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(Excerpts from; My Brother Bart, June 1, 2011)

Before him stretched out on his left and right sides are lines of demon’s forming a line that is slowly converging on the our man’s path. Our hero knows without a doubt, that in his path straight ahead lies the Light, but as he gets further down the road, the demons on both sides get closer, as well as stronger in ranks and stature, until it is apparent that the forces on both sides of him are physically overwhelming. A guillotine waiting!

Dark ominous creatures, spitting and profaning all sorts of attacks that press from every imaginable crevice. Hurtling blow upon blow, arrow upon arrow, with one purpose, to thwart our gallant hero from his set goal. Their insults and attacks come from all venues, some head on and with pain and torment, others with subtle pressing of seemingly friendly and loving coercion.

Our man knows he is marching into a gauntlet, and the further he goes the stronger the enemies resolve becomes, and the greater the fight. He also knows that as he proceeds strength and physical ability diminishes as he receives volley after volleys of relentless and brutal attacks!

Anytime he could turn around, go back, give up!, he might even be spared, but faith and commitment to the path, dictates he march on.

Now there is a third group watching; thousands standing on the hills behind quite safe, watching, praying, waiting to see what will happen. Many of these may be even wondering; “will our valiant champion give up, or will he push through with faith to the end?” Many would help, if they could, few if any would walk along, even fewer would take his place, but all will be touched by his strength and fortitude.

Many hundreds, may be even thousands could be saved from this one man’s act of sacrifice.

The Vision Continues;

Our man presses on and with each step he takes the burden that presses him down becomes more evident to all who observe from afar. Arrows of the enemy five, six clearly lodged in his low back. One in his elbow, one in his neck, a few more landing instantly in places that would cripple any normal man. More and more the arrows hit hard. Then a spear, his body crashes face down in the dust, but pure strength of our Savior burns through his fierce veins, and this brave soldier climbs back on his feet.

He bends from the weight of the pain, he staggers from the fiery stones as they crash against him, some even hit him in his face, Bart whispers prayers for strength that Timothy may have shared, as he takes another couple steps.

Blow after blow, driving him down, but back to his feet our champion rises again, each time a bit slower then the last. Lashes form across his back like fiery tails of blistering pain, as he comes within whips length from the laughing dragons.

Bruises clearly seen through the tattered remnants of clothing hanging from his failing physical frame. The spit that flies from many of the so-called friends finds its way to land on his flesh, in his eyes as it mixes with his own tears, tears for them. He tries so desperately hard to disregard its acid burning sting. A few steps further.

A frame hunched over by the weight of the increasing attack, the weight of the ungodly wishes mimicking in number the prayers of the believers supporting him. His spirit never faltering, his mind pressing towards the light, willing his body further, a body longing to just lay down. Another step.

As he comes close to the point where the two converging lines of demons begin to compress in on both sides, finally within arms length, the frenzy of the foul attacks escalades to the point of almost insect like madness. A knee buckles but he pulls forward with what remaining strength he can muster from the other, balancing on one good arm.

The physical body of our lone hero is so beaten down, bloodied by a relentless stream of countless arrow bombardment, bruised by seemingly unending assault of club and fist, that his physical stature resembles more of a crawling beaten animal then a once nobel man. Yet he crawls on, one horrifically painful stride after another, one pull of his arms, nearly dragging his almost lifeless legs.

Demons now literally engulf him and as they all bear down on their prey, smiles of ecstatic frenzy actually begin to cross a few of their faces, victory seems assured.

From beneath the heap of squirming filth, and animal onslaught, I begin to see a second shape take form. Expanding shoulders of power, what appears to be muscular arms, and thunderous legs of ripped strength, reflecting, no, emulating fiery bronze with radiating light flowing outward from within.

The figure underneath begins to rise, at first with some difficulty, yet with increasing ease and speed. First to his knees, arms press the torso from the ground in a massive push-up, lifting with ease the combined weight of all the massive demons that have now piled on his back in a futile attempt to hold him down.

He extends his chest below, his arms sending a ripples of muscular waves across his back, a few of the weaker, smaller demons are thrown from his body like useless rag-doll’s being discarded haphazardly from a crib by some playful baby.

Now in a kneeling position, I see the muscular torso of the obvious military officer flex under the clearly formed chest plate that has materialized on his torso, the polished silver ornamented with gold insignia, reds and purple trimmed, moves effortlessly over the massive muscles that flex beneath.

As the officers insignia form on his shoulders, there is a clear shudder through the enemies camp, it flows through the ranks like a tsunami, raising immediately an expression of fear and agitation, once swollen never settling back.

For the first time I see the fear take form in the eyes and faces of the demons reflected off the perfection of the suit, as they cling in clear fright to the man. His strong muscular neck extends slowly, capped with a helmet that barely contains the power that presses to explode from beneath. He flexes his neck once to the left, then to the right as he lifts his eyes up to the sky for just a moment of reverence.

For the first time I notice the war sandal’s appear, they seem to be strangling the powerful calfs, those tree-trunk-like legs are a constricted tensing ball of bronze dynamite waiting in mounting pressure for sudden release like a bottled up volcano.

The clear image of a shield strapped to his left arm and a blazing white sword in his right hand. Belt holding tightly the chain-mail and leather strapped war armor that rests snugly against his strong body.

Our hero raises to his feet with little or no effort, enemy spills off him as easily as dry leaves would fall from a playful father standing out of a pile his children just buried him in. He extends his back in confident attention, turns only for a brief moment to assess the enemy, with strong jaw set, and eyes sharp and squinting to the prey, there is but a moment of faint snicker, again sending repeated shrill of horror into the would be predators.

Immediately the horde surges and our man flies into action like a flash of brilliant lightning.

With blinding speed and deadly accuracy he spins on legs of pillared strength, muscles responding with a crack of thunder, he slices tens of throats with a single sweep of the sword and simultaneously drives the shield into the other direction smashing the opposing attackers right back into the faces of the ranks they just thrusted from. He takes a step, then another forward.

There is a slash with fluid ease, spin thrust in piercing ferocity, three fall, parley with the shield, turn kick of blazing speed, all with an agility superior to any professional dancer, dozens fly back, many more run in screeching horror, smashing with the hilt of the sword another lightning crack, four more down, slicing with the edge of the shield, a dozen decapitated as they attempt to spring over the defenses at him. A couple more steps forward!

The attacks start thinning, and the ease of defense almost becomes casual in nature. A few more slices in full circle eliminating a few desperate straggler’s,the sword is swirling around his torso followed by accented shield, it has almost become a blur.

A desperate change in tactic the enemy tries to undercut, a sharp knee to the jaw by our champion a few more squeal off. Yet another as he just casually kicks with yet again another step forward, no perhaps quite a few.

By now he has comfortably slid the shield behind and tucked it securely on his back. Sword spins a few finishing circles and comes to rest in its sheath with the most graceful fluidity.

A few more steps forward, he suddenly pauses and goes down reverently on one knee, still on his path now glowing bright gold. The demons behind, dispersing in mad frenzy flying, running and crawling, hurt, beaten, battered out and angry, away towards the distances, to the sides, not towards him just away.

Some fading, some disappearing almost immediately, and when only a fraction remains, calling with familiar voices, so called friends and family voices taunting to come back for more.

Our hero turns to look behind over the right shoulder, and only then do I see the face of our hero…

It is the face of Betsie, Bart’s wife!

I suddenly realize the form in front of me is no longer a man’s, but a woman’s. Lacking nothing in strength and stature, no less powerful or brilliantly adorned, but clearly a woman’s body exhibiting grace, compassion, tenderness and majesty.

She looks back, for a moment from where she just came, tears rolling down her cheek as the familiarity of the fight fades.

