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8-10-2025 Today started at 6:15 AM.
Printed Lessons 5 and 6 of Great Characters for FMC Buna, prayed for those on my heart, and prepared Lesson 3 on Moses for Sunday School.

Before church, I listened to Dr. Richard Lindzen’s Climate “Science” interview (EP 320) — always good to stretch my mind before the day gets busy.

At FMC Buna, I prepped the Bluetooth podium mics, recorded the sermon, and uploaded it to YouTube straight from my iPhone.

Came home, made omelets, watched The Lincoln Lawyer, and took a nap. The afternoon went into updating ancestry databases, working on my memoirs, and adding details to Frances’s biography. Also reached out for more stories, checked in on Victoria’s birthday wishes, and wrapped up with a Walmart order.

Not a bad Sunday — a little ministry, a little tech, a little history, and a little rest.

Grief is one of the most human experiences we share—and one of the most misunderstood. We often think of it as something we must “get over” or “move past,” but the truth is, grief is love with nowhere to go. When someone or something dear to us is gone, the ache we feel is the proof of our deep connection.

God does not stand far away, waiting for us to get ourselves together. He meets us right in the middle of our heartbreak. Scripture shows us that He sees our tears, walks with us in our valleys, and promises joy will come again.

I invite you to reflect on these truths. Take them slowly. Let them settle in your heart like gentle rain on dry ground.

God Sees My Tears

Scripture: “You have taken account of my wanderings; put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book?” (Psalm 56:8, BSB)

God’s attention to our pain is deeply personal. He doesn’t just notice our tears—He collects them, treasures them, and remembers them. Each tear carries the story of our love, our loss, and our longing.

There are days I still wish there was a payphone at the edge of time.

A place I could drop in a coin and reach back—

to tell Joshua I love him one more time.

To warn myself.

To freeze the moment before everything fell apart.

But there’s no going back.

Only through.

And so I do whatever it takes.

Not because I’m fearless,

but because I’ve been through fire

and I refuse to come out without purpose.

Some people think I’m just resilient—

but this journey didn’t start in grit.

It started in design.

In my bones, I’m a man who values good engineering.

I spent years learning how to plan and build around whatever came up—

terrain, weather, variables.

You adapt. You solve. You make it work.

But then death showed up.

The kind of break an engineer can’t fix.

There was no schematic for that.

No redundant system to reroute the pain.

And in that devastation, I had to make a choice.

I couldn’t bring him back.

But I could build forward.

So I made a vow:

I would try four times as hard.

To build something that mattered.

To create something rooted in meaning.

To serve, to love, to live—and never quit.

“If happy ever afters did exist…”

That lyric used to hit hard. Still does, some days.

But I’ve learned that even without fairy tales,

you can still write a redemptive story.

I’ve learned to live in the liminal space.

The not-yet.

The maybe-so.

The just-for-today.

Truth is, I don’t always know if the work I’m doing

will bear the fruit I hope for.

But I know what I can’t do—

I can’t give in.

I can’t numb out.

I can’t walk away from the promise I made in silence.

If there’s no payphone to the past,

then I will build with open hands and fire in my chest.

Not with certainty. But with conviction.

Because Joshua deserves a father

who did whatever it took.

And because God is still writing—

even in the silence.

Setting the Stage:

Lot, Abraham’s nephew, had chosen to settle near Sodom, a fertile but morally corrupt region in the Jordan Valley (Genesis 13:10–13). In Genesis 14, a coalition of four eastern kings from Mesopotamia and Elam—led by Chedorlaomer, king of Elam—invades Canaan to subdue rebellious city-states, including Sodom and Gomorrah.

These kings likely traveled along the King’s Highway, a major trade route, and imposed control over local economies. When the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah rebelled after twelve years of paying tribute, Chedorlaomer’s forces returned to crush the rebellion.

The Conflict Begins (Genesis 14:1–12)

The invading coalition swiftly defeats several peoples across Canaan, including the Rephaim, Zuzim, and Emim, who were known as fierce warriors. Finally, they confront the southern kings of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim, and Bela in the Valley of Siddim (possibly near the southern end of the Dead Sea).

The defenders are routed. Many fall into tar pits; the rest flee to the mountains. Lot is captured, along with his household and possessions. He is taken northward—likely en route back to Mesopotamia—as part of the spoils.

Abram’s Response (Genesis 14:13–16)

A survivor escapes and informs Abram the Hebrew, who is living near Mamre the Amorite at Hebron. Abram quickly mobilizes a private fighting force of 318 trained men, born in his household. This is astonishing—these are not conscripts but likely skilled retainers, trained in self-defense, caravan protection, and possibly past tribal skirmishes. Abram also forms a military alliance with Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre, his Amorite neighbors.

Abram divides his forces at night—possibly staging an ambush from multiple directions. The tactic reflects ancient Near Eastern warfare: using darkness and surprise to disrupt larger armies.

