part 3)

The syndicated Harley-Davidson talk radio show aired on Monday through Friday afternoons from the Hearst Building on the corner of Third and Market Streets. Harley Irving and Vince Davidson ranted about politics, sports, religion and whatever struck their fancy on their top-rated West Coast talk program. Seven million people tuned-in as they drove their vehicles home from work.

The program on the day after Jeremiah’s second visit to City Hall bubbled over with more spirit than usual, even by Harley-Davidson’s outrageous standards.

“If you haven’t heard this clip from yesterday’s supervisors’ board meeting, it’ll make your teeth shiver. Roll it,” said Harley, a three hundred and seventy-five pound chocolate milkshake, cheeseburger and fries aficionado.

A two minute tape played Jeremiah’s prophetic words and his exchange with C. M. Thurston. No editing had been done to it because all of the chamber’s noisy reactions could be heard.

“What do you think, Davidson?” said Harley, pointing at his skinny partner with coke-bottle lens glasses, balancing on his nose.

Davidson grunted into the microphone.

“As our audience knows, I’m hardly ever a fan of Supervisor Thurston,” he said. “But this De Luz guy is dangerous. He believes he can speak for God? Sort of reminds me of Jim Jones.”

“Jim Jones, huh? I didn’t think of that connection – but you’re right. Jones was the pastor of the People’s Temple right here in San Francisco. He called himself a prophet, didn’t he? Even got involved in politics, Mayor Moscone gave him a seat on the Housing Authority and – ”

Davidson cut him off.

“No matter how you shuffle the cards, Prophet Jones’ claim to fame is that he convinced more than nine hundred people to commit suicide in Jonestown,Guyana, on November 18, 1978. Nice prophet, right?”

“So, what’s the low-down on this prophet stuff?” said Harley.

“Glad you asked,” said Davidson as if answering on cue. “Today, we have a guest who will shed some light on prophets. Reverend Elmer Jasnowski is a doctor of theology and a professor at Stanford University.” Davidson paused a beat, then said, “Rev. Jasnowski, welcome to the Harley-Davidson Show.”

“Thank you, it’s a privilege to be here,” said a booming baritone voice.

“So, Reverend, can you give us a little background on prophets?” said Harley.

“Yes, I can,” said Rev. Jasnowski. “Throughout the Old Testament, God spoke to Israel mainly through kings, priests and prophets. The prophets were generally not a part of the temple hierarchy and were sort of the lone wolves of their day. They received a message from God and then delivered it. Often, the message was not received well by listeners. Generally, it ran counter to the beliefs at the time and – ”

Harley interrupted to make a point.

“So, De Luz could be a prophet, right? Seeing that his views run counter to what we think here in the Bay Area.”

“It depends.”

“Depends on what?” said Davidson.

“It depends on what camp of Christianity you follow.” Rev. Jasnowski went on. “Let me add a little more background before I get into that, okay?”

“Sure,” said Harley.

“Did you know the Lord Himself was perceived as a prophet in His day? He was; and also, New Testament scripture states the Lord gave the church prophets, along with apostles, evangelists, pastors and teachers, when He ascended into heaven. A few examples of prophets in the New Testament are John the Baptist, Silas and Judas. Now, this is where it gets kind of tricky.”

“How so?” said Harley.

“Ah, you see, we have two extremes in Christianity. At the one end are the Cessationists. This group believes prophecy and the miraculous gifts were only given to the early church as launching pads for the spread of the gospel. Then, when the last apostle died and the New Testament was written, the gifts died out. At the other extreme are the Pentecostals. They are – ”

“Nuts and wackos,” piped in Davidson, finishing Jasnowski’s sentence. “I know. I really do! You want to know how I know? My sister-in-law is a tongue-talking weirdo. She’s always bugging me.”

Reverend Jasnowski laughed.

“The Pentecostals believe the miraculous gifts and the callings of apostle, prophet, evangelist, pastor and teacher are still valid for today’s Christianity. They believe spiritual gifts reappeared with the Azusa Street Revival in 1906.”

“So, what are your beliefs about De Luz and prophets as a whole?” asked Harley.