The Medallion of Honor dangling from her neck flashes in reflection from the light from which she is headed. The Lion of Judah blazing in red hot glory, but as the coin spins in the space in front of her chest the soft blue peace of the light that shines from the Lamb side cascades it’s soft blue glow on her wet cheeks.

Slowly she nods in understanding, as if to say a silent goodbye, not from her partner, just from the battlefield. With a soft but strong setting of her jaw, she turns her gaze back towards the path they both stepped on what seemed only moments before.

Up on her feet she stands, sets her shoulders and marches on towards the light.

What is amazing is the clear skies, beautiful fields of soft colored flowers that flow like oceans, as soft breezes blow by.

By Peter Colla

“My dear Lord Jesus, help me to demonstrate but a fraction of the courage your two servants Bart and Betsy displayed. Grant me that courage in every moment of every challenge of every glorious day.”

Wilderness

Walking in the wilderness, well what exactly would that entail?

I have heard some people say for the Believer, wilderness is walking anywhere outside the promised land, and that may be the case, but a question that might baffle the mind is; how could the Children of God step into the wilderness, when they weren’t even in the promised land yet?

Simple; I guess it depends on who they are and where they start from. Once salvation was granted, and the particular child has stepped on a path that would lead them directly to the prosperity God had intended them, the only way they were going to miss the mark, was if the stepped off the path themselves. I guess some of them might find themselves immediately in the realm of the promised land the moment salvation occurs. Others there is a bit of a trek.

I believe as believers we can find ourselves in the promised land without even the need of being brought, this can be back up in Biblical example, as shown by the many of the children of Israel, just by being born there. Or by being the case of the believer, being born again.

And I also believe that a person, such as the idiot who is writing this article, can walk right out of the promised land, and if he is really cleaver, he might just head right directly into the wilderness. Cleaver may not be the proper word here, lets just say blessed.

I knew a man once;

He had everything a man could want, a beautiful queen, of the likes even Esther may have raised an eyebrow to, health, wealth, friends, respect; from family, friends, but most importantly from his wife and maybe even himself, ok hats a stretch.

One might say everything he put his hand to prospered, milk and honey, everything turned to Gold, when people would say “life is good!”, he would casually nod in agreement, because for him it surely was. How often does a person hear after the fact, when things are so good, that so many around them watch and say; “Oh, if I but had it as them?”

But just like the Children of God, what happened?

He got complacent, selfish, started looking at how to make it more about him then anyone else, add another earthly pleasure upon an already abundant heap. He did the David thing, he had more then a man could possibly ever enjoy, but saw just one more bathtub morsel and had to have it. Entitlement became a word very familiar with the image that stared back out at him in the morning from the mirror?

This resulted in wandering, first just a step or two from home, but eventually the time outside the comforts of that resting place God had so graciously granted him, became so extended that home was even beginning to lose hold of its recognition in his heart.

Then in one sudden dramatic swoop everything was taken, not by the God that gave it, because thats not how He works. Not by the result of actions, because God doesn’t punish the innocent for our actions. Not because of the enemies attack, well not directly, because as much as the enemy might like to, he can not kill.

God’s gifts are never taken back, yes we can choose not to care for them, and as demonstrated in a precious flower, they will wither and wilt, leaving but a dried remnant of the original, lifeless, ugly, but God still doesn’t take it back.

Now when it comes to giving from the enemy, that is a whole different question. The enemy only gives when it has some kind of personal gain that benefits him. And when that personal benefit has been exhausted, the personal gratification satisfied, the showing off to his friends, the payment for some bill he just can’t get out of, the enemy immediately begins his plan on how to take back what he gave. Selfishness and greed wrap around his dark heart like the stink on a bear.

Kill no, but the enemy can just whisper in men’s ear, tempt them to do bad things, prompt them to make dark decisions, dark sin’s, bad choices, one after another, many throughout a world full of fallen, a bad choice here, an angry gesture there, a man chooses to try to beat a red light, and two innocent creations cross a path, a path that is not so good, and a bad things befall good people.

But we are not here to talk about the enemy are we?

So there you have it, our spoiled little man find himself wandering on the fringe, and before you know it, you are so knee deep in the wilderness, that the memories of a life long passed, one filled with joy, compassion, love, worth, seem so far distant, you begin to wonder if you had ever experienced them at all.

You are lost.

Wilderness walking, let me define it for you,
oh, and how would I know?,
because I’ve been there!
and maybe I still am;

Wilderness is a place of utter depression, like the deepest valley on earth, a place of the greatest pressure can be found, where blistering heat and chilling cold bring their cruel lash across the backs of those who have unwittingly walk in. Except this depression has no cure, at least not found in the promises of a little pill. No, there is but One who can cure, One, who the can direct the lost wanderer onto a path that will lead out.

Wilderness itself is a deep seeded hunger that you can never fill by the works of your hand, every bite is as dry as the land, if there is any remote sign of flavor it’s immediately lost in the first few bites, only to be replaced with that bland dusty uncaring taste of dry sand, lacking all body, very little salt. And as we attempt to fill the gaping hole that rests deep within, all we create is more pain, more hunger, and a heavier burden for our legs to carry. Linger long enough, and the shear weight will bind us to our pallet seemingly forever.

This is a place of burning thirst that can not be quenched with any amount of water, alcohol, soda pop, tears, and no matter how much you drink, moments later thirst returns like the vultures returning to finish the dead. Their uncaring and unloving eyes want only one thing, the few succulent tears you might have left, maybe take your eyes while they are there.

Sure there is water that is provided, from one stone to the next, but how does a few drops quench the thirst of dying man, when the scorching sun burns the very flesh from the tongue. And stone are hard objects when it come to getting anything out of them.

All spirits of oppression seem to find their place on the backs of their victims much easier here, this is the place of the vultures, scorpions in shoes, snakes in your bed, ever digging their claws into the flesh, their stinger on the most tender part of your foot, or their teeth sunk deep in a place where we feel the most vulnerable. Precipitating ever stronger reactions as the daggers seem less a wound and more extensions of their selves.

In the wilderness there is a loneliness who’s satisfaction seems only steps away, yet continually moves a step back with each one you take forward. Oh yes, you can try to fill this pit in your chest with man created substitutes, and they may also for a moment fill the gap, but the minute the instrument of your satisfaction moves out of sight so does the feeling of relief.

Loneliness is the most desperate of base feelings, what is wrong with you, you might ask yourself as the pressure that weighs down on your shoulders like a thousand tons suffocates the very answer out of your lips. There is what seems to be an ever pressing dullness that weighs down the very air out of your longs, making your heart beat like a sprinter twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, and sleep is the only friend you can call your own. But sometimes even that friend leaves you.

You know you have found the deepest place in the wilderness when freedom that is offered from water no longer represents a quenching of thirst, but a means to silence the pain of this life. A choice must be made, die, or begin to die to desires of the past, and reach for a hand out of this place.

When all hope on self is cast aside and trust in Him is the only choice, we call out for Him in our desperation, our torment, our need, and He always answers.

Miraculously, as the veils of our own creations begin to be discarded like the burdensome extra cloths hanging on us like chains in a hot deserts sun, and we eventually get down to the basics we need to survive, it is here that we look up and see what has been right in front of us all along; Him, Jesus, in His wonderful glory, hand reaching out, soft comforting voice, cool spring water, to quench any thirst, fulfill any hunger, relax any burden, in a flash of an instant.

We fail, we walk in, we fall down, we doubt, we get back up, we fall again, we learn, we grow, we humble ourselves, we cry, we come to realizations, we gain wisdom, eventually we even start to walk out again, we grow, we overcome, we develop into something stronger, greater, and purer then we had ever thought possible. Someone He always knew we could be, someone we were designed to become.

A stronger relationship is developed with Him, He becomes our teacher, He becomes a brother, He becomes a friend, He becomes a Father, and all along He imparts more wisdom bits and pieces as we can digest them, as He might rain down cool sweet rain on scorched face.