The Battle at Dan and Victory

Abram pursues the enemy northward—about 100 miles from Hebron to Dan (ancient Laish, near modern Lebanon). This long pursuit shows resolve and strategic knowledge. At Dan, Abram attacks under cover of night. The chaos works: Chedorlaomer’s forces are routed, and the captives and spoils are recovered.

Abram continues his pursuit as far as Hobah, north of Damascus—ensuring the enemy is thoroughly scattered and will not return. He retrieves Lot, his family, and the plunder.

Cultural and Spiritual Notes

• War Parties and Raids: In Abraham’s time, tribal skirmishes and city-state conflicts were common. A household with hundreds of men was significant—Abram may have had up to 1,000 total dependents when including families.
  
• Abram the Chieftain: Though known to us as a patriarch, Abram functioned as a wealthy tribal chieftain—influential enough to make military pacts with Amorite clans and confront regional kings.
  
• A Man of Peace and Justice: Abram does not seek conquest; he acts to rescue family and bring justice.
  
• Foreshadowing Christ: Just as Abram risked himself to rescue Lot, Jesus would later pursue us when we were taken captive by sin.
  

Key Takeaway for Today:

Abram’s courage shows that faith is not passive. It may mean taking risk for others, acting in justice, and trusting God’s hand in uncertain battles. His victory reminds us that even small, faithful communities can stand against mighty powers when God is with them.

The story of Abraham rescuing Lot (Genesis 14:1–16) fits beautifully into the overarching themes of Session 2: Abraham – Faith and Promise. Below are key intersections between the rescue of Lot and the broader lesson about faith, covenant, and obedient trust, using insights from Scripture, Wesleyan theology, and practical application for the FMC Buna community.

Intersections Between Lot’s Rescue and Session 2 Themes

1. Faith in Action, Not Just Words

Genesis 12 introduced Abraham’s faith as a response to God’s call—he went, even without knowing the destination. In Genesis 14, that faith becomes courageous action: he goes again, this time to rescue Lot.

Wesleyan Insight:

John Wesley called true faith “faith working through love.” Abraham’s pursuit of Lot demonstrates that faith isn’t passive trust—it’s active obedience motivated by covenantal love.

Reflection: How is God asking me to live out my faith—not just believe, but intervene, serve, or protect?

2. Covenant-Led Loyalty

Abraham doesn’t just act out of emotion—he acts out of a covenantal mindset. Lot may have made unwise choices (settling near Sodom), but Abraham remains faithful to their family bond. He also works in alliance with Amorite neighbors (Genesis 14:13), honoring local covenants.

GMC BODD Tie-in – ¶101.5–6:

Covenant requires responsibility, not just relationship. Abraham’s loyalty reflects the kind of covenantal living the church is called to—faithful, self-sacrificing, relational.

Reflection: Do we, as FMC Buna, protect and pursue one another as members of a covenant family—even when people stray?

3. God’s Providence Over Power

Abraham’s force of 318 men defeats a coalition of kings—because he acts with wisdom and God’s favor. The victory is disproportionate, proving that success doesn’t depend on numbers or might, but on God’s provision and timing.

Session Theme Connection:

“Faith walks uphill and still believes.” Abraham wasn’t guaranteed victory—yet he obeyed. This moment anticipates Genesis 22 (the testing of Isaac), where Abraham again acts in faith without knowing the outcome.

Reflection: Where are we being asked to step out in trust, even when the odds look impossible?

4. Righteous Intervention

Abraham did not pursue personal revenge or gain—he risked much to rescue another. His action models how the righteous stand in the gap for others, a foreshadowing of Jesus, the greater Intercessor.

Christological Echo:

Just as Abraham rescued Lot, Christ comes to rescue us—not because we earned it, but because of covenantal love.

Reflection: Is there someone I’ve given up on, who may need me to act with grace and courage on their behalf?

The Hound of Heaven (Retold: John’s Story)
inspired by Francis Thompson

I fled Him—
Not with wild rebellion,
but with a mask, a schedule,
a smile I wore to church.
I buried myself in roles,
in performance,
in the lie:
I am not enough.

He followed.

Through my wife’s quiet loyalty,
through the voice that said,
“This is not who you are.”
Through Leisa’s love—stubborn, undeserved—
He kept whispering,
even when I had stopped listening.

I fled Him—
into ambition, distraction,
self-justification.
Into the ache of not being seen,
not even by myself.
I believed the lie was my truth.
That unworthiness was my name.

But still—
He followed.

With unhurried pace,
with measured mercy,
with deliberate grace.

He did not break the door.
He knocked.

And when I lost my way,
He left signs:
A friend’s invitation.
A weekend I didn’t want.
A table with a name—
The Living Word.
He was already speaking
before I could understand the words.

I fled Him—
into rage and grief,
into the night my son died.
Into the scream that emptied my soul
in the dark of our driveway.

And still—
He was there.