“I’m like most Christians – middle of the road, not at one extreme or the other,” said Jasnowski. “We have the Holy Spirit. A complete Bible. Good churches. Pastors and theologians. Good seminaries. So, why does God need prophets? Plus, there is one other point.”

“Yes, go on,” said Davidson.

“God has a church government set in place with the pastor as the head,” said Jasnowski. “So, if God really wants to speak, He’d do it through pastors, not some unknown, untrained man without any accountability to a local pastor in San Francisco. After all, things must be done properly and in an orderly manner.”

“So, you sound sure we don’t need to worry about De Luz and his words?” said Harley.

“Fairly sure.”

“What percentage is fairly sure?” asked Davidson, pinning the theologian down.

“Ninety-nine point eight percent sure,” said Jasnowski.

Harley blew out a monstrous sigh into the microphone.

“As my daddy used to say, ‘the fastest horse doesn’t always win the race, but that’s how I’d bet my money.’ And, folks, I’m betting that Rev. Jasnowski is correct on this one.”

(This is an excerpt from my soon to be published book, Jonah.)  

(Continued in Part 2)        

 

It was only a dream, but it seemed so real.

I was standing on a starting line, ready to run some type of race. Off to my left was a man dressed in a long white robe, wearing leather sandals on his feet. His dark beard and long hair framed his bronze colored face. He had a starter’s gun in his hand.

He nodded at me. “Are you ready?” he asked.

I pulled my red track shorts up, yanked my white athletic tee-shirt out of my shorts for more freedom of movement and checked to see if my shoestrings were tied tightly on my Nike running shoes. Everything seemed ready. I nodded.

“Now remember,” he said, “you need to go as fast as you can. This is a timed race. You only have a limited amount of time to finish it, okay?”

I looked over the race course. In the distance, I saw the end point. There were finances, healings, deliverances, miracles, wonders, peace and joy just beyond the finish line. But between the starting line and the finish line was an obstacle course. Posts sticking out of the ground. Fences. Brick walls. Quicksand pits. Mud bogs. Trees. Rivers. Water falls. Railroad tracks. Highways. Tunnels. Dangerous cliffs. Fortunately, a narrow path wound its way back and forth through the course. It looked easy enough to me – just stay on the path and run as fast as I could.

I nodded to him

“Get ready.”

I got down on my haunches.

“Get set.”

I rose up into a sprinter’s position. My feet were set to slingshot my body forward.

Then, he said, “But first, you’ll need this.”

He walked over and covered my eyes with a black blindfold. Not one ray of light touched my eyes. It was perfectly dark – I could not see a thing.

“Now, don’t forget, you need to go as fast as you can.”

Behind me, I heard some whispering, a very quiet voice speaking something or other. I paid no attention to it.

BANG!

I took off like an Olympic sprinter, running as fast as I could.

BAM! I hit a post and fell to the ground. My nose felt like it was broken, blood was gushing from it. I could feel the wetness soaking through my tee-shirt. It hurt so much that I wanted to just lay there and quit.

The dark haired starter walked over and stood over me. “Now don’t forget this is a timed race. You need to run as fast as you can,” he said.

I struggled to my feet. As I did, I heard the same quiet voice speaking some words behind me. But once again, I paid no attention to it and took off running.

YUCK! I fell into a quicksand pit and found myself sinking under some glop. The more I flailed my arms and legs, the faster I sank. Soon, the sandy goop was up to my neck and not far from my nose.

“Help me, Lord,” I shouted.

Somehow, I floated over to the edge and crawled out of the pit. I laid there. It was all I could do to catch my breath from the physical all-out effort of trying to survive the ordeal. I wanted to quit.

“Don’t forget. This is a timed race; you need to go as fast as you can!” the man exclaimed.

Why I stood up, I don’t know. Maybe, I am a glutton for punishment or possibly I am a modern day Don Quixote looking for futile endeavors to engage in. I brushed the sand off my legs and attempted to clean off my shoes. As I did this, I once more heard what sounded like soft whispers in the background. But again, I ignored them.