A kinship is branded in our eyes in which one begins to see Him, at first but a cloud, later a burning fire that melts away all the imperfections that taints the purity of that in which cloud our vision, making us just as He would have us. A Pillar of Fire that we gladly approach even chase, in our desire to follow Him.

We learn to hear His voice, turning from fear and lending ear to the Fathers call as we hear Him more and louder. Subtle and soft is His voice at first, but as the recognition increases so does the thunder of His voice. Funny how a child can clearly hear his Fathers voice across a loud room of people, so is it when we have gone to wilderness school.

We learn to depend on Him with our every need. Jesus said it right there in the wilderness, “Man can not live on bread alone, but on the every Word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.” Even to the point of possibly displaying Him in the shadow of our face.

What is a little famine in a land, when we have survived stomach aching hunger to the point where even broth has become a feast of kings? The bare necessities of the desert, create in us an appreciation of Gods gift in every succulent bite.

What is a little thirst when we have survived endless miles of scorching heat, cracked dry lips, and sand laced tongue, without a single drink? After a post in the desert, water takes on a taste all it own, a man will become a connoisseur of the clear sparkling purity, to the point to marvel any wine master.

What is some tough labor, when we have carried burdens that would cripple oxen? The muscles a man receives from the wilderness are not just for mere earthly loads, but give him strength of character, fortitude and courage, granting not only the ability to kill giants, the fearlessness to face them, but the ability to pick them up and cast them into the sea with just a little tiny faith.

What is a few nights of solitude, a moment in prison, being separated from God’s gifted earthly loves, when we have survived countless lonely nights in the desert? When the threat of wild beasts, the elementary extremes, or the unprotected attacks of the enemy horde has been overcome, and the ever present comfort of The Father can be felt now continually, loneliness no longer has any meaning.

What is the meager pressure that could be imposed by man, when we have carried a crushing stress that the wilderness offers? When a person has endured the overwhelming burdens of the wilderness and finally toss them from their tired yet strengthened and more importantly veteran shoulders, small insignificant pressures placed on us by mere men seem about as significant at the pests of a gnat. What is amazing is that we also gain the ability to brush them off in the same way.

What is a little bond service, when we have finally discarded the chains that have been dragging behind us for a very long time? Could we possibly go so far to think we might just be able to give back to God?

Glory to God for the deliverance out of the wilderness, no, Thanks be to God for the time I spent in it!

To be continued… when did this man get to leave the wilderness?

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, help me not only to recognize my time in the wilderness as truly a blessing from You, but help me to receive all You would give me there, and finally Lord don’t forget Your servant, lead me out into Your promised land again.”

“Saul (Paul) why do you persecute me?”

As I sit in the group of young believers in the beautiful mountain town of Pagosa Springs, I find us waiting patiently for the Lord to descend on this meager band. I say young, being from ages of mere adults to seventy plus years on this earth. I guess if we consider, we will all have endless millennium to yet live, even a seventy or so life span, would be but a blink in the totality of what is to come.

First of all does He descend, as so many of us eager Christians have been led to believe by a church who presents to us the interpretation of His Word, or is He ever present?

I believe the latter, as any good Father would do, sometimes just keeping his face just out of our immediate sight, for one purpose and one alone, to promote our growth. As to when He does show up, in a more experiential way; 1) He will manifests His presence in a real way when we present ourself as a pure and unblemished sacrifice to Him, or two) He just shows up when ever He feels like it, as to benefit the Kingdom.

The long weekend had been a mixed bag of mountain top experiences, mostly finding us serving the needs of various peoples longing to taste a bite of the feast that we have been so privileged to dine. When I say serve, each of us rests in, better yet takes upon themselves, the privilege of service. How sweet is the taste of service for the Kingdom, especially when you are in the service of the King, and not only yourself.

Splintered off into various fractions of the whole group, each in his turn being drawn into the conversations of which weaves the fabric of the lives of those who have come to visit.

As guests come, these interactions propel us into a realm of His word, commissioning’s occur; coins are handed to officers in His End Times Army, healing’s descend from above; not all clearly seen on the physical, but undeniable in mind, heart, or combining-ly the soul. Wisdom gets poured out like cool clear water from the sweet vessels of children who again obediently submit, what is clearly amazing is who are the ones learning, that is not exactly clear.

As I think back throughout the weekend, and examine with more of a distant view, it is clear to me that preparations were all made not by us, but from above, and as such, in each of us as participants, the only prerequisite was “a willingness to obey, to show up.”

First a man obeys, makes the trip, submits and puts down any and all cloaks of pride allowing the Holy spirit to work a cleansing stroke through his soul. What is missing, for some reason something seems to be?

Then there is a listening stage, in which the toughest part is pushing out the deep routed desires to sleep, and grasp an idea that even as we see people in need around us, there is a possibility that these people are being presented in front of us as to show the possibility of the same need in ourselves.

This is the essence of giving up the cloak of pride, because if we listen through the veils of our own church wisdom, we might actually hear the very Words the the Holy Spirit will deliver to us individually, there might be a new message, something new to see, a revelation, in each and every experience we have witnessed throughout the day.

We all were being transformed through reflection, words, teachings, visions, tongues and interpretation of tongues, prayer, acts of giving, opportunities to heal and be healed. Not as much of a change, as a final cleaning up of the rooms that had been built by the seeds of those present only moments before this wonderful coming together occurred.

What would be a greater sin; going out and using the little piece of this great world that God has created, to manufacture some kind of reactionary response in ourself, trying desperately to fulfill one or more developmental insufficiency that we have taken into our self through either actions of our own, or those perpetrated against us outside our own active choices? We do this often by fulfilling soft spoken desires with just an element of the complex gift that God has presented before us.

Or, and I believe worse, seeing us missing the ball completely in regards to a particular gift God has blessed us with, out of His most generous graces, just to have us ignore it all together, mainly because we were to busy stuffing another short term pleasure in our insatiable gap, then to see the roses we so casually tread on without even reverent acknowledgment?

Case in point; let us suppose God created everything, and if the scriptures are to be taken literally, when Jesus said in Luke 13:34; “… if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.” God drops blessing upon blessing in our laps throughout the day, and at the end of the day someone else will ask us; “how was your day?”, and all we can say is; “It was ok!” If we just stop to hear, I believe the screams would be deafening to what we have missed.

I hear the Voice of God speak softly in my ear; “When someone asks you; How was your day?”

“And you answer; It was ok, hardly remembering but a moment or two of the very last day, you have just demonstrated to Me, and yourself, that you have wasted the gift of an entire day.”

“The gift of a day that I have given you, not to mention all of the gifts within the day that I dropped into your lap.”

“When I say wasted, what I mean is you failed to completely discover all of the gifts I had given you, and more importantly any and all messages, teachings, healing’s, precious gems I may have had for you, or the world for that matter through them.”

Are we not called to discover Him in all of His creation?

Ok back to the weekend, so much learning can take place when we sit down and truly discover the gifts in front of us.

And to try to write about every lesson that presented itself would be like trying to describe a flower in its entirety with mere words. We can print an image with words, like a artist paints a picture, a mere representation of what he sees in his mind. While the image can be beautiful, bringing understanding into the observer, it is but a shadow of the original experience, lacking depth, volume, sound, smell, all of the emotional contact that plays in each and every gift we receive.

So let me give but an image of what was seen his weekend;

“Before you can be used to slay demons in others, you must slay your own.”

Bottom line we can not come into growth with Christ, and make a difference in the live’s of others, unless we are willing to clean out the cobwebs of our own room, making this temple a Holy and presentable offering to Him. That includes being used to our fullest potential or facilitating healing’s, teaching, preaching, etc. to others.

