Woke To Great Awakenings

“Won’t you look down upon me Jesus? You’ve got to help me make a stand…” (1970) “Fire And Rain” Written and Recorded By: James Taylor

Christian history is simply fascinating, to put it mildly. In fact, from Jesus, all the way down through the ions, the historical timeline of the Christian faith is like no other. You don’t have to look behind us too far to find extraordinary happenings of Jesus movements that can raise your hair.

Just since the birth of the American Colonies, the amazing milestones of the church, and its outreach, are well documented, but often tinkered with in a Google search or Wikipedia. For the authentic history, it’s best to rise above the “wokeness” of those with large erasers. Instead, do the research by hitting the old history books before the slanted rewrites began to manipulate factual, documented occurrences concerning Christianity in America.

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Trust me, there is way too much of church history to layout on this post. But I would be remise if I didn’t mention, “The Great Awakening”, and the “Second Great Awakening”. The facts of the faithful in the U.S., Canada, and Europe are astonishing. There are a few names that stick out to me who were used greatly to ignite a faith movement during their times.

George Whitefield (Often spelled, “Whitfield”) He lit a spiritual fire for decades all across Great Britain, and the American Colonies from the 1740’s-1770’s. Benjamin Franklin wrote of Whitfield’s magnetism by use of his voice delivery and the pulpit.

Charles G. Finney. From the 1820’s to the 1870’s, he was the match God used to start a flame known as the “Second Great Awakening”. His works and documents are outstanding. He set out to revive a spiritually sluggish nation, earning the title of “Father of Modern Revivalism”. Not unlike Whitfield, Finney travelled mainly by horseback, drawing crowds ready to stay a few days. Many of the throng would travel far and wide to be under his sermons.

Dwight L. Moody was a shoe salesman in Chicago. He was inspired by the evangelical giants before him like, Charles Finney and George Whitefield. He began small by starting a kid’s ministry and a street ministry that would later be called, “Sunday School”. His sermons of note, some printed and published, are still quoted by many pastors today…if they dare. From the 1850’s to the 1890’s, this salesman turned fiery preacher, aided in evangelizing both America and Great Britain. He also founded the highly successful Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, which continues to send out quality trained graduates into the world today.

Billy Sunday was a famous baseball player, turned evangelist. From the 1880’s to 1935, Billy Sunday became widely known as a camp-meeting revivalist, who would spend weeks at a time, preaching in communities all across America. The mother of an old friend of mine came to faith under the preaching of this incredible man.

And of course, Billy Graham who took the torch into our generation until his recent death, reaching more ears across the world than anyone in Christian history.

There are more I could list here, but the trail these evangelists blazed are like wagon train wheel tracks cut into stone. You can follow their tracks, their ripples to this day. If you should look up the Great Awakening movements, you will discover how after a community was lit ablaze by the daily preaching of some of these fire-starters, saloons would close down. Prostitution vanished. Gambling halls were boarded up. Gangsters were converted, or run out of town. Countless people came to realize their need for God’s forgiveness through the saving gift of Jesus. Homeless were fed and housed. Love expanded. Enemies became friends. Churches were built. Schools, orphanages and hospitals were funded and built. Imagine the change in a city like that. Imagine your community altered like that.

Just like in the book of Judges, where the spiritual life among Israel resembled a roller coaster. Up/down, up/down. The anti-God sentiment would rise to the point where everyone’s deeds were always right in their own evaluations. What was once known as “evil” became acceptable, even commonplace. What was once known as righteous was either suppressed, abandoned, or ignored all-together. God’s reply to the spiritually weak nation was to bring calamity, hardships, weather changes, droughts, war, violence, etc. The Israeli’s response was to repent, turn from their ways and acknowledge God, followed by the lifting of the curse with blessings and safety taking its place. Then, the nation would backslide into their wild ways again. This cycle continued for decades. It seemed like they would never learn the consequences of turning their national back to their God.