My sense of direction was completely turned around. However, I gave it the old college try and just took off running,

SPLASH! I fell into a deep river with fast-moving waters rushing over me. The hurtling rapids sent me flying downstream in a haphazard manner, smashing my body against rocks and floating logs. When I tried to swim toward either shore, my body was battered by the full force of the current and flung about like a rag doll in a typhoon.

“Lord, help me!” I exclaimed.

My hand reached out and grasped a tree limb. I pulled myself across the stream, hand over hand on the limb and climbed up onto the shore. I vomited water from my lungs. This was the end. I couldn’t take anymore.

As I sat there, I heard the quiet voice whispering to me. This time I gave it my full attention and listened. “Stand up,” the voice said.

I obeyed it.

“Okay, now turn to your right ninety degrees.”

Again, I obeyed.

“Walk four steps and stop.”

I stood waiting for the next command.

“Turn forty-five degrees to your left.”

I obeyed.

“You went too far. Turn to your right five degrees.”

I adjusted myself in accordance with the instructions.

“Walk ten steps forward and wait.”

After I had walked ten steps, I stopped. “Won’t this take a long time to finish this obstacle course?” I said.

The quiet voice laughed. “My way is the fastest route through the obstacle course. However, you can always choose to return to your running blindly methods, but as you know, that can be painful. So, what do you want to do?” the voice said.

“Lord, what’s your next instruction?” I said.

Then, I woke up with a scripture verse on my mind:

Your own ears will hear Him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” whether to the right or to the left. (Isaiah 30:21 NLT) 

(This is a short story excerpt from my upcoming book, Deceived Dead and Delivered. )   

I don’t run fast or jump high at sixty-five years of age, but the game is not over, at least, not until the fat lady sings over me.

But yet, how can a guy who has watched his youth slide down the drain over the last twenty-six years still possibly believe he will accomplish anything for the kingdom of God? After all, he’s been nothing but a failure so far. What’s changed for him?

My journey began a few weeks after my salvation in 1985 when I felt the Holy Spirit speak to my heart that I would be a writer and own a publishing company. Since that moment, I have focused myself on achieving that goal. Whether I worked as a maintenance man fixing toilets in a motel or as a delivery man for a pizzeria, I thought of myself as a writer and a publisher. To me, the jobs were nothing more than temporary bridges to my real career.

Reality Check #1: To date, I have no books printed or published nor do I have any other authors under contract for my (in name only) publishing company.

On December 24, 1993, I was going through the motions of spending time in prayer before heading off to be with my family for Christmas. But as I waited on the Lord, I had a vision.

In it, I saw thousands and thousands of starving children in Africa. They were screaming at the top of their lungs because of their painful hunger. The mothers held the children and the fathers stood next to them. All of the parents stared at me with pleading eyes…would I help them? Please!

The screams echoed in my ears and pierced my heart. I fell to my knees and wept so much I thought the anguish would swallow me up.

Then, the screams stopped, and the vision disappeared into a total blackness. As I caught my breath, the Holy Spirit said, “They don’t cry much after three days.”

After that, I wept even more. (Later I learned that when starving children quit crying, the process is almost irreversible. They just slowly, passively die.)

When the vision ended, the Holy Spirit directed me to start a paint contracting company so that I could help the poor and hungry. I agreed.

Reality Check #2: My first experience as a painting contractor was a total failure. It ended with me hearing the Lord speak to my heart on July 8, 1994, “Son, you have been deceived.” (This is chronicled under #6 of my teachings.) All other attempts at being a painting contractor have been little more than stopgap fingers in our leaky financial dams.

Reality Check #3: To date, I have given just pennies to help the poor and the hungry.

So, what’s changed for me?

But He replied to them, “When it is evening, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red.’ And in the morning, ‘There will be a storm today, for the sky is red and threatening.’ Do you know how to discern the appearance of the sky, but cannot discern the signs of the times?” (Matthew 16: 2-3)

The season of my life has changed. How do I know? I discerned it. This does not mean you can notice a difference in me, but I feel a new drumbeat, one which tells me it’s time to stand up and move.

In the weeks ahead, I will relate more about what’s happening in my life now, rather than always looking at the past.