When we are so busy considering these but pieces of His creation, worrying about the fragments of this physicality that only represents a fraction of the total creation He gives us, we miss the boat. We not only miss it for ourselves, but we as believers miss it for those brought into our proximity, and ultimately miss it for The Kingdom.

I find myself standing in line at the grocery store, and before me sits a one year old or so child. He is sitting in a grocery cart, and his mother hands him a plastic relish bottle, then proceeds to continue gathering her groceries.

I watch in amazement as the child examines the gift his mother just handed him. Over and over in his hand he turns the relish bottle, quietly examining, a smile of satisfaction, and joy not only crosses his face but mine as well. There is a peaceful gratification on the face of the child as he holds the precious gift. Precious because his mother, someone who loves him, handed the bottle to him for his discovery.

The child becomes enthralled in the examination of his new find as he turns it in his hand over and over again. He holds it examining every crevice, every contour, the texture shape, and eventually, yes, even the taste as the little precious child places a small corner in his mouth.

Only after minutes of contemplation and examination is the article set aside, result; the child has discovered all there is to know about this particular gift, and it is only then, that he moves on to the next point of interest.

I’m not sure if it is the purity, the sweet goodness of his examination, the honor he pays the giver with a complete examination, or just the peacefulness demonstrated in such a beautiful face, but one thing I do realize is the child’s activities are all good, pure, encompass everything that speaks love, gentleness, and most of all the main thought that comes to this father mind; “what a good boy!”

Did Jesus not say; “come to me as little child”?

We miss the supernatural gifts God would have given the Kingdom, because we were to busy taking care of earthly things we believed we needed.

“Saul, why do you persecute me?” could apply to each of us, as we squander the treasures of the moment. We kill the gifts!

How many times have I passed on a gift from God, just to continue in the indulgence of the world, some useless activity that I happen to be wasting time with.

The glance of a friendly smile from the lonely soul reaching out in desperate need, as I chose not to return even a look. What a fool the angel that may have been looking to give me an opportunity to give. Being to busy to realize how much that person may have had for me.

The missed opportunity to reach out to someone in need as I cross the street to avoid the homeless child who happens to have fallen. Not realizing by giving we receive, oh so much more.

The Word I could have received had I looked past my ego to think I could maybe receive from someone below my so-called station. Sitting on my pedestal never fathoming the people below that place I felt I had earned, could have had anything for me. All the missed Words!

How many times was I to busy eating, had I opened my eyes and saw the gift in giving, the opportunity to change the world?

How many times did the most significant person in my life walk by, because I was to busy worrying about the few grains of sand I happen to have clenched in my hand?

How many waisted days did I eat, or just casually smoke, or drunkenly drink, or greedily spend, or haphazardly screw, or lazily sleep, or just lay on the floor and give up because I felt sorry for myself, how many perfect plastic bottles did I miss?

How many spiritual beautiful Godly blessings did I substitute for mere physical dirt.

How many perfect loving relationships of lifelong significance did I exchange for a dirty cigaret?

The blessing in every creation, grasp it and discover it before it passes by our view, that is the goal, and in doing so we display the face of a child,

the Face of Christ.

By Peter Colla

“Lord Jesus help me to clean out those areas in me that I have neglected to see, make me a more pure and acceptable offering to You, and in turn become a more complete representation of You. Give me the wisdom to not miss a single gift You bless me with.”

Deciding on a particular hammock is no careless endeavor, somber contemplation and seriousness of thought, should be weighed with careful consideration when choosing type, look, or feel. Firmness, length, width, and in the case of even more romantics such as I, one might add the scent, and even degree of which it wraps itself around you, must be considered.

That being said, I’m sure if Paul would have been a Hammock maker instead of a tent maker, Biblical text may have included such references as; “Consider men of God, if ye may or may not even dare possess a hammock, not being for all, one according to his faith, but if it is to be that a hammock being something you can not live without, then I should recommend you have one, but remember brethren it is a choice that can only be made with the deepest contemplation and reverence…” or something like that. But thankfully he wrote it not me!

So I being a man, of Jesus I may add, and the most reverent of respect for all of God’s spectacular creation, considering the possibility of a hammock just may find its way into my life someday, I am ever steadfast running my race, considering the King of Kings as He grants blessing upon blessing into the hands of this simple man.

The first thing I might consider if said hammock might even be a vivid thought touching the vulnerable ear of this man’s all to often broken heart. Is, do I want to risk, such treasure at this point in my life? Broken hearts can leave such scars, and while Jesus has the ability to heal all wounds, certain scars are more like battle wounds, worn as medals of honor well into the physicality of new body for all time… at least I think.

Let’s suppose our not so young warrior, yet again feels that taking the plunge into the void of losing his heart to the grips of a hammock is worth putting himself yet again out there in a vulnerable way.

The first thing that would have to occur is a long dialog of contemplation, serious examination of all parties involved.

An exchange of words first, bantering of ideas, and verbal feeling each other out, this will have to play itself into existence for a longer exchange of time, in a way he has never considered before in his life. The risk of his gentle heart, but more so, the promise he has made to the Father, “this time do it right”, dictates not only that a best friend situation develop long before even the remote consideration of a future hammock may manifest, but he has also promised his Lord that to give justice to the Gift, the Father has so graciously blessed him with, dictates that he investigates, gets to know completely, and gives praises for every aspect of this gift before him, long before he is allowed to venture forth onto the next level of discovery.

He starts with only a verbal investigation, breathing in the beauty of every scented word she speaks, letting them play softly on the surface of his old heart, touching in almost feathery gentleness as only the most Godly small seeds can make. It cultivates with the Word every step of the way, being rained on with the very waters of Christ, like the many tears he sheds in thanksgiving day. Then miraculously waiting on God to grow a beautiful garden, if He so desires.

Every pedal she speaks is cherished as if from the very mouth of God, because in essence as a daughter of the Living God, every word truly is. God commands the man to; “Love and Adore”, but also to “Love his neighbor”, so then precious neighbors first, next becoming a friend, and friends becomes best friends by the Grace of a Living God, and love turns to adoration, a gentle harmonic of Godly intent, ever allowing God Himself to further deposit any and all gifts He might desire into two sweet children he love’s so very very much. Is there a hammock in the future, our young child of a warrior just might begin to hope.

He then for the first time, dares a peak at this glorious creation with his own two eyes. Taking in the majesty of her childlike perfection, flawless in the eyes of God, perfectly clean in the cleansing blood of the Lamb, she is spotless, enchanting, the tingling scent of her silhouette caressing the iron girders and emotional hiding places of his heart.

Again he finds himself needing to discover every God given spec of visual energy that this blessing has to offer his once starving eyes. He basks in the sight of pure delight that is this marvelous creation of God’s might. Sits and looks hours, no days, even weeks as a student might in awe a Michelangelo, drawing in the beauty with tears of gratitude, waiting, feasting, and filling up, until he can truly say, no, must say; “Thank you Lord for such a gift”.

Does he dare a touch, to caress such a gentle hand, he may be risking his very heart, his kingdom, his land. Just for a moment before such a gallantry, infinitely more difficult then slaying the most ferocious bear. Finally pure courage out weighs risk of rejection, and he reaches from his race, to take her hand as she runs near.

Surely by now the hammock is taking form in his minds growing mansion, within the depths of his souls desires, no one doubts this man’s passions. Type and shape no longer contemplated, for only such a gift from God is a perfect one. A man could take a lifetime frequenting himself with the perfection of this special hand, truly grand. Given him by God himself, wouldn’t such a life be a full one? Examining every curve, the slenderness in feminine perfection of softs love, demonstrating gentle pure tenderness, the embodiment of femininity personified…so is the hand, so is the touch.