I am not a prophet. I do not claim to know the future, with the exception of what the scripture tells us. But, I can read the barometer of the nation in which I live. We are spiritually ill, at best. We watch the news and our jaws hit the floor on the outlandish signs of our days. If not for God’s amazing grace toward this culture, we would be finished already. At this point in our history, Sodom and Gomorrah are not too far from here.

Our nation, our world, has endured so much in recent years. So much in the way of manifestations of pure evil are abundant. I know, we don’t like to call it for what it is, but that’s because we belong in the book of Judges. The list is way too long to write here, but nevertheless, the list of our sins grow daily. Our nation is decaying as we play our violin from the balcony.

We call evil things something good and upright. We celebrate wickedness and glamorize it all. We cheer those who attack our children with sexual sins, that is if we don’t slaughter them in the womb first. Forgive me, but we parade and applaud the physical mutilation of our children in the name of choosing gender. We mourn for those who are saddened because certain pronouns are not used to describe an individual due to their gender alterations, gender wishful thinking, and normalizing the ideology. We invite our children to drag queen shows, as well as other drag queen events as tools for indoctrination. Pedophilia, bestiality, and goddess worship are becoming tolerable for many in our country, even in our courts. We have normalized self-worship as we gaze at ourselves on little screens and self-publish our images to the world on social media.

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What are we doing? Where are we going?

We are accepting cultural sewage on our dinner plates everyday because the Woke minority demands we do it, like shepherds prodding sheep. At the same time, we run from the righteousness the Almighty defined for us long ago.

According to Roman and Greek history, not to mention many other geo-political lands, we are way past due for a collapse of our house of cards. God’s nature is HOLY. He has, and will not perpetually endure a rebellious nation which was founded by Him, and held up His banner for well over 200 years.

Yet…there is a modern remnant.

We saw “The Chosen”, a highly successful TV drama series surrounding Jesus and His followers, continue to spike in viewership worldwide. Promos began to run on the movie, “Jesus Revolution” (out now in theaters) depicting the Jesus People movement of the late 60’s and early 70’s, when a conservative pastor, Chuck Smith, (Played by Kelsey Grammer) dared to minister to the hippies of his day. He was trashed by many in the church at that time as sin-on-wheels, and discredited as a nothing burger. Chuck Smith was unjustly ridiculed by his own spiritual sisters and brothers, including some of the churches I grew up in. It was a God-breathed ground zero movement which still rings through our culture today. Coincidence? Take a step back and get the wide-angle lens out.

Suddenly, this nation pulled together a bit in praying for Damar Hamlin, the seriously injured NFL player who died during a tackle on national television. The very public prayers began on the field of play, spreading all across the stadium, and the country. Not long after, rattling of WWIII got louder, mysterious, unexplained UFO’s were shot down, China’s spy balloon allowed to cross our country, signs of the U.S. in sharp decline in so many areas, new COVID resurgence, record breaking drug overdose deaths, etc, Meanwhile, the Grammy Awards highlights Satanic scenes live on stage, vis Sam Smith, to rousing standing ovations and screams of adoration from the audience, all sponsored by Pfizer, your friendly COVID vaccine conglomerate. Again, ask…a coincidence?

Now we see another heavy public movement of faith. It seems spiritual blooms are bursting open.

Asbury University in Kentucky. An average, regularly scheduled service at the campus chapel, ignites into a 24/7 organic praise, prayer, and worship center where individuals came to grips concerning their need for God’s grace, their need for repentance, their need for prayer. The doors had to stay open due to the masses coming to the extraordinary spiritual awakening at ground zero. Before you could keep up, days and nights, nights and days went by. As the word grew, others began to flock to the chapel from outside the campus, the town, the state, and even the nation. Globally, people took flights from other countries to gather at the Asbury University Chapel. So organic, not organized or pre-sold, no event planner involved, the phenomenon lacked famous, well-known preachers or evangelistic experts. No multi-platinum recording artists were invited to boost crowds. Ticketmaster wasn’t needed, or called on. At last count, before the chapel marathon service was ended, over 50,000 people had attended. Just shocking!

