About The Writer
Briefly: I was born in 1943. I graduated high school then spent six years and four months in the Marines serving the Cuban Missile Crisis four month extension and two tours in Vietnam. I was honorably discharged, started vocational school in industrial electricity, got married, graduated and went to work: the American Dream. I have three sons and five grandchildren. I experienced my salvation event in 1976 and I thought I was on "easy street" from then on. BUT: Jesus said; (Matt. 10:22) "He who endureth to the end shall be saved." Nobody had told me that scripture and I had no concept of the Christian experience.
I was not from a church family. In my Dad’s opinion he was more honest than the great majority of Christians so we didn’t need church and it didn't bother him to critically express his views about it in any company! Daddy surely dried on the rough side of the towel. Mom was the silent Christian; the anchor of the family because she loved us, fed us, doctored us and in some secret place she prayed for us. She was saved at home and baptized in the creek when I was so small I can hardly focus the foggy memory. I have never heard her pray or testify and she very seldom got to go to Church until she finally learned to drive later in life. I am from rural, Bible Belt, Eastern Kentucky. At the beginning there was no TV and when it came it wasn't much. Real people and real events were much more exciting so our main entertainment was visiting. Sometimes after school and work were done we'd gather up someplace to play ball or pitch horseshoes and we'd talk and visit; in the winter we'd gather at the old country store up my "holler" (mountain valley, the hollow between two ridges), visit and listen to the adults talk about people, church, school, coal mining, logging, hunting, fishing and farming while the old "pot bellied" cast iron coal stove glowed a dull red; or on summer evenings a group of us would gather, visit and talk on somebody's front porch. Entertainment is like poverty; if what you've got is all you have ever known it's good enough. From earliest memory until I was eighteen God, Jesus, church, some revival someplace, who got saved and baptized, who backslid; something about church, good or bad or in jest, usually came up if I was around a crowd for very long. Even though we didn't go to church I was learning about God, Jesus and salvation. I am so thankful it was that way because you hardly ever hear Jesus' name mentioned in ordinary public conversation now. God was always there.
As a child, up until I joined the military at eighteen, it was so easy to see God in a hatching chick, suckling piglets, a handful of seed, hard as gravel, that grew into a garden; the sunrise viewed from a mountain top while the below of men was hidden under a silver blanket of fog. Even as a child I saw God in the lightening that streaked on ahead of the the rumble of its wheels. I knew God had made the ancient, soft blanket of night He spread across the earth to heal the wounds of the day while in the worn spots the brilliant blue light of heaven shined through. I saw God in the beautiful creek with its deep, blue-green pools and in its shoals where the creek raced on to the sea in ripples of bright water rioting through the rocks, throwing endless platoons of happy sound into the air. God was everywhere.
Then yondering with the Marines and Vietnam: Endless dry-mouthed days and nights filled with frantic boredom shrouded in dread and sometimes the quick slashing of fire and steel, noise and fury, danger and sheer terror that could only be withstood with anger. Our first big clash with the enemy: In my tiny eleven man unit most of us were wounded but only one was killed; the only Christian, the quiet one, the one who wouldn’t drink, didn’t smoke and never cursed. The only Christian; torn, bloody and dead there on the ripped, stinking, blood soaked dirt; John was the kind of man, 18 years old, who would have said; “Take me Lord, give them a chance to get saved”; maybe he did; that quiet one, the Christian. God was there too.
Later, much later, my sons were growing fast and I was realizing I was rearing little husbands and daddies, neighbors and citizens, workers and----. I was thirty one years old; I had been to two funerals when I was a child and forced to church once in boot camp. That was my entire church experience. I had always believed in God. I knew there was salvation but I couldn’t teach them about that; I didn’t know how. I knew where those answers were though. I was a hard headed, hard hearted, hard drinking hillbilly but I loved my boys and we became a church going family. God was in that too; He had been drawing me nearly all my life and I had been unaware of it. (John 6:44-47) God was drawing me harder but I still didn’t understand.
