Real Talk

In the News

~ Heather Davis ~ 4 Comments

Since hearing the news that Charlie Kirk was gunned down during a debate on a college campus, I’ve been thinking and praying. A lot. I accidentally saw the video of him getting shot, which is probably why it sickens me so much.

In the aftermath, I prayed for his widow and her children, and I also prayed for the shooter who perpetrated violence on his own soul. I’ve prayed for our nation, repenting for what we’ve become and asking for mercy we do not deserve.

You know what I’ve discovered since? There are videos circulating on antisocial media celebrating Charlie Kirk’s demise. People are celebrating.

I have to wonder if these are the self-same people who once staunchly declared what happened in Nazi Germany in the 1930s and 40s could never happen again, especially not in America. We’re far too advanced to be brainwashed and cowed like those twentieth century German folk. I mean, we would NEVER so despise another group of people that we’d rejoice when they are slaughtered, gloat as they are brutalized, and dance in the streets as they die, right?

Right?!?

I’m not troubled because I’m some great Charlie Kirk fan, nor am I under any delusion that he was perfect or spotless. What disturbs me to my core is this: Charlie Kirk was not a government official. He had no power over others; no executive, legislative, or judicial authority of any kind. He had ideas, courage, and a willingness to engage people who think differently. He was just like one of us – only maybe a trifle bolder.

For this – for his ideas – he was shot. And people celebrate and gloat, never once thinking through the danger of their ideology. Allow me to spell it out: if Kirk “had it coming” by his opponents because his ideas differed from theirs, then by this logic, those who are celebrating “have it coming” because their ideas differ from Kirk’s supporters and fan base.

Oh people! Do you not see the utter foolishness, the stupidity, the reckless peril of this ideology? This is the very spirit of Nazi Germany. It is the spirit of the evil one who rejoices in all manner of evil and death, and it is, evidently, the spirit of our age.

But it is not the spirit of the Living God. He is the God of Life; the one who gave His Son to conquer death so all who repent of their rebellion, truly love Him, and entrust themselves to His Lordship may live forever in His awesome presence.

He is the God who says:

“…As I live, declares the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live; turn back, turn back from your evil ways, for why will you die, O house of Israel?” (Ezekiel 33:11).

And:

“I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him, for he is your life and length of days…” (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).

He is the God who made a way through death so all who return His love may live eternally.

Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Jesus has made a way out of sin, death, and shame.

Oh my people, please take it! Please don’t throw in your lot with death and evil and all that is perishing. That way leads only to destruction and unthinkable horror. Don’t delight in wickedness and so set yourself up to be enslaved by it.

Do you hear that? The bzz-bzz-bzz of an alarm clock?

It’s time to wake up.

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” – George Santayana

“‘Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.’  Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” – the Apostle Paul

“Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” – Jesus of Nazareth

Half a Century | A Reflection

~ Heather Davis ~ 1 Comment

On March 10, 1974, a tiny human protested the forceful eviction from the warmth of her first home into a cold shock of light and noise.

That is to say, this past March, I turned 50. Oddly enough, checking the box labeled 50-59 doesn’t make me feel as old as the day one of my kiddos (then in middle school) exclaimed in utter disbelief, “You were born in the 1900s?!?” (emphasis unfortunately hers).

Yes. Yes, I was. Thanks for pointing it out.

Born in the 1900s, I am a member of Gen X who worked 40 hours a week during high school, began paying rent at the age of 19, and out of sheer stubborn, stupid pride, shouldered a variety of adult responsibilities and challenges that would probably cast many of today’s young people into a state of horrified catatonia at the mere suggestion. And I didn’t even have social media to document the trauma.

My earliest memories are rather vague: my great-grandfather, who shared his birthday with me, bending over and opening his arms wide; my great-grandmother lying oh-so-still in a bed; my dear Mammaw standing up from a rocking chair, sobbing with a tissue to her face, and walking toward my mama. These are shadowy pictures of great-grandparents; people who passed into eternity before I turned three.

Another early pictorial memory is of a smiling lady with short, dark hair. I recall her taking my hand in the church nursery and lead me out into the parking lot, where we were joined by a pair of trousered legs to her right. Then, the hand holding mine abruptly let go. Afterward, only vague, mixed-up images and a recollection of terror: a sense of being very, very alone and fear as a large car passed very close to me. Somehow being found by a kind older lady. Then – oh joy! – my mama bolting toward me, black hair streaming behind her.