Although the chapel location was closed after several non-stop days, the revival continues off-campus. Now many other revival events are popping up all over the nation at various college campuses.

Thousands and thousands from Generation Z are giving their hearts to God, praying, getting on their knees in humility, making decisions for this life and the next. What is more newsworthy, none of this movement is contained inside one denomination. This fresh spiritual breeze blows across denominational lines. That is an occurrence outside of human hands, manmade design. No need to ask who is playing at any of these gatherings. Currently, there is no rock star drawing crowds, no Billy Sunday, no TBN, only The Bright Morning Star, Jesus. The Event Planner is indeed, the Holy Spirit!

Truthfully, this nation is more than ripe for a Great Awakening.

If you are reading this as an unchurched person, one who isn’t into Jesus, or the Bible in general, try not to analyze this moment in history too much. In your position, the word, “Revival” may be foreign to you, or you may know it only as a description concerning a resurgence of retro music, entertainment, fashion, or structural design. Spiritual revival didn’t start at Asbury Chapel, it starts in the single, individual heart. I hope and pray the revival ignites this writer’s heart.

God said it in scripture, so we would know the formula. He promised if we move closer to Him, He would move closer to us. Our land needs to be healed.

Find out the difference between Woke and Awake, in fuel for the race.

“Yet even now,” declares the LORD, “Return to Me with all your heart, And with fasting, weeping, and mourning; And tear your heart and not merely your garments.” Now return to the LORD your God, For He is gracious and compassionate, Slow to anger, abounding in mercy And relenting of catastrophe. ” Joel 2:12-13 (NAS)

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Who Has The Key?

“The keys to the vaults of Heaven
May be buried somewhere in a prayer.
The keys to the vaults of Heaven
May be heavy or lighter than air.”
(1999) “Vaults Of Heaven”, From the musical, “Whistle Down The Wind” Composers: Andrew Lloyd Webber and Jim Steinman. Also recorded by: Tom Jones

It was June, 2021. I was in Buffalo, NY for my middle daughter’s wedding. Staying with me, for a couple of days in an Airbnb in the city, were four other loved ones. My oldest daughter, Tabitha, her daughter, Skylar, my youngest daughter, D’Anna, along with her fiancé, Nik.

It was in an older neighborhood, laced with quaint frame houses. We were treated to a nice understated two story home. The second floor housed regular leasing tenants, while the first floor was a nice Airbnb layout with a beautiful front sunroom deck in a cedar interior. Built like a rowhouse, it had three bedrooms, but just one bathroom in the hallway. (That was a bit of a squeeze for the five of us.) Nevertheless, it was a very charming place, and so suited to our needs for a wedding weekend. The only complaint I would have registered, if I were going to, would’ve been the fact that the owner gave us only one key. Yes, one key between the five of us. To make matters worse, we only had one rent-a-car at first. After the first few hours, Nik decided he would rent a car to ease the schedule. Smart kid.

As you can imagine, we all didn’t go to the same places, at the same time. Nik and D’Anna wanted to visit Niagara Falls just outside of Buffalo, while Tabitha and Skylar wanted to shop, and I, the old man, just wanted to relax in order to push away the jetlag. Also, I was going to sing at the reception and needed to find a time to rehearse with the band.

And if that wasn’t enough ingredients for a collective headache, the three girls were in the wedding party and needed to pick up their gowns, go to a bachelorette party, get dolled up for a rehearsal dinner, etc… There was a lot to cram into 2.5 days. In other words, we all had our schedules. Of course, this meant some of us were coming back to the house at different times for different reasons. Still, we only had one key. You can see the frustrating issue.