He takes her tender hand in his, delicate he holds her in the masculine strength God has granted him, for power is never more the gentlest of consideration, used is this magnificent army only under the instruction of the Father. The great lions paw humbled in reverence for the honor given him to give from Above. For as he has taken honor from Above so must he give honor her. As he frequently holds her hand, with each occasion more comfortable she extends, gives it in trust, until such a time the barrier between hands becomes indistinguishable.

In the days of old, the days almost forgotten, so honorable were men to just take a Ladies hand in theirs, and as tears welled up in these greatest of Knights, impossible was it for them not to kiss the gentle hand as a sign of their devotion and adoration. So as it was then, is it today, this becomes again another area of needed and complete reflection before one would move away, as a demonstration to The Lord of Truth, the creator of her hand.

Does a man at this point chance a thought to said hammock, could he but be so blessed, only God knows! A hammock, yes a big step, no maybe among the greatest step, a most serious step, better to ask The Father!

With heart racing, pumping to the point of bursting, so is his reflection in her and the hammock. So does he approach The Father, for even as He is his Father, so is He hers. And whoa to him that will take from The King, The Father, without asking first, without receiving permission.

Let us consider for a moment the hammock as just a fantasy, for we know our young warriors blood be a racing! Intertwined cords of Gods creation, supportive for both, lifting above the Earth in tranquil suspense, the gentle rolling of rhythmic sway, softly rocking like a gentle wave on a Caribbean bay. The rocking to and fro, balanced with the heartbeat of Godly creation, set into motion by the sweet breath of all involved.

No! The man says, can’t go there yet, the Father has yet to touch this gift. Shake the image out his mind, “get behind me dark thing”, a gift taken before given is no gift at all!

No he must wait on the Father, a hammock is a most serious thing. Give His permission, His approval as is His right as a Father!

This child of a man, must go back to school, learning the gift that has been so graciously given. A dinner for two, a sunrise stroll along the beach as the glorious gift of the sun peaks it’s first smile above the horizon, yes he has seen it before, but never with her. A mountain top sunset experience, with her hand in his as they watch reverently another glorious day depart from view. Every experience that each has loved, sharing God’s little gifts of love in the life He has so blessed them with.

Two riding next to each on horses pounding glorious hearts, souls in reflection of the beats that burn within the chests of our two friends, sequenced with the servants that labor beneath. A pick-nick lunch, a late glass of wine, a fun game of bowling, a casual action movie, reading the Bible to each other, telling stories, laughing together, crying together, learning each other to the point of knowing, where a mere look of the eye speaks volumes, a smile, a tear, a pain, no loss is to much, no fear to big, all good, all true, nothing lost in God, only purity, only bliss, sweet peace He gives, gentle hearts all gain…….best friends.

Now the Father says; “put your arm around her, hold her close, and we can start to plan the purchase of the hammock.”

“You do know, My son, by you putting your arm around My daughter, so do you promise Me to protect and guard her at this every moment in this very place… Real, now, totally against all, physical and spiritual, even unto death.”

The man considers The Fathers words, because just putting his arm around her, in the eyes of The Fathers is not merely a gesture for his own pleasure, but a responsibility to protect in the Fathers stead. Equal, no but superior to any Knight or Earthly Rank, for it’s the Fathers child you swear to protect with this act.

So a man contemplates owning a hammock, settles himself in the reverence thereof, weighs the weight of the responsibility, shoulders the burdens of his protective charge. He must lead in strength, step first in courage, guide in tenderness, walk in unity, rest his head in gentleness, quiet and soft as Jesus would direct. Balance and truth, the power of Gods direction, so must he first prepare, for the final day when the hammock will appear. “Please dear Jesus give your gift to me” he pleads! The Father agrees.

Then finally the day shines, glory be Him in springs rain, as the birds sound a bit sweeter, and the cool water heeling blood we do gain.

With rope in strong hand, and the good hammock to see, opens he his God’s gift, handed sweetly Father to me.

The perfect place do I go, a gentle sweet taste be the sound, between two strong oaks raise sir hammock, for my dreams I abound.

I press the sureness of cord, resting once but it’s taught strength, testing in the Lords practice, I recline arm at its length.

For she comes to me near, her sweet hand do I take, bringing her long my side,
glorious reflection of love’s wake.

In balance do we lay, lifting our two gazes up above, her star gazing sweet head in His glory, on my chest rests my love.

Sleep beckon’s us nigh, her warmth pressing my heart feel, balance in perfect Grace, God’s harmony is so real.

What have I but sown, this great gift from Him above, just one of many future discoveries, my good hammock,

my God,

my Love.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, please allow me to give all reverence and honor to every gift you have given me. Have me not pass it from sight until I have discovered every part of the gift you have given as to give her honor, and You glory.”

Children ask for things, one moment they want this, a moment later promise something else, and then ask for something completely opposite only moments following. Such do all the children, as they go to the Father. This seems to be as natural of a law in this beautiful universe, as tossing a ball in the air and always expecting it to come down.

I sit at the table and watch my children eat their dinner, the pure pleasure of them meeting their life’s needs encompasses and envelopes me like a warm feather bed on a cool crisp wins night.

“Daddy, can I have another piece of bread and butter?”, my four year old treasure of a son says, with just his own sweetest pure sound. While I know the resulting effect this choice will have on him finishing his plate, yet the music of his words tastes better then any delicious feast I have ever found.

“Of course you can.” I say knowing full well that in eating another piece of bread and butter, his stomach will surely be full. Filling him up, I smile knowing most likely what question will soon follow; an unfinished portion on his plate, and a quick end to said dinner, I know I will see.

Some might say letting him eat another piece of bread and butter, such an item may not be the best choice, thus resulting in him being full and discarding a more important segment, such as the meat. This kind of grace might be considered less then prudent, but My boy just loves that bread and butter. Not to mention he seems to be plenty healthy, happy, and getting big enough, anyway.

The littlest ones tend to take the longest time finishing their meal. Distractions are the greatest challenge, and while I usually will turn the television off during mealtime, one strategy lately that seems to help them stay focused, would be towards the end of dinner turning TV back on. This will result in the boys usually ramping up the action and finishing dinner, so they can watch, rather then just listen to the sound from the other room. Luckily the TV is hidden behind a pillar, making it difficult for them to see it while eating. The sounds seems to spur them to action.

I no sooner sit in my chair to find an appropriate program, then my four year old son appears at my side with his typical and pleading question; “Can I be done?”

“Have you eaten all your meat yet”, I ask, knowing full well it hasn’t changed a morsel since I moved from the table only moments before? “Let me see” I quickly add while his thoughts churn in his young bright blue eyes, contemplating how to somehow answer that previous question positively, without having to say that one key thing that will lock him in to a result his father will most likely enforce.

He runs back to the table in hopeful anticipation, bringing his plate back displaying the remaining morsels cleverly spaced to lend the appearance of fewer items.

“Eat three more bites.” I say, more of a statement than question.

“I’m full” he says, with a worried look and grimace that implies my last statement was an almost impossible feat.

“Just three more, then you can be done” not as much as a command as a suggestion testing his desire.

“Daddy, I’m full, my tummy is full.”……. “And I won’t have a snack later”, he promises with confident sureness, his eyes displaying the resolved assurance in the statement he just made.

“You’re full? Ok, put your plate in the sink.” Happily he runs to the kitchen displaying none of the discomfort he only moments ago pledged with his eyes.

I have never felt it necessary to stuff my children past the point of comfort just so I could have the satisfaction of seeing a plate clear of the portion I may have dished. My children have always been a good eaters, and when their need is met, it is met.

I don’t know if every Father feels this same way, but I think He does; He takes particular pleasure in watching His children play at His feet.

There is a spirit completing solitude in watching them move, they meander in peace and security, playing, in front of Me. Their backs stand straight in comfortable play, painting a picture, a masterpiece of satisfied desires, all their needs are met, and play is the order of business right at the moment.