Years later, my family filled in the gaps of this wordless memory, and I learned how close I’d come to leading a very different life. This was my brush with trafficking.

The more concrete memories began when I started school, and I won’t bore you with them. However, I am fascinated to think back on how the world has changed. For example, I began school in first grade, before mandatory kindergarten; a fact I recalled in high school when reading Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451.

“The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That’s why we’ve lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now we’re almost snatching them from the cradle.”

Excerpt from Captain Beatty’s monologue; Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Both my grade school experience and this quote leapt to mind the first time a younger mom confided to me during my homeschool days how she worried her 3-year-old wouldn’t be prepared for kindergarten if she couldn’t afford preschool.

How susceptible we are to suggestion…

Still, I’ve enjoyed a rich half century filled with highs, lows, in-betweens, fascinating people, and beautiful sunsets. I’ve seen certain fashions cycle through cool -> dated -> laugh-inducing -> cool.

I’ve shed tears and shared laughs; I’ve followed my heart into a cramped & stifling chamber of horrors; I’ve visited the depths of despair and found God there waiting to bring me home.

Then there are the crazy technological changes I’ve experienced, especially in telephone tech:

  • The rotary dial phone with its restraining cords redeemed by the gratifying wham-ching! of the angry hang-up. Bonus: these babies doubled as formidable weapons.
  • The first push button phones = less time to dial + retaining the pleasures of slamming the handset into the cradle.
  • The wonders of the first cordless phone and testing the bounds of its range before losing the connection. Sometimes you could even make it to the mailbox!
  • The advent of call waiting and caller ID – and screening calls.
  • The first cell phones for rich folk and doctors; monstrosities about the size of a brick.
  • The first time I saw a grandparent Face Timed into his grandkid’s birthday party brought a sense of Star Trek come to life.
  • Then there’s today, where people who can’t even afford milk still manage to pay their monthly cell phone bill. Formidable weapon turned formidable distraction.

<Random Phone-related Memory>

Waiting tables in the 1990s: one afternoon, the hostess led a party of four to their lunch table, each member of the party clutching their 90’s-era cell phones to their ear. The dining room din quieted for a moment, followed by a single snicker. Soon, the whole room was filled with poorly-stifled laughter as the four red-faced businessfolk quickly ended their calls and hid behind their menus.

<Cut to Modern Restaurant Lunch Scene>

Several people are staring at their phones while the hostess seats a party of four who have Bluetooth earbuds in, unobtrusively finishing their calls. All four send a text from their watch before using their phones to scan the QR code and read the menu onscreen. No one notices because this has become normal. And yet, despite the physical proximity of diners remaining the same as in the 90s, there is a vast and subtle social distance surrounding each one.

<Back to the Present Reflection>

Even email, now pervaded with marketing and scams, began as something different. I remember a time one checked emails on occasion via dial-up, hoping to hear the cheery voice proclaim, “You’ve got mail!” – and the email was from an actual, flesh-and-blood acquaintance.

I could go on, but I won’t. There is so much; far too much.

Yet what amazes me most in this last half-century is how God has shored me up through it all. From the moment He sent an older lady out for air at the exact moment a strange couple had spirited three-year-old me half-way through the church parking lot through the times I rejected Him and embraced the values of secular humanism all the way to the moment I recognized those values left me with a life bereft of meaning.

He’s seen me through a long season of intense physical pain and fatigue due to chronic, intractable migraine and post-viral syndrome. What’s more, He even sustained me enough to lay an educational foundation for my three children (then homeschooled), enabling all three to graduate from a private high school with honors and do well in college. The eldest just graduated with a degree in Civil Engineering. The two young ladies will graduate in 2025 with degrees in Cellular and Molecular Biology and Pre-physical Therapy respectively.

Since I was operating in a semi-conscious pain haze during most of their homeschooled years, I cannot claim credit for one bit of it.

Even better, two have maintained their relationship with God through college and the one who ventured away seems to be returning to the Truth that sets free. Only God can do this; I got more wrong in my part than I did right.

And today, the same God is sustaining me through a new season – a season of renewed health and reduced physical pain; a season of reevaluation and reflection. A season of burying the corpses of dreams and mourning what could have been.

Even in this season of upheaval and change, God is good; my Sustainer, my Counselor, and my King. Every moment of pain has only made Him more real, and so I bless His Name for all of the last half century – the good, the bad, and the truly terrible.