I was almost thirty three years old. It had been nearly two years of every Sunday in church. For several Sundays tears would come unbidden and unwanted and I was ashamed of them. Coal miners aren't supposed to cry but I did and for some reason I kept coming back to church. I didn’t know it but the old Christians would smile knowing smiles at each other, nod their white haired heads and whisper behind their fingers; “That boy’s under conviction bad”.
The preacher preached about Jesus that particular Sunday and I didn’t hear a word he was saying; I was living it and the Roman soldiers were torturing Jesus to death. I saw Him struck with their fists and spit on; they yanked out His beard and called Him filthy names. He didn’t fight back; He didn’t ever hurt anybody. I hated them for humiliating and hurting Jesus. He was so alone. They laughed coarse laughter and made crude comments while they humiliated and battered Jesus. Then they tied Him to a post and whipped Him until His flesh was in shreds and His blood was splattered around Him. I was outraged. Jesus hadn’t done anything but good, He loved, He cared. I watched Jesus carry His cross and saw the rough wood scrape and peel the mangled flesh on His shoulders and back. I saw the flies drawn to the blood; they always are; and the ants always scurry to the droplets of crimson bounty. I was horrified and I didn’t realize a rage was rising in me. I saw them stretch Him in bruised, bloody, whip cut, naked, humiliation upon the cross on the ground. I heard the hammer's thumping, muted ring on the nails and I saw Jesus’ pain twisted face while they spiked His hands and feet to the rough hard wood. They grunted and strained when they lifted Him up and dropped the cross into its place. When Jesus’ full weight hit the nails I saw His fist beaten, swollen, bloody, discolored face twist in a hideous grimace of shattering agony. I was on my feet, there in the church, hot tears and sweat were pouring, my hands hurt because my fists were so clenched and I shouted in fury; “I would have taken Him down!” I could almost feel the M-60 machine gun bucking and slashing lethal finality into them. I would have killed them all that mistreated Jesus so, every last one! There was a shocked, dead still silence in the church and I realized what I’d done; I had interrupted the preacher. I understand now that was when I fell in love with Jesus but the Vietnam rage was the only way I could express it at that time. I sat in angry, embarrassed, sweating silence until church was finally over; I stomped out of the church house and flung myself into the car; when my family caught up and got in I spun out of the parking lot and roared down the road.
All that afternoon and into the early autumn evening I struggled. Some strange, bitter-sweet sorrow was tearing me apart. I could not be still. I sat in the house, in the yard and down by the creek. I walked the yard, the creek bank and back to the house. I was hurting and angry; sometimes crying, in the house, out of the house, in the yard, out of the yard, pacing, stomping and kicking at grass and twigs; over, and over and over on into the twilighting darkness as the storm raged within me. Then it hit me like a diamond hard, white hot bolt of thunder storm lightening that almost shattered my skull and did blast my heart to bits. I had misunderstood! It wasn’t the Roman soldiers! I was the one! I killed Jesus! "Oh God, No!" I killed Him with my sins! I did it! I was the lost man! I was the sinner! I deserved to die like He did! It should have been me! But He took it for me! He loved me that much! He did it so I could be saved! I was the sin guilty man; not him! The Innocent traded His life for the guilty so I might live! The essence of me, my soul, shattered into a million bright pieces of regret, shame and sorrow and I was broken beyond measure. Somehow I made it to my bedside and sweating, shrinking, shaking, crying, on my knees, I apologized and begged forgiveness for the awful things I had done and I promised I’d do anything if God would just save me. I didn't realize it right then but that was the exact moment I gave God my whole heart. There was a timelessness and that was when I touched the forever of God’s boundless, endless, loving soul. I had never felt so loved in my life. Then He saved me, the sin burden was gone and I was saved, saved, saved; ME!