Wedding day had arrived. We were all so very busy with shower schedules, ironing of clothing, breakfast plans. Every inch of the large dinning table was made into a hair and make-up salon. Curling irons, as well as, blow-dryers were all over the place. It’s a wonder we didn’t blow a fuse.

The wedding was at noon, down on the banks of the Niagara, very close to the famous U.S./Canadian Peace Bridge. The drive there is about 15 minutes, or less. As you can expect, it was a very busy morning for us all. My daughter, and bride, Megan, had someone from the wedding party pick the girls up as they needed to be there early to assist in the bride’s prep. Nik took his rental not long after, leaving me with…the ONLY KEY. Yes, I was the last one out the door, as planned, and nervous as all get-out (as we say in Texas). Being the Father of the bride, I assumed the role would come with rattled nerves, and it certainly does.

About an hour before vow-time, I was carrying all that I needed for the event, including…the ONLY KEY. The front door was the type which had to be locked from the outside as you leave. So, after you shut the door, you locked it up tight with…the ONLY KEY. That’s what I did. Juggling a briefcase full of music, while carrying my jacket in the other arm, as well as, the rent-a-car keys in my right pants pocket, I quickly shoved…the ONLY KEY into my left pants pocket.

Over twelve hours later, after a wild music filled reception with dancing, food, toasts, and the greatest rock musicians in western NY, we five left in separately all with dreams of getting out of the wedding clothes and crashing hard at the Airbnb.

I arrived first with a full bladder while dragging my feet. Exhaustion doesn’t come close to the state I was in. It was very dark. I have Glaucoma. For me, darkness has a velvet blackness to it without a good light. Only a dim overhead porch lamp gave some glow on the door. That was just the beginning of trouble.

As I shuffled up to the steps, I reached into my left pants pocket and found nothing. The right pocket only had the rent-a-car keys. I checked my shirt pocket, my jacket pockets, my shoes, my briefcase, and did not find…the ONLY KEY! I literally sat down on the steps of the porch scratching my noggin in the dark. My brain had to work hard to do a rewind to the morning exit out of the house. Firstly, I reassured myself that I was indeed the last one out of the house that morning. I also reassured myself that no one asked me for the key after I arrived at the venue. Methodically, I went through the film in my head where I locked up, stuck the key in my left pants pocket while taking out the car keys from the right pocket and got in the car, which was parked across the street. Nothing made any sense. Why did I not have…the ONLY KEY?

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Nik showed up with Skylar. After telling them of my embarrassing situation, he suggested that we search the walkway, sidewalk, street, the curb, etc. Nik and Skylar began to scan the area after I mentioned how my vision can’t make out objects in darkened places. As we looked like fools on a scavenger hunt after midnight, I called the girls to warn them of the problem. They were on their way as someone was dropping them off. Tabitha asked Nik to go over the interior of my car with a fine tooth comb, with zero results. I don’t think the kids were too happy with me. We were all so tired.

As the girls arrived, I was on the phone with the owner, who lived some 30 miles away. Bless her heart, she was gracious, even at 12:40am on a Sunday morning. About an hour later, she rescued us with another key…the other key we should’ve had to start with, but I’ll move on.

After we were collapsing inside the house, Nik walked up to me holding…the ONLY KEY!

I blurted out in astonishment, “Where on earth did you find it?”

There was a mail slot next to the front door where mail was dropped into a mudroom where you take off your shoes before entering the front room. Just beneath the mail slot, as Nik was taking off his boots, he moved a pair of shoes already placed there and found…the ONLY KEY on the floor under the shoes.

Not only do I have Glaucoma, I also suffer from neuropathy, mainly targeting the shins and feet, but a bit in my fingers. I can only surmise, in my hastiness, my fingers didn’t feel the…ONLY KEY slip out of my grasp as I made the attempt to pocket the…ONLY KEY. Some very good Samaritan tenant, from the second floor, must have spotted it on the walkway, or the porch steps, and tossed it in the mail slot. I cannot tell you how relieved I was. It also saved us from a hefty fee for a lost key.