My son glances to the television, half watching the show I put on, while also playing with the latest curiosity that has found its way into his precious hands. He can do this while also carrying on a conversation with his seven year old brother, who happens to be playing next to him, and oh by the way, he is never failing to observe what his brother happens to be doing, just in case it seems more interesting or fun.

Ever attentive is his smile as he occasionally glances back to Daddy to see if I am watching. He ventures that sweet pure smile, presented as a gift to Me, a conformation that not only does he realize I am watching him, but somehow he knows that the ever attentive watching eye of his Father is sure sign of My Love.

Where does the time go, when pure pleasure dances across your soul, like the soft morning breeze of a clear spring day, its scented flowery touch falls like perfumed music against the Father’s eyes. The every movements of perfection playing in my son’s touch, his every look of resolved experience as he looks up, catching sound of some new and interesting moment, then right back to the toy of interest as he turns it in his hand ever playing, ever learning.

Then just like that he pops to his his feet, a few gentle taps of precious sound, and back to my chair he appears, smiling at My right hand of the Father. His request of utmost importance, pressing from his heart, he pauses a moment and then says; “Daddy, can I have a snack?”

“I thought you said you were full? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t have a snack later?” I said struggling to harness the smile that wants so desperately to explode from My Face.

“Oh yeah…..” he says, with an slightly saddened yet understanding look, he was stuck, as the memory of his promise flashes back to reality. He contemplates for a moment then adds;

“Do you want a HoHo?” he offers, his chirped up smile returning to his face. We call these swiss rolls HoHo’s, I have no idea where the name came from. “I’ll get it for you?” he says with hope anticipation.

A smile of pure joy, eyes sparkling with thought; well if I can’t have one myself, at least Daddy can!

Who could resist such a face of pure joy, a smile that literally shines life, a sweet anticipation of just running and getting something he wants to get. A pleasure within service of The Father.

Who could resist such a pure innocent request? I know one thing; his Father can’t!

I love when my child wants to give to Me, and all playing aside, I know there is a tad bit of hope in his sweet voice, and even deeper heart clenching smile, that the HoHo might just make its way back to his hungry little hand, but just the thought of a gift from his perfect fingers is more irresistible than all the gold in the universe.

“Yeah, get me a HoHo, and can you grab me a cream soda too?” I ask as the smile that has been pressing beneath, erupts across my own face.

“Yep!” he says, almost as fast as he spins, then runs from the room in his dear eager service.

Only moments later he reappears carrying a cool fresh soda in one hand and two packages of HoHo’s in the other, big smile and joyful eyes, touching just a hint of play are his words as he hands the treasures over to his Father; “I brought you two HoHo’s, in case you’re hungry.”

The Father takes his son’s offering; “Thank you”, and watches as the boy returns to his place at His Fathers feet, returning his sweet childhood gaze to the activities he had just left.

I open the bottle of cold cream soda, and take a long deep drink. If I could remember when this taste was more refreshing, satisfyingly sweet, or relaxingly cool, I very much doubt I ever could. Maybe it was my son’s precious touch, or the sweet spice of his smile, or just maybe the infinite value of his loving gift, or the soft scent of his lingering breath, whatever it is was, nothing on this earth right at this moment, tasted as good as this did.

I take the HoHo in my hand, and rustle the package as I open, this brings my son’s gaze sharply around out of the playful contemplation. He turns his face towards Me, literally twisting his whole body to look at the chocolate cake delight as I taste my first sweet bite.

Again my own taste is magnified by the pleasure of his gift, but this time my son’s eyes give way to the desire he eagerly wishes to share and taste. I let him linger only a moment, as the smile that grows on his face leaves no doubt as to the thought burns in his mind. He wants one!

“Do you want one?” I say. No sooner do the words leave the fathers mouth, then my son pop’s up like he’s on a spring, and just that fast he is ripping into his own HoHo treat.

You think I am giving him a gift?

Think again!

He is giving Me the gift!

The look of joy on his face. The pleasure in his smile with gift received.

The hoped for treat, when thinking he wasn’t going to get it, he didn’t deserve it, he has lost his privilege, just to receive the Grace of the Father. what a Look!

The love in the son’s eyes as he looks at the Father, a look of joy, pleasure, happiness, love, radiating out of my precious son’s eyes stronger then a thousand suns.

The happiness in a HoHo.

No, the happiness of the gift.

The Father basks in all of these, because He feels all, and experiences totally, multiplied by infinity as He gives to His child.

As He gives the HoHo to my son,

As He gives one to me,

As He gives His gift to you.

By Peter Colla

“Father let me give a gift to you.”

And He said unto them, In what place soever you enter into a house, here abide till ye depart from that place. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear you, when ye depart thence, shake the dust under your feet for a testimony against them. Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgement, that for that city. Mark 6:10-11

Bring the image of Christ to a person, follow the instructions of Him, demonstrate His Light in every essence of your life even in the face of resentment, ridicule, hatred, misunderstanding, and you offer the essence of Christ as a witness to that person. Maybe not visible today, but even as a seed to spring into a beautiful garden at some later date.

Understand everyone gets an opportunity to turn toward or away from the Light at one key moment in their life, many have a few chances, some have a couple, everyone is guaranteed at least one.

There is that point in which the key moment comes, and I believe it is what Jesus said in Mark, “if they shall not receive you, nor hear you, when ye depart thence, shake the dust under their feet…”

At which point is enough, enough? When do you get to say good bye, when do you leave and shake the old sandal’s? When has God give a man His last chance?

I don’t know how he applies this Word to everyone else, but so has He spoken it to me;

On two separate incidents I have heard Him as clear as day regarding the passage above.

I knew a man, a man I loved, who seemed to love me, more of a Father then my own had treated me most of my life. When you see many of same qualities in someone you respect, those you hopefully wish to stare back out at you in the mirror, it is tough not to love them.

Maybe seeing those qualities you hope for in yourself, coupled with the success and popularity you have now doubt admitting he possesses, it becomes easy to disregard and maybe even turn a blind eye to some of those qualities that deserve less respect. So was the trap I fell in, for he was also a very wealthy man.

I once heard someone say; “we are all poor in the eyes of our Lord”.

I believe the opposite is true as well, we are all wealthy, but the test lies in when we feel ourselves truly rich, and what effect does it have on us.

Jesus Himself said; “It is easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle, then for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”

One day when all of my world was crashing around me, my would-be father was having a difficult time distinguishing between giving advice and attempting to continue his feeding need to control every aspect of those around him.

He turned to me after a long period of silent contemplation and said; “So how is this God thing working for you?” For it must have become clear to him, that my source of advice, I no longer sought from him, and decisions would be honored based on God, rather then his suggestions.

A simple response was given, falling mostly upon deaf ears because when I said; “Good, I believe?” His response of; “Well let me tell you about God,” was offered so quickly that I was left wondering if the sound of my response even had time to reach his ear yet.

He quickly followed, as if some kind of qualifier was needed; “I have been more times to church then you will ever go, or ever will, even for the rest of your life.”

And while I’m not particularly sure if that statement was presented for my behalf, or possibly as a half baked attempt at self persuasion, I knew from experience he hadn’t seen the inside the church in over eleven years. that being said, the tone was certainly filled with malice and anger that left a person with the deep routed feeling, that if a gun was in the room, I’d be staring down the barrel at this moment.

He casually continued, as his gaze turned away in contemplation; “I’ve given God all I am going to give! You know, you never can tell when you put the money in the dish, if it even makes it to the end of the pew, in stead of in the offering!”

A full swig of his mid day booze, and he suddenly stops rocking and turns his angry, and I may add, hideous gaze directly on me, to ask the question that has been assigned to him for at least the last month. The one that has been whispered in his ear like the subtle scents of a filthy cancer; “I guess you have to decide; do you want to listen to me or God?”