In seasons of joy and wonder, I am reminded these are mere glimpses of the true joy and wonder of eternal life in the presence of my King. And in seasons of suffering, loss, or disillusionment, He prompts me to remember this world is not my home as He removes all entanglements out of His lovingkindness.

No matter what the next few years or decades bring, I know I can rest in the completed work of Jesus Christ, my King; for in Him, my sins are forgiven and my future secure. Everything else is just another stepping stone toward glory.

Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
(Romans 5:1-5)

Choice and Consequence: A True Story

~ Heather Davis ~ 7 Comments

It happened in the spring of 2000; the moment that changed the trajectory of my life. I was in my mid-20s; an aimless young woman with no real plans. At the time, I was an avowed atheist and had bought into the pervasive lies hookup culture sold my generation at bargain prices, choosing to treat sex as a mundane social transaction. And now I was faced with the consequences: two dark pink lines proclaiming a positive pregnancy test, and the man I’d known for about a month waiting in the living room for the results.

Those lies were not such a bargain after all, it would seem.

I was terrified. This was NOT a good time for me to have a baby. I barely knew the father; had no idea if he would run the other way, if he would stay but turn out to be yet another abusive man, or how he would react.

Moreover, I was a waitress – a gig initially intended as gap year so I could decide what I wanted to do with my life. But the life decision had been postponed again and again until nearly a decade had passed. A decade I’d squandered either working as many hours as my bosses would allow or self-medicating my wounded heart with alcohol.

The job let me pay my bills, but there wasn’t a lot extra. Besides, waiting tables wasn’t exactly a family-friendly job, and having a baby would end the vague idea I had of going back to school and finishing my degree. To make matters worse, I didn’t think I was very maternal. I was deeply selfish, carried profound emotional scars, and often drank myself to sleep mainly because it seemed better than crying myself to sleep. I was a mess, not mother material.

I knew abortion was an option, but it was not an option for me.

That’s right. Even then – at a time when I rejected God, when my entire life revolved around my silly little self, and I had every reason in the world to choose it- abortion was not an option. Not even considered.

The reason was that I knew I could never live with myself after killing my child; knew I would spend the rest of my life wondering what he or she would have looked like. Knew I would see a kid at a grocery store and think, My kid would be about this age now, until it drove me deeper into the darkness that already consumed most of my heart.

So I kept the baby, and it was the best decision I ever made.

I was in love with my son the first time I felt him move, and he brought light and joy and fullness into the drab misery of my life. My aimless life now had purpose and meaning. I was someone – I was Mommy. I loved it more than I ever thought possible. And through the sudden responsibility of caring for a helpless tiny person, my hard heart was finally open to the God who created me. My life was saved in more than one way.

Why am I telling this story? Because I believe there is someone out there who needs to hear it. There are far too many women who have bought the lie that abortion is healthcare. It is not.

Merriam-webster.com defines healthcare as “efforts made to maintain, restore, or promote someone’s physical, mental, or emotional well-being especially when performed by trained and licensed professionals.”

By this definition, prenatal care is healthcare. So is caring for the needs of the growing fetus, childbirth, post-natal care, neonatal care, and caring for a woman who has suffered a miscarriage.

But killing a living being, no matter how small, is not healthcare. Nor is abortion a decision without consequences.

Before I go on, let me say a word to any woman reading this who has already made the fatal choice and is now coping with the emotional fallout you probably didn’t expect. There is hope for you, sweet one. There is a God who loves you and who forgives; a God who sent His Son to die and pay the penalty for our sin so we can be free to choose to reject sin and follow His way instead. Come to Jesus and find rest for your soul. He may not take away the crushing pain, He will not remove the consequences of poor choices, but He will redeem them nonetheless. He is good, and if you turn away from sin and self and turn to Him, He will soothe the ache in your heart and make you whole again. Stop reading my words and start reading God’s Word with a prayer for help in your heart. He will answer, if not in the way you may expect.

For those who are on the fence, please read on. There is a life at stake here.

Whether you believe it or not, there is a grave spiritual damage done when a child is destroyed by the one person who ought to love him most. The spiritual damage is unavoidable, and there is only one cure – surrender to Jesus Christ as Lord.

Then there’s the oft-suppressed fact that abortions actually can damage a woman’s physical health, even if it isn’t common. But what is common is the damage to her emotional health.

A woman may build up callouses on her conscience in order to cope with her selfish choice, true. But I’ve been pregnant and felt the stirring maternal emotions even in the weeks before I felt the baby move. The mother instinct is powerful. I still carry mom-guilt for careless words I said to my toddlers. I cannot imagine the guilt I would carry had I decided to kill one of them before they were born.

