Closer Than A Brother

There are friends who pretend to be friends,
but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.
Proverbs 18:24 (RSV)

"Fair Weather Friends," are those who stay by you only during good times. My mother use to say, "You count your true friends on one hand with one or two fingers left over." When your on top of that mountain, everybody wants to slap your back or shake your hand. But if you slip and fall, see who's around you. As the bandwagon comes to the end of the road, they all jump off.

Is your true friend someone you can call upon any time of night or day? Or is he someone who only comes around when they have nothing else better to do?

Does he have your back when others face you down? Or is he one who takes the side of the one who is winning?

The only one I can find that even comes close in my life is my brother. Sure he becomes irritated at me at times, as all brothers do, but just let someone say something about me. They will get more than a piece of his mind.

This kind of bond and friendship is built over a lifetime of good and bad. You grow up together. Looking out for each other in an often relentless world. I know some brothers aren't like this, that is a sad fact. But the Bible knows that alot of brothers are. A friendship forged sometimes out of mutual strife. Good times don't build brothers, hard times do.

"He's like a brother to me. We were a band of brothers. He ain't heavy, he's my brother." These quotes are but a few in reference to brothers, and the link between them. To the outside world, it may seem fragile until this link is tried to be broken by an outsider. And to his dismay he finds out how really strong the link is.

Now we see how close brothers are, but the Bible says we have One closer than a brother. The one it's referring to is Christ. He is always available 24-7, you will never disturb Him, and he will go to bat for you no matter the obstacle.

I don't know about you, but I kind like the thought of having the Big Guy and my brother both watching out for me.

by

Lance Gargus

What Value Is It To Me?

And Esau said, Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit shall this birthright do to me?
Genesis 25:32

Surveying the old home place I ponder,"Does anything have sentimental value to anyone anymore?" Anything tears up like an old tv, vcr, or any other electronic device, we throw it out and buy a new one. A house that is not brand new is not worth living in. If its old, its outdated. We want it bigger, faster, and better than the original.

When did we loose our taste for heirlooms or things passed down from generation to generation?
Unless it has some kind of monetary value to it, we don't want it. We discard them among that day's garbage.

Have we become so haughty that we no longer appreciate the simple things of the past? A trinket, a locket, a hope chest, these things have no value to others unless layered with gold but retain a sentimental value to the few.

What is sentimental value, and what gives it meaning? The memories that are invoked from the object brings out its true value to the owner.

For example, the old home place where one was raised. Even if the house is long gone, everything brings thoughts of the past. Carefree days in summer spent underneath the towering shade tree. It's branches stretching forth to cover the hot sun from your reddened neck. There it stands as a reminder of the conversations had with your parents underneath it. Pouring your heart out over life's troubles as you sat in the swing beneath it.

Glancing back you shut your eyes, and see your mother calling you in after playing in the snow. Hands and feet frozen, her there to give you hot chocolate to drink.

Listening to the rustle of leaves through the trees, you can almost hear the sound of your dad's approaching car. For a moment, you can feel his outstretched arms as he picks you up in the air. Your feet lift off the ground as he spins you around. Looking up, you think that you can fly to the top of the tree, right up into the sky.

Laughter fills your ears of siblings as you once were. Playing chase in the yard as you run until you collapse underneath the mighty cedar. Lying on your back with them you look at the clouds. Hours is spent talking about the various shapes you can make out.

Mostly, is the longing for the way things use to be, when love was all that your family could afford.

Now you stand grown, aged by the years. Nothing ever remains the same it seems. Families move away, busy with their own lives. Cousins once playmates, drift away. There is isn't anything time hasn't touched. All remains is an old cedar, shade tree. Beaten by the elements, and neglected. The land surrounding it has been sold off by the inheritors to be developed or chopped up piece by piece. All that remains is one lone spot of a tree that once enjoyed picnics underneath it.

And lastly, it is sold. The stories of the past are soon forgotten with the passing of the mantle. Like Esau, he discarded his inheritance for a bowl of soup. His birthright was treated by him as nothing." What value is it to me if I'm hungry?" was his exclamation.

We disregard sentimental value by trashing it or making a quick buck off it, if we can.

There will come a time, when you will want to pass something on to your children.. You will look at them and want them to honor something you hold valuable. And they're answer will sadly be,"What value is it to me?"

by
Lance Gargus

Fountain Of Life

And he said unto me, It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.
Revelation 21:6

The fountain of life is mentioned throughout the Bible. It is a place where we can go to become renewed and reborn. Baptism is an example of the fountain of life. But how wonderful would be to catch a glimpse of this fountain.

My mother had a dream about standing in a majestic garden. The most loveliest one she had ever seen. In the midst was a water fountain with an angel watching over everything. The abundance of flowers and plant life was astounding to behold. In the distance, she could make out an image of a woman. The woman was smiling and standing by the fountain. The woman seemed so familiar. My mother walked closer to get a better view. At that moment, the woman's features came into view.

A face she had recognized since her birth. "Mother?" she cried with question in her voice. "I am so happy here,"her mother softly spoke back. Oh, how, my mother wanted to hug her mother and tell her so many things. As she stepped forward her mother stepped back. She wanted to go with her so badly. "No, not yet," she sadly said,"Your dad and Jim are here with me."

From behind the cascading water, she could make out two shapes. They stepped out into view from behind the fountain with smiles on their faces. She tried to step forward again to go to them. In unison, they put their hands up, and said,"Not yet, but it will be soon."

I know the twilight of my mother's life draws near. It doesn't make it any easier. But I know, in my heart, that there is One who has put a fountain in a garden for those who trust in Him. That's all I need to know.

by

Lance Gargus

Altars

I pick up the rubble of the stones of my life. In my own strength, I struggle to build You an altar. Only to have the stones fall down once again. Like a child trying to stack blocks for the first time. Unlike a child stacking, my ability never seems to improve. Big stones first, then flat, wide at the bottom, while working my way to other stones of various shapes and sizes. This is how others do it, I think. "What am I doing wrong?" comes the thoughts.

The stones are cold as I lift them up from the frozen ground in my hands. Looking around, a realization came to mind, it wasn't one altar I was building but many. "Behold the handiwork of my hands," I spoke out loud in an apparent truth my eyes now seen. Before me lay several small piles of mismatched stones, not even whole stones but broken shards. Just laying in a pile with no organization to them at all. Each one had a name. Everyone of my sins had it's own little makeshift altar. I worshipped the things of man on these so called piles of rocks. Seeking their knowledge, their pleasure, their approval, all the while fooling myself into thinking that I was building just one not many.

Upon these altars I sacrificed to the deceptors, the angels of darkness, who careth not for my soul. All the while, I could not wrap my mind around why the stones wouldn't stack up right. Everytime I built one, God knocked it down. I started another he knocked it down again. Trying to keep me away from what I was blindly walking toward. And as a dog returns to his vomit, I returned to my altars.

Will I continue this madness? Will I put the blinders back on? Will I trust in my own strength and the wisdom of man? Only God knows that answer. All I know is that a father who doesn't chastise his son, doesn't love Him. The way He chastises me, He must love me alot. If only I would notice that any good form needs a cornerstone, the cornerstone of God's altar is Christ. In Him and Him alone does all my hope lie.

Then will I go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy

Psalm 43:4

by

Lance Gargus