The answer flowed from my lips with such ease; “God!”, that the words hardly felt like breath, as much as the latent extension of thought, or maybe a realized flash of my heart. Either way he his face stones over, a scowl deepens the crevices that already line his face, his eyes darken in reflection of a heart I had never seen, and as suddenly as he spoke he turns his chair to show me only his back.

All I can do is get up, leave the room, and go pack my things.

Immediately the air of the entire house was so heavy I could hardly breath, a suffocating pressure descended on me like the weight of a hundred feet of dark dirty ocean, there was a dark gloom that settled where I never sensed before, but maybe resided just out of view, scratching the edge of my sanity, making me wonder how I could not have seen it all weekend, all those years, perhaps for the past eleven years. All I could think about was getting my children out of there as fast as I could.

How much money does a man horde, how many cars does he hide from view, how many praises does he eat feeding the fat of his pride, before he begins to change?

How many trophies to notch on his belt, how many women to kiss his feet, how many lives has his greed ruined, before he stops loving even himself?

How many dead heads on his wall, how many slaves bowing in servitude, how many words offered in ridicule, for no good other reason then to build his own falling ego?

How many pieces of silver……. before the rich man begins to forget that everything he has received is a gift, none of which he earned with any talent he came up with on his own?

No!, they were all granted him from above, merely to stewart over, merely to use to bless in the same way he was blessed?

When in his life does somehow begin to feel; he somehow deserves it, was guaranteed it, entitled to it?

When does the money, the power, the pride become more important then God?

I think at about the Thirty Pieces of Silver Mark!

Riches are relative.

I know another man, a good man who is considered by his peers to be one of the riches men of his land. He is a wealthy land owner, his wife a daughter of royalty, healthy beautiful children all enjoying the best their land has to offer, he even thrives to the point of providing superior education outside his land, that is not offered or available to most of the others of his home.

His children know who their father is, and have never doubted he loves them, not because he only tells them, or because of what he buys them, but mainly because he would rather spend time with them, then any other activity he knows.

Money is never an issue, he has all he needs to the point where he must give away his excess just so it won’t spoil.

Rich? Yes and No.

This man lives in a grass hut, he rarely wears shoes, the comforts most the poorest in our country take for granted, such as hot water, indoor plumbing, a stove under roof, a TV, even running water at hand is a luxury he must walk five hundred feet to collect in his large plastic bucket.

An inside toilet does not exist, nor a walled divider between his children and himself as he sleeps at night.

But this man knows where his riches come from, he knows Who has given him more then he could ever want, he knows Who he is responsible to, Who loves him, Who he loves, Who saved him, and Who he bows down to…. gladly!

What chances has this rich man of entering the kingdom of God?

My friend Atu, of whom I pray I will be fishing with off the shores of Fiji for all eternity, because his treasure is kept up in heaven.

I may not know much, but one thing I know; as I walked out of the home of my would-be-father, I heard God as clear as I have ever heard a single spoken word; “Don’t forget to shake the dust off your feet”

The second incident happened only days ago.

Sitting at a table playing cards with my friends, the conversation suddenly moves in a direction I wouldn’t expect.

First being a practitioner of health care and attempting to blend faith in a private practice, leaves a person sometimes giving the impression that; “the act of giving” is something we do as a practice more then the usual everyday business.

I mean if you are going to at least attempt to show the Face of Christ, then you shouldn’t say no to people who ask? I mean it goes with the territory, at least that is what people think.

And to a degree that is true, for; “Freely I have been given and freely I should give” that is a basis in which I have tried to live. It is also the basis in which we have re-dedicated the practice, we give people what they need even when it surpasses what we know we will be reimbursed by the insurance carrier.

People run out of authorized visits or flat out don’t qualify, or maybe get denied for no reason, or turn out to not have insurance at all when they think they do, mainly through the greed of the insurance demon (future article), well then we treat them for free. If they can afford to pay something they do, but in this day and age, most can’t afford even their co-pay, so as a result, we have a fairly large contingency that treat for free.

What does it matter, I pay my staff to be there, it doesn’t cost me more if we treat ten people or fifteen.

So the solution; “Give as the Holy Spirit dictates”, that means reduced costs for some, free for others, try to give according to those their need, what ever their need, and not just their greed. Plus the gift being the entire Christian environment far exceeds only a basic physical therapy application.

But then there is always those who want to take advantage of this generosity.

So as I was saying;

I’m sitting at the table with my friends, and one of the guys calls me out right in front of the others; “Hey I got a bill from your daughter for the Physical Therapy services?”

“Yes I heard, she told me that the visits you received were all applied to your Deductible?” I said, well aware of the situation, my daughter already was telling me that the majority of the guys that come in, saying they are my friends, not wanting to pay for their services.

Now in their defense, I will tell people they can come an try it a time of two at no initial cost to them, partially just to prove it will help, but mainly as a ministry; to get them in for any other possible healing of the mind, body, or spirit that might occur, being up to the Spirit. Nobody ever seems to have an issue letting us bill the insurance.

But typically if someone comes in really hurt, as this particular man definitely was, suffering in this case from a separated shoulder, and then was wanting to receive treatment that he would have received somewhere else anyway, especially when he was trying to avoid surgery, the talk of free treatment usually goes out the door. Basically there is no more discussion of whether or not they need the treatment, the only question is how many?

The great part about this guy was not only did he get better, he received healing in only three visits! Which was definitely a miracle! I mean, I have never seen someone get back to BMX motocross levels function, commenting on immediate relief of pain and direct increase of ability almost directly after the first visit, especially with a separated shoulder, a clear separation of the acromionclavicular joint, then getting back on the motorcycle in just three visits!

But then to hear him say; “I don’t think I should have to pay?”

Even when I explained to him; “You realize your whole bill was applied to deductible? They paid us nothing? You knew you had a deductible, you know you would have to pay that anywhere else you go, what did you think, you shouldn’t have to pay anything?”

He just sat there with an angry look on his face and said; “When you told me you would work with me, that’s what I figured?”

At this point the thought of being used wasn’t bad enough, I mean if the guy had no money I could understand, but he brags regularly about all the money he makes flipping in this market, and all I could think of was the fact that I haven’t had enough revenue in the office for the last two months to pay myself a cent, for the last four pay periods!

Living off of savings is one thing, and working for free to help people who can’t even make their co-payments, well that is a way of building a treasure in heaven, at least that’s what I feel, but giving free treatment to someone who clearly has the money, that just seems wrong.

I looked at him and said a little bit challengingly; “Didn’t it help you?”

“What do you mean?” he asks a bit confused.

“Didn’t it help you, I mean only last week you were bragging about how fast you got better?”

I repeated a bit more sternly; “Did’t it help you?”

“Yes it helped, but I would have gotten better on my own even with out the treatment!” he said.

I was shocked, and said; “Your first visit you said that the Doctors told you surgery was eminent!” “You were in so much pain you couldn’t lift your arm, three visits later you are better!’

He just sat back, folded his arms, staring at me and said; “I had no intention of getting surgery, and if I knew you were going to charge me anything, I wouldn’t have come in.”

“You receive care, and you don’t feel like you should pay anything, unbelievable!” “Ok, Fine!, You know what forget it, don’t pay anything!” I said in angry shock.

“So you are saying I don’t have to pay anything?” Still staring angrily at me with folded arms.

“Yes, I guess!” I said still in shock, no more so then the other sitting at the table.

“Ok”, he said, and turned his gaze away from me.

And as clear as the first time I hear the voice of God say; “Shake the dust from your feet!”

At which point is enough, enough? When do you get to say good bye, when do you leave and shake san off the old sandal’s?

I guess for me, when He tells me to!

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord help me to be all i can be in demonstrating The Face of Christ, help those who see, see with a heart that can receive, can understand the value of this gift, and not turn away. Help me Lord so I will never turn away.”

