I wonder if when you die, if that's it?

"I wonder if when you die, if that's it? I mean, do you know nothing anymore. No more eating, enjoying, you know living." My eyes got real big. Where did this come from I wondered? He acted like he was waiting on me or my other co-worker to say something. I had only being working with the other guy a couple months. I spoke up,"I believe is more to what we can see. When my father was in the hospital, he told me of so many wonderful things he was experiencing. He was terminalyet, his faith never waivered." I went on to talk about all the things we went through. "I don't have an answer for it all. It's all a matter of faith. I could tell you about it all day, and you might think I'm crazy. Words don't do justice for it. A man has to make up his own mind. But I know what I seen and heard. My assurance lies in Someone else's hands. Dad gave me a glimpse of heaven's treasures. In turn, he left me a legacy." All was silent after that. Nothing was said the rest of the break. The hours rolled forward on that factory floor. I wonder if something I said soaked in with him. I'm still lost in my soul searching in someways. I still seek answers. I still won't be satisfied until I see for myself. God will decide if and when I do in this life. But I sure can't wait to take the guided tour with Dad when I get there. by Lance Gargus

Coy Girl

With a deep sigh, I shake my head. "Why doesn't she get it?" comes my upset thoughts to myself. Wind lifts her hair in long strands,as she just slowly trots down the soccer field. More interested in the butterflies in the grass than what's going on around her. I rub my hand across an already worried brow over the financial cares of the day. Struggling to relax and watch the game, I wish so hard that it came easy to her. She never has been outgoing. Always shy and timid, almost like a doe. I become so frustrated at her in my heart. Other kids are just running around her on the field. I know she's young, but I'm so scared that somewhere in life others will run her over. "Lord, what can I do then?" I won't always be here to shield her from the cold realities of life. Her coach has made numerous attempts to get her to kick the ball. She walks up to the ball at the line. With a coy look, she barely draws back her leg and tips it. It slowly moves up the field before being picked up by a quicker player. She hangs back in the background, almost trying to hide on the open field. This goes on like this for an excruciating hour on my part. I encourage her, applaud her, and pep talk her. All to no avail. When the prayer is given toward the end, the gentleman who stands up speaks with a soft voice. A voice coming from experience as he recounts a personal story. In the story, he speaks of a sick patient he cared for. The patient realized toward the end of her terminal illness that her accolades, glories, and superiority to other people didn't matter at the end. He then made reference to some children may be better athletes than some, and parents push this as the most important thing. But he reminds us of the small child who struggles. God gives them the ball, and their small effort is mightier than all the trophies accomplished by the gifted. In this moment, I think of my daughter. How many disadvantages she's overcome is quite a feat for her. I feel his prayer was put in my way to get me to think. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required:Luke 12:48 Her efforts are monumental in comparison to others. Is this where her destiny lies with soccer? Probably not. Is this where God makes me realize things about my soul searching? Definitely, yes. Can fathers be wrong? You bet. Most of all I'm still a son in need of guidance from a Heavenly Father's invisible hand.

by

Lance Gargus

I Don't Mind Waiting For You

Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him

Psalm 37:7

As I sit at the Barnes Crossing Mall, I sprawl out my legs to stretch them. "This bench ain't getting any more comfortable," I think. I look at the clock and wonder where she's at in this place. "She's suppose to meet me right here," impatiently tapping my foot. People walking by in a sea of faces, but none of them are her. Finally, at what seems like forever, she shows up. I'm mad cause she took so long. She goes on and on about why she was late.

Pulling away from the parking lot I realize how many times I've had to wait on her. Like on our first date I told her I'd be there at 8. Do you think she was ready? Oh, no it was 8:30. Showing up she explained,"She didn't like a single thing she tried on." But now that I think about it, she sure looked pretty. I guess I didn't mind that much that day after all.

Yeah, but there was the talk of the wedding one day, and all the stuff she planned. It may take up to a year. Man, I sure would have to wait. But, you know, I don’t mind waiting . And the honeymoon, there won’t be no waiting there. Lol. 

The fact is I don't think I've been anywhere she hasn't made us late. Sometimes I believe she does it just cause she can.

Statistics say the man is always the first to go. That makes sense cause I know she won't be ready. So when it comes my time, and I get to the other side. I'll just find me a bench, and wait for her with roses in my hands. I'll softly whisper to the breeze,"Honey, take your sweet time, cause I don't mind waiting for you. Our Lord waited for me, I can wait for you."

by

Lance Gargus

The Most Perfect Of Chairs

To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne.

Revelation 3:21

Even after all these years, my daughter still remembers the chair my father sat in at the kitchen table. "It is the most perfect of chairs," she exclaims as she puts the chair at the head of the table. The chair is made like the others, but is different because it had been reupholstered. The other chairs are worn and look quite rough. This one was quite ragged at one time. Not too long before my dad passed on it was redone. Looking better and stronger than the day it was made. I'm still amazed she remembers which chair considering she was only 5 at his death.



I've learned that when my faith is shaken, and when I've almost given up, God speaks. I can't hear Him like I should. As I jokingly told a friend at work that I could barely hear over the noise of the shop, my wife accuses me of having selective hearing, hearing only what I want to hear and not what I need too. To some extent, that's true about us all, especially me. What I can't hear over all the noise, my child hears perfectly. Her beautiful, long auburn hair that glistens in the sun with its blond high lights hides ears that pick up the Holy Spirit's voice. Only when she puts it into words and I stop what I'm doing do I hear. "Be still and listen," the Bible says.



In that small statement and small action, it spoke volumes to my soul. The chair placed at the head of the table tells me that our Heavenly Father sits at the front just as my earthly father had. The chair being made new was of the resurrection that is to come. The statement of it being "the most perfect of chairs" reminds me of the perfection we can only achieve through Christ. And the understanding of a child points out to me how far I have to go in my soul searching road.



by

Lance Gargus