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Have you ever been there? You thought you had a key to such and such, or so in so, but when the keyhole was there, you lacked what it took to get on the other side of that door. I’m not thinking so much about a car door, a gate, or a storage unit, but rather moments of love, life, or longings. One might feel the lacking of the key of acceptance. Some of those airtight doors can be a frustration. If you’re like me, you can recall a few.

Maybe there have been times when a loved one passed away, and you sat in the memorial service watching the slide presentation of the once lively person enjoying their days from the past, and you wondered. It’s natural to wonder about, “what’s next”. The wisest question surrounds the time spelled out in the dashes on the obit with the dates of birth and death. How short is the dash between, let’s say, 1960 and 2023. “Joe Blow, 1971-2023”. The dash is most important. It’s there where we decide our eternity. There’s a reason why the dash is so short. Scripture states that life is just a vapor, a puff of smoke, a wispy cloud.

Why wonder? Why not “KNOW”? There is only one key, and you do not possess it. In fact, you never possessed it. Be a thinking person, not one who is blown around by the most popular thought of the day in a very darkened culture with severe spiritual Glaucoma.

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There is only One Who holds the key to your eternal door. “Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door” is a start. Look into it. Your dash is very short.

Spoiler alert: Jesus, the One Who holds the ONLY KEY, is also the only doorway. In fact, He has the master key to gain entrance to eternal life.

Know more about hearing the key lift the latch by diving headlong into fuel for the race.

“When I saw Him, I fell at His feet like a dead man. And He placed His right hand on me, saying, “’Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living One; and I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of death and of Hades.'” – Revelation 1:17-18 (NAS)

Shake Me To Wake Me

‘…A-whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on.
Well we ain’t fakin’.
A-whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on.”
(1957) “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” Recorded by: Jerry Lee Lewis Composer: Dave “Curlee” Williams. Also credited: James Faye “Roy” Hall
.

I am no seismologist, just a casual observer of earthquakes. When, where, why, etc. A true student of this study must work diligently to keep up with all the tremors and quakes around the globe. Technology in seismology and geological surveying has come a long way in the last few decades. Even future epicenters can be calculated and located from pole to pole, as well as, projected severity. Unfortunately, we cannot prevent tectonic plates from shifting.

Tragedy struck Turkey and Syria recently with a 7.8 and 7.6 quake leaving widespread death, destruction, and devastated citizens from those nations. I dare not mention the body count here because of the rising numbers growing by each hour as rescue and recovery efforts continue. There is an estimate of dozens of thousands. As I write this line, the number has risen above 20,000 thus far. So heartbreaking. The hospitals, still standing, continue to see the massive number of injured being carried through their doors. Responders must work quickly with the freezing weather, not to mention the clock is the enemy. With each passing minute, the lives of trapped survivors throughout the region are fading away as I write this post. Needless to say, by the time you read this sentence, a throng of individuals, from infants to the elderly, have been added to the perished.

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This morning, I was watching the news update from Turkey at the site of a high-rise apartment building where rescue efforts are frantically toiling 24/7. In this case, where there was a multi-floor residency, there is only a heaping mound of concrete and steel. One volunteer was quickly interviewed. Through his tears, he described the scene. People, many of them children, are alive under tons of debris, texting and vocally crying out for recue. He went on to say, after catching his breath while sobbing, the responders are pleading for assistance due to not enough workers for the gargantuan job at hand.

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In the same news report, there came a moment when recue workers were able to reach a small boy, and unearthed a very young girl who were still alive under the debris. I was struck by the ignition of jubilation, the excitement, the sheer cheering from the hundreds who were witnessing the sight of the two babies being pulled from the mountain of rubble. The kids were being passed around as so many were hugging, kissing and holding the toddlers while screaming in celebration. Although now orphaned, the two children were brought out of the brink of a sad, slow death, into the light of life by selfless relief workers risking their own lives in the struggle. Honestly, the sound of roaring celebrations just exploded as if it were a hail Mary touchdown pass in a super bowl game. There were workers dancing, praying aloud, and falling on their knees as if all restraint had been vacuumed out of them.