I didn’t feel Him.
Didn’t want Him.
But He was already holding me
when I had nothing left to hold.

Twelve fifty AM.
A detail on a death certificate.
The same moment I looked at my phone.
I thought it was coincidence.
But it was grace—
etched in eternal ink.

I fled Him,
but I never outran Him.
Because prevenient grace does not chase to conquer—
it chases to claim.

And even as I sat in silence,
too wounded to respond,
He stayed.

Even as I forgot His face,
He remembered mine.

Even as I questioned His love,
He was writing my calling.

Even as I buried my son,
He was planting seeds of purpose.

And now—
I do not run.

Now I walk.
Sometimes I limp.
But I walk with the One
who never stopped walking with me.

Liminal Scripture and the Story I’m Living

Genesis 32 – Wrestling at the River

“Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.”

I know this place—

the night where there are no more distractions,

where the only way forward is through

the pain I’ve been carrying.

Like Jacob, I have wrestled with God—not to win,

but to be changed.

To know that this wound I walk with

is also a blessing I carry.

I am not who I was.

And I do not walk alone.

I’ve been sitting with the reality of what it means to live in the in-between.

There’s a word for that space: liminal. It means the threshold, the crossing place. Not where you started, not yet where you’re going. Just… between.

That’s where I’ve lived for a long time—between grief and hope, memory and mission. And it’s exactly where grace keeps showing up. Not in the clarity, but in the ache. Not in the certainty, but in the stillness.

I wrote this poem as a way to name that place. It’s where I still meet God. It’s where Joshua’s memory lives. And it’s where the call to serve others continues to grow.

The Space Between

for Joshua, for the walk, for the waiting

I walk between the then and now,

Where silence speaks, and I still bow.

The doors behind are closed and gone,

Yet something keeps me holding on.

Not past, not future—this is air

Too thick with love to not be prayer.

A voice I knew, a name I miss—

Still echoes softly in the midst.

I live where longing finds its place,

Where grief and grace still share a face.

This weight I bear, I will not trade—

It shaped the man that love has made.

Don’t ask me why I can’t let go—

Some things we’re not meant not to know.

For what I hold, still holds me too,

And pulls me toward what’s strong and true.

And when I speak of grace that finds,

Of roads that wind, of sacred signs—

I do so not from knowing much,

But from the places God still touched.

So if I pause here, in-between,

It’s not because I’m lost or mean.

It’s that the cross was planted there—

And resurrection meets me where

The past and future seem to strain—

And Jesus weeps and walks again.

He calls me not to let it go—

But let it grow. And let it flow.

Maybe you’re in a liminal place, too.

Not sure what’s next. Not able to forget what came before.

If so, you’re not alone.

That space between? It’s holy ground.

God still moves there. Grace still flows there.

Noah’s Obedience When It Defied Logic and Social Norms

Biblical Context:

Genesis 6:9–22 describes Noah as a “righteous man, blameless in his generation,” who “walked with God.” This stands in direct contrast to the rest of society, which had become “corrupt” and “filled with violence” (Genesis 6:11). Into this setting, God gives Noah a radically countercultural command: to build a massive ark in anticipation of a flood—despite no evidence of rain, and with no visible crisis.

“Noah did all that God commanded him.” (Genesis 6:22)

Why It Defied Logic:

• There was no precedent for a global flood. The concept itself would have seemed irrational.
  
• The ark’s size, construction, and timeframe made the project look absurd.
  
• No one else was warned or preparing. Noah acted alone on God’s word.
  
• He devoted decades to building something with no immediate payoff and no social reinforcement.
  

In terms of pure reason or natural observation, Noah’s obedience made no sense. But Hebrews 11:7 says:

“By faith Noah, being warned by God concerning events as yet unseen, in reverent fear constructed an ark…”

This is what Wesleyan theology calls faith working by love—not obedience born of fear, but trust rooted in relationship.

Why It Defied Social Norms:

• Noah’s culture had normalized violence, corruption, and irreverence.
  
• He likely faced ridicule, alienation, and misunderstanding.
  
• There was no moral majority to support him—he walked faithfully in isolation.
  
• In contrast to the cultural rejection of divine authority, Noah submitted completely to God’s word.
  

In Wesleyan terms, this is an example of entire sanctification—not sinless perfection, but full consecration to God, even when the world says otherwise.

Why It Matters Today:

• Noah’s story challenges believers to follow God’s voice over public opinion or popular logic.
  
• In a culture that prizes instant results and visible proof, Noah teaches long obedience in the same direction.
  
• For the church, especially at FMC Buna, Noah is a model for spiritual leadership: building ministries, relationships, and witness—not because they’re culturally endorsed, but because they’re biblically commanded.
  

Reflection Questions:

• What “ark” might God be asking me to build that doesn’t make sense to others?
  
• Where have I hesitated to obey because it might seem foolish, unpopular, or lonely?
  
• What does it look like to walk with God in my generation, as Noah did in his?