It was October and I was standing thigh deep in the creek beside the church, just above the old wooden bridge. A preacher was on each side of me, a little behind me, there in the creek and they were holding me by the arms and shoulders. I looked up and down both sides of the creek bank; the people, standing there ten or twelve feet above me because the creek had cut deep in the millennia it had run its course. Mom was there and she was crying. Dad watched with burning, fascinated eyes; he was tight faced and he seemed to be straining. My lovely boys were round eyed and still faced as they marveled at the enormity of what was happening to Daddy. My only brother, sixteen years younger than me; he knew what a heller I had been; he had seen me at my worst and his face was a study of shifting emotions. They had all come to see it; some out of relief, some out of love, some out of disbelief and surely some out of mockery; friends, relatives, shirttail kin, old people who’d watched me grow up, a few curious strangers, a lot of people I simply knew and maybe one or two who used to be enemies. I wondered how so many people had found out about it? The Church was singing “Shall we gather at the River". I looked on past the crowd to my friends the mountains; bold shouldered points, dark brooding hollows and proud ridges thrusting into the endless blue sky; God had dressed them like royalty in the scarlet and gold of autumn and they were beautiful. The people were beautiful and the singing was beautiful. The Preacher's rich baritone voice with its flat vowels of mountain talk boomed out; “We baptize this, our Brother, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost! Amen!” and I went under for MY Lord. I came up to shouts of “Amen!” and “Praise the Lord!” and happy laughter, chatter and what seemed a thousand warm hugs; and me dripping wet too! I was at peace; finally, finally, finally at peace. And God was in every bit of that; and, you know, He always is.
When I came down from the initial spiritual high of salvation somebody told me there were around two hundred translations of the Bible. Maybe that’s what brought me down; I don’t remember. I do remember the knife like slashing when that knowledge ripped through my soul. I knew beyond any shadow of doubt I was saved but now what? I didn’t trust anybody with the precious and wonderful thing that had happened to me. It’s a sorry word to use about a man, but I was distraught. I desperately needed a Bible, but which one? I passionately prayed over and over for God to show me the way. I don’t remember where I obtained the information but I learned copies of the original scrolls could be obtained for a price. When mine came I was stunned; useless scribbles, there was no chapter and verse, they were written in a foreign language! Duhhh! I was that ignorant.
I learned there were dictionaries that translated those languages letter by letter and word by word. I somehow discovered Greek and Hebrew scholars could be contacted and they would help. They would accommodatingly locate and highlight certain identified scriptures such as John 3:16, Rom. 12:1-3, Gal. 5:17-26, Eph. 2:1-10 and other key scriptures. Many times I wept in vexation because of my ignorance. I prayed and fasted many times while I floundered and struggled with God’s Holy Word. It took more than two years for me to be convinced the unrevised King James Holy Bible, with all its difficult thee, thou and shalt, it’s strange phrasing; it’s double meaning statements; the negative statements with their hidden positive side; the positive statements with their hidden negative side; Jesus' beautiful puns and allegories that seemed endless with their depth of many meanings; the parables, mysteries, prophesy and all the rest of it was the Bible I would hang my forever upon. I was free, finally free and secure from my doubts and I could try to satisfy my hunger for God’s Word. I didn’t realize God was sending me to school the hard way. I didn’t know His plans for me; I never dreamed He would tell me to make a website and I’m glad I didn’t know His plans for me because I might have fled screaming back into the darkness from which He had brought me. I didn't know there would be a thing called a personal computer! Typing! A website; what's that? You are kidding?
The burden to create a website started in 2007; that was the year I turned sixty four years old. When those first "thoughts" came to create a website I immediately thought; "Well, this is the devil trying to trick me into making the biggest fool I've ever made of myself." But I didn't dare say it out loud because, just in case it was God, that would have been blasphemy against the Holy Spirit and no Christian in their right mind wants to do that. Weeks went by and the burden got worse and worse and I knew it was God. I was amazed, burdened and deeply troubled and I started praying about it. Fool that I am, I started telling God about all my un-qualifications! Of course He knows every atom, molecule and cell of my body and all about my soul too. I suppose I was like an earthworm on the pavement when the hot sun comes out; I felt like I was wiggling for my life in the heat. "Lord, look at me; I'm an old man. I have to look at every letter on the keyboard to make sure I'm hitting the right one. I don't know how to write! I don't have much education, just high school. I don't know anything about theology. Lord, I'm stupid!" More weeks went by, the burden kept getting worse and my prayers grew more desperate. "Lord, what if I tell somebody the wrong thing? What if I cause somebody to go to hell? The people I know will laugh at me; they'll laugh me right out of the county!"