Towards the weekend my mother says she wants me to go to a men’s meeting on Saturday at her church. Now I was watching the children that week, knee deep in the divorce, still trying to rectify somehow. So I didn’t want to leave the children with my mother, maybe irritating the wife somehow!

But by this time I am beginning to suspect that when my mother tells me to do something, “it may?”, just might be somewhat prophetic, and most certainly blessed!

So I reluctantly promise to go, but when I hear it’s an all day deal, I said “NO WAY!” With a great deal of prompting and a bit of insisting on my mothers part I reluctantly concede, promising only to stay one hour, and deciding if it was good, I would order the cd on their website, and then just listen on my way down to Phoenix. Actually, I was needing some new material for that daily trip.

I go to the men’s meeting at my moms church.

Absolutely amazing!

As I walk in, there is a man who greets me and I swear he looks like Christ himself. I notice you are supposed to pay, but I didn’t bring anything, so I said “do you want me to go get some money?”, he says; “no just come in”.

I say “ok, well I’m not staying long, but I will bring a check with me Sunday for the event”.

But the man (Robert) insists; “don’t worry about it, just come in and enjoy!”

So in my typical fashion, I sit in the back corner, so I can make a quick exit if it is too boring, as I probably expected.

What was amazing was that everything these guys said, was exactly pertinent to my situation, not to get to much into the men’s class “Faithful Men’s Ministries”, but at this time, basically they were teaching “how a man should act, live, behave, according to the writings of the Bible.” and if you did these things in your life as a man, you didn’t need to worry about divorce, relationships etc.

Needless to say I ended up staying all day!

As the morning progressed, there was a point when the preacher said; “If you have things in your life you wish to change; stand up?”

I popped out of the chair without even waiting for him to finish his sentence, but looked around and began to realize, as the preacher continued “if you have addiction to this, and that, and drinking, smoking, internet porno, and drugs…”, it was mainly teenage kids standing up, so I was thinking; “moron, you stood up too soon!”

He then asks everyone to come up to the altar. No way! So I sit back down.

Now I am really getting conviction, and I hear “Him” saying to me in my head; “Get out of that chair.”

”No!” I respond.

“Get Out Of The Chair!”

”No Way!”, I plead like a child.

“GET OUT OF THE CHAIR!” What could I do. Up I stand.

I have my head down now and I reluctantly say to God, maybe to myself; “Ok, if that Robert guy is up there praying for people, I will go up?”  So I look up and Robert is not only up there, he is waiting for prayer before the altar himself. So I pop up and go.

I chose to stand about 8 feet to the right of Robert, kind of off to the side of everyone, away from the pastors and the rest of the action. Everybody’s head is down, and at that moment, I just for a brief moment, start thinking; just about now, it would be nice if that man (Robert, I didn’t know his name yet) would put his hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t just as soon think that, and I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it was him, Robert!

Of course I break down! I cried tears so big, that as they fall from my eyes, very strange, it was exactly like the end of “The Passion of Christ” when the big tear drop falls to the ground just at the moment Jesus dies. That was very strange; I could almost hear the tear hit the ground!

Well by the end of the afternoon, I had decided I was going to get the books, the course, what ever! The course was called the “Commissioned Men’s Ministry”, maximizing Manhood, it has a couple of names, conceived by Edwin Lewis Cole. Well anyway I bought all the books and workbooks, 18 total! Of course I had preferred them in audio possibly being able to listen on my daily drive down to Phoenix, but unfortunately they weren’t available.

I told Robert; “I guess I should get in some kind of group, they recommended that.” But he said; “there is no hurry”

I said; “I’m not trying to brag but you don’t know me, I am kind of a quick study.”

Normally it takes men on the average of one and a half, to three years to get through the course, Robert informed me and then added; “the fastest anyone had ever done it, as much as he had known, was 6 months”. I finished it in 6 weeks.

Every book was exactly what I needed at the exact moment for that particular day, for the exact situation I was in. It seemed so God ordained!

One time I jumped ahead, because I left my book I was working on at home, the other book didn’t make any sense and I quickly put it down.

Oops, got off track!

Back to the men’s meeting; that evening I am already so engulfed with the first book “Maximizing Manhood” I had nearly read half the book already by that afternoon.

I was listening to the speaker and trying to read at the same time.

Then they say something like come up and get a paper. Everyone goes up.

I come out of my reading coma and go up, get a paper they are giving out.

They then say; “Now go back and write down the things you need to work on”. I am kind of at a loss, not really working on any specific, so I write; my marriage, relationships, the other things I had already been working on, immorality and I also wrote pride?! Then they said; “fold it and hold it up.”

They then bring up a big wooden cross to the altar and throw some nails out on the floor, where by everyone lines up to nail the papers to the cross. Ok, so I get in line.

Everyone was nailing them to the base and the bottom was quickly filling up, as I get closer my eye goes towards the Left arm of the cross, and I look back to the base, and my eye goes back to the arm, a couple of times.

So I guess I am nailing it there.

I look down and all the nails are new except this one very rusty old one. That’s the one!, it almost call’s out to me.

I reach down and get my nail, go over to the arm of the cross, right about where His wrist would have been nailed, the left arm. There was a man holding the cross from behind and as I put my paper up to the wood, and give it a tap, softly at first, then a second hit with a bit more force, then the third hit was out and out hard!

Immediately I am transported in a flash to another time, another place, and in a blink I am simultaneously pounding the nail into Christ’s wrist! I am wearing Roman garb, I can see some kind of wrist protectors, some things hanging down off of my shoulders like leather straps of a chain-mail and I am wearing some kind a leather tunic.

This image is so real and vivid, all these images happening in a fraction of a moment, like a lightning bolt flashing then the image being implanted in the eyes for a moment.

I am looking at my own hand holding the large nail and smacking it, but at the very moment I am also staring right into the face of our Savior!

He is looking at me, and I will never forget this image as long as I live, He is staring back at me, eyes longing for a bit of compassion, and at the same time giving compassion, love, sympathy as if it is I who suffering! His face is turned towards me, and while I can see his arm stretched before me, I can also even see a bit of his torso laying there on the cross contracted in pain and unimaginable misery.

All I can do is stare right into the eyes, as He looks back at me! His hair is mangled and wet from blood and sweat, partially covering his face and Right eye, which was almost swollen shut, hair matted and so intertwined with the thorns on his head, you can not even distinguish what is His hair, and thorns, they are both dark brown from the wetness.

His one eye, the Right one is mostly closed by swelling or the beating He obviously endured, His mouth contorted with the moan He had just let out as I hit the nail, but it is not a angry look, or one that a person feels they need to take pity on, but one of resolve to endure the task at hand, even though the pain is obviously unbearable, kind of like what you might see when a Olympic weight lifter lets out a groan after lifting an incredible weight, but infinitely more painful.

I also feel the hot spray of His blood on the Right side of my face, at that very moment I hit the nail as well, and to this day I can feel that heat on my face when I think about it, plus my Right ear even gets hot sometimes. I will tell you about that later.

At the moment all this is taking place, like in a flash of lightning moment in time, time seems to be standing still, or an entire chapter of my life being written in just an instant, I am also feeling four distinct and separate feelings simultaneously; first Anger, then Hatred, then Pity, and then absolute and utter Sorrow for what I had done!!!

I have watched “The Passion of Christ” many times, and up until this point I would sit there and curse those men as they beat our Lord, as if I was a spectator, one of His followers watching from the crowd. Now in this moment, I became those men I cursed!

“Who’s the soldier now?”

By Peter Colla

“Lord help every day to remember, that it is me that not only did you die for, buying for me with your sacrifice forgiveness of sin, so I could be washed clean and present myself a pure and perfect creation to the Father on the Day of Judgement, but also I who nailed you to the cross, with those very sins. Forgive me.”