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Quakes reaching 7.8 and 7.6 are considered enormous, and they are. Not many structures are able to stand intact. Only the richest nations, the most technological savvy countries, have the ability to construct earthquake ready structures designed by talented engineers. The truth is, so many third world nations sit on volatile fault lines as the clock ticks.

A few hours after the news broke from Turkey and Syria, my daughter, Megan, text me saying she and her husband were having breakfast when shaking, rattling and rolling interrupted their morning around 6:15. They are far from the epicenter in Turkey and Syria. They are in Buffalo, NY. The latest info I read gave it a 4.4, up from the first report of 3.8. It is being called the most severe earthquake in western NY in 40 years. Can we say the Buffalo quake is related to the Turkey and Syrian quakes? Only the seismologists will be able to tell us. One thing is for sure, for the layperson, earthquakes come usually without warning. They are sudden, impactful, and has the ability to kill, displace, or even leave lifelong psychological scars.

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At this time a multitude of international relief organizations are on site, or on their way with much needed aid. Samaritan’s Purse is one of the most reliable outreach ministries on the planet. I would highly recommend them if you are urged to donate to the efforts in Turkey and Syria.

I have never been in an earthquake…yet. The ground under my feet has never moved. The buildings around me have never swayed, crumbled to the ground, or cracked from the foundation. However, life has done that to me several times. How about you? You are minding your own business, soberly walking along your daily grind, when suddenly that phone call comes. There may even be a warning tremor letting you know you are on dangerous territory. At first you think pulling away from the epicenter of the trouble is wise, then with the shrugging of shoulders you forget about it and take that next step. Maybe your quake came in a conference room, with steaming coffee in hand and a bright outlook for the day, when suddenly, the floor comes out from beneath you as the pink slip comes. Many personal quakes come with a doctor’s diagnosis. You felt fine, not realizing there is an epicenter inside your body erupting, knocking you to a gurney, or even a funeral home. These epicenters can and will shake the sturdiest of people.

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Whether it’s a geological shifting of tectonic plates, or a personal unanticipated devastation , there is a Rock to grip that is higher than your strength, your emotions, your efforts, or your pet med of choice. After all, isn’t that what we need when a whole lot of shakin’ is goin’ on? Isn’t that what we want in life, to live on solid ground? Do we not want a sturdy, strong, steadfast stone to hold to in times of shifting sand?

Personal quakes often have served me well to wake me up with a good shake. Usually when the dust settles, a learning process has had its way.

Jesus told a parable (So we would get it.) surrounding a house built on sand and another built on stone. Just like the three little pigs, the house built on sand collapsed during unexpected unforgiving storms. The house built on stone survived well the battering winds. He is that Rock. Once dead, then raised to life by His own power. That is a Rock higher than I. Unlike the nearest epicenter, there is no fault in Him.

Locate your everlasting shelter in fuel for the race.

“From the end of the earth I call to You when my heart is faint; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For You have been a refuge for me, A tower of strength against the enemy. Let me dwell in Your tent forever; Let me take refuge in the shelter of Your wings.” – Psalm 61: 2-4 (NAS)

Bittersweet

“And when one of us is gone, And one of us is left to carry on, Then remembering will have to do, Our memories alone will get us through. Think about the days of me and you. You and me against the world.” ( 1974) “You And Me Against The World” Recorded By: Helen Reddy Composers: Kenny Ascher and Paul Williams

Happy birthday to my mom, Carolyn Atherton-Brown!

The two of us in 1962.

February 1st turned her page to 79 years of age. I have written about her story in the past, about how she was only 15 when she was date raped. She was barely 16 when she chose to have me. Yes, I interrupted her life, her growth, her education. In spite of me, she forged ahead like a freight train.