More time went by and the burden got even worse and then He took me to (2Cor. 12:9); "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness." and it broke my heart. He was going to use the dullest, most useless tool in the drawer; me! I held out for a few more days but I knew, oh how I knew, I was past disappointing Him to the point of disobedience and I felt my salvation was in the balance. It was a really strange time. I started work on this website with a mixture of fear, trembling, sadness, relief, excitement and, astonishingly enough, with great joy. I have never been so blessed in my life. As God revealed Himself to me I was sometimes blessed to speechless, sobbing praise for His goodness, love and mercy. Sure, there were seemingly endless twelve, fourteen and sixteen hour days, the frenzy of research, frantic typing before I lost what He was telling me, the struggle with my electronic ignorance and waking up in the middle of the night with God's blessing roaring through me as I staggered to the computer but it was all pure joy too because I was serving my eternal Master, the Lord of glory who inhabits forever.
I confided in a couple of my closest, most trusted Christian friends about what was happening to me and they said I needed to write something about the author of this website. Me! You’ve got to be kidding! I am not the author! I am the pencil. God authors, I write, and only by the inspiration of God through the Holy Spirit were these beautiful, penetrating, scriptural commentaries possible and all credit belongs to God. I also understand that God has only one requirement of qualification; that a Christian love Him with all of his or her heart and, just like you, especially during those times when God is blessing me with His brand of love, I wonder if I even know the meaning of love. But I do love Him with all of the little that I am. There is only one requirement of service to Him and that is obedience to His word through the Holy Spirit and, just like you, I sometimes create problems for myself with that. God has only one requirement of commitment which is that a Christian never stop trying to do his or her best and, just like you, I sometimes wonder; "Good grief, is that the best I can do"?
With much prayer I finally got this website online in October of 2009. I did not put a way for you and me to communicate online through this website. Bad things said to me would hurt me and good things said to me might cause me to become exalted with pride and I surely fear that. I know there are millions of websites concerning God and religion and in my weakness I did put a counter on it. I just had to know if anyone ever looked at it. As of August 30, 2010 there were thousands and thousands of people from twenty two countries, counting America, using this website. I am filled with astonishment and profound gratitude to God for His revealing power that guided so many people to it.
Through the years of my life as God's useless nuisance of a servant God has permitted me the joy of seeing my hard case Dad saved and baptized when he was a frail old man in his late seventies. It was a wonder to see that hard, brittle shell of confidence in self, defiance, stubborness and rebellion disappear to be replaced with gratitude, humility and kindness. Dad said to me with great sorrow; "Son, I shore wish I'da done this years ago." and when he was in his early eighties Daddy took off with Jesus. My precious boys are saved and the oldest went on to live, forever nineteen, with Jesus. My baby sister and Granny are with Jesus; as are Papaw Moore and Martha my step-grandmother, and Grandpa Davis and Mollie my other step-grandmother. Mom is into her late eighties and waiting her turn; as are I and my lovely wife.
Yes, I have failed God many times. I have sinned. I have become well acquainted with frustrated and lonely. Stupidity seems enamored with me and ignorance is my companion. But God has never let me down. Many times I would have cheerfully wrung my own stubborn neck or cut off my unruly tongue but God was always compassionate, kindly affectioned, forgiving and infinitely gracious with me. When I was broken with unutterable sorrow God gently put me back together again. When I was sore wounded and defeated in my struggle God rescued me and tenderly gave me a drink from His own cup of blessing. When I crashed and burned in the frustration and shame of failure God picked me up at exactly the right time and raised my feeble hands in victory. When I flew too high on the wings of pride God always brought me down and sometimes it was not a gentle landing. When I despised hateful, hot-tempered me God loved me. When I detested mean sinful me God was always patient with me. Many times God has chastised and corrected useless me. That’s the way God is because God is love. He is always there, nurturing me, burdening me, gently revealing Himself to me and I love Him with all my heart. God gives me His inspiration and anointing to write. Please understand; it is all about God; that’s why I am only the pencil and not the Author and it would be prideful for me to put my name on this writing.