Carolyn Atherton (Mom) at 13!!!

That event did so much harm, which for her entire life, continues to exhibit the ripples from that personal ground zero. Even after two suicide attempts, somehow, someway, God pulled her through it all to my day of birth.

The two of us in 1962

In her small town culture in that day and time, she was urged to marry my bio father, which only lasted two years. Two years of vile abuse, violence, and adultery with countless women was simply torture for her. She remarried again when I was five years of age, but that marriage only lasted four years. Beyond those short years, she raised me on her own as a single, hardworking mom during the 60’s and 70’s. Those days were brutal for both of us.

The two of us 1965 (Scratched photo)

The two of us 1975 (I was 15)

In October of 2021, I went into rescue mode. At that time I realized she could no longer take care of herself. Living alone was to be no more. My wife and I made the decision to be her caregivers in our home. It has not been easy, even though my family has a long line of caregiving over the decades. I have seen it up close since I was old enough to understand it.

Yes, February 1st is her birthday, but she was unaware. I had to tell her of her special day. A few months ago, she was diagnosed with Lewy Bodies Disease. It’s under the dementia umbrella. It resembles both a bit of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Since she has been living with us, her condition has noticeably declined mentally and physically.

Knowing our time is growing short, I wanted to once again treat her to something I promised her when I was just a little kid. I wanted to do a cookout for her on my grill from our backyard patio. Hamburgers have always been her favorite, and so easy to do on the grill over mesquite wood. However, wintry weather kicked in with sleet and ice, freezing my chef’s hat. But, we will just delay the Texas BBQ feast. On that day, I will fire up the grill in tears, knowing it will probably be the last time I grill for her birthday due to the gravity of her condition. We know we will be forced to move her to a care center where she can be more properly cared for.

My memories of her, to be frank, are not always pleasant. The happy days were certainly a part of our story. Multiple times in my life she has had my back. Although strictly legalistic in her faith, she made sure I knew God from a very early age, but a stranger to grace. Many good memories can be, and must be, unearthed as I get older. Yet, there were very difficult times in our lives, including poverty along with hard disruptions in her career. In most of the churches we attended, this 20something divorced girl was called by, “Mrs”, not by her first name. It was always hurtful for her. So much for true fellowship and love.

My grandmother, Opal Atherton and my mom – 1965.

As a kid I was also unaware of her injured mental, emotional condition which can be traced way back to that horrible rape event in August of 1959. The irony of the crime of that night, when I was conceived, reached through the years to injure me as a young boy. Although she loved me, she also was incredibly harsh in various ways. In fact, looking back, I can testify solidly that she abused me at times in violent ways, as well as, psychological renderings. Yet, as a man of Jesus, I had to understand how an injured, hurting person can, and will, inflict their pain on others they love. Choosing to recall the sweet times doesn’t always have to be a struggle.

Many years ago, I had to confront my own deep-seated anger, leading me to ask God to help me rise above the painful memories and forgive my mother. I had forgiven my bio father long ago after we met, but delayed offering forgiveness to my mom out of pure resentment. Often, even today, I find myself revisiting that snare over the past. Still, I must always overcome the trap within, and ask God to repaint my soul of soreness with a coat of His special brand of varnish. This is what I must cling to for the remainder of my days.

She no longer remembers, but the Helen Reddy song, “You And Me Against The World” was a hit on our radio when I was just about to turn 14. During that time I never would have fathomed the bitterness, and the sweetness, of an ironic line in the very last chorus…

“And when one of us is gone, and one of us is left to carry on, then remembering will have to do…

Today, I am the only one who remembers.

Carolyn Atherton-Brown 2023

Choosing a better way has instructions in fuel for the race.

“Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God has commanded you, so that your days may be long and that it may go well with you…” – Deuteronomy 5:16a