I desperately want to save women from swallowing this barbed lie and suffering the invisible, eternal scars it leaves. I literally shed tears when I think of it – not only for the babies who will never get to laugh, but for the mothers who will never get to hear that most wonderful of sounds.

I weep for the women who have been damaged by the moneymaking industry of abortion clinics.

So my sweet sisters, please, don’t buy the lie of, “My body, my choice.” The day I stared down at the two pink lines, I knew I’d already made my choice. The child growing inside me came about because of my choices and deserved the chance to make his own.

Even as an atheist, I knew this much. This is what the last twenty-four years of propaganda has chipped away at – the common sense understanding that a baby is a human being even at the very earliest stages.

Besides, it isn’t your body you are aborting – it is a body belonging to someone else. A fetus is genetically distinct from its mother because it is a unique human being. It is not a bit of amorphous protoplasm that might become a catfish or a cow; it is a growing and developing person in a very early stage.

That tiny, growing person deserves a chance to make his or her own choices, both good and bad. And ladies? You deserve the chance to watch them choose; to watch them learn and grow, succeed and fail, laugh and cry and live.

Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward (Psalm 127:3).

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).

State of Disunion?

~ Heather Davis ~ Leave a comment

A Bit of a Rant and a Message of Hope

I don’t often dabble in political posts, but I do have concerns to voice; concerns not so much political as practical. I made a valiant attempt to listen to the most recent State of the Union address. I truly did, but the ongoing heckling, boos & cheers finally drove me to just read the transcript. What I read only reinforced a growing certainty that the leaders of my nation have completely lost touch with the actual people of America; a state of disunion between what it means to be an American citizen and what it means to wield power in the USA.

Above all, I see a future for all Americans. I see a country for all Americans. And I will always be President for all Americans because I believe in America. I believe in you, the American people. You’re the reason we’ve never been more optimistic about our future than I am now.

President Biden – State of the Union Address, March 7, 2024

Of course, this is not news to anyone who can read between the dog-wagging and cat videos – that is to say, to anyone who can still read.

The greatest actual threat to “united we stand” is – well, it’s us; we the people. Or more specifically, our penchant for letting spin-doctors do the thinking for us while we entertain ourselves right into a brave new Huxleyan world.

And our leaders – well, they’re not exactly leading. They’re playing Two Truths and a Lie, wondering if the public will realize they’ve already shrugged and asked, “What is truth?” From what I’ve seen, they do not appear to accept the inconvenient constraints of reality.

After all, their economy is (evidently) soaring. Meanwhile our grocery bills are not their problem.

It is my totally irrelevant and probably ignorant opinion that the leaders of our nation haven’t the foggiest idea what their constituency really cares about. They are out of touch with the American people; the ones who exist outside the ranks of the wealthy and powerful.

They’ve enjoyed immense wealth, power, and privilege for so long, they no longer understand mere proles who work jobs, put kids through college, pay monthly bills, and wonder if they’ll be able to afford to retire.

Or pay their medical bills.

Or buy groceries.

I’m not sure what got under my skin the most this year. Was it the lack of decorum in the official echo chamber? The unusually coherent speech by our current President? The conflation between campaign rhetoric and reporting on our nation’s condition? The almost-but-not-quite funny way playground politics have played their way right into the highest ranking official positions of this country?

Of course, childishness is not a new characteristic of our ignoble leaders. Unfortunately. Ewwww, adulting – amiright?

I honestly feel we crossed the line from democratic republic to oligarchy long before I was even aware of politics. I’ve never seen a presidential candidate who represents the analog people in my circles, and I can count the local candidates who have tried on one hand.

However, I can honestly say the Great American Side Show (i.e. -election year) makes me incredibly grateful my hope does not rest on the outcome of this election. Nor any other election, nor my feelings, nor anything else in all this beautiful, broken world. In fact, my sense of security has nothing to do with the future but is rooted in an event that’s already happened.

No matter who rules the nation I live in, how much or little civil freedom I’m afforded; even if every possession is stripped away through the collapse of our duct-taped economy, I have hope. Security. Certainty. Shalom.

Yeshua Messiah – Jesus Christ – the One who was at the beginning with God and is God; through whom all things were created and hold together – HE is my hope, my security, my certainty, and my peace. Even if my nation falls from oligarchy to dictatorship, ending all political or socio-economic freedoms, I will remain truly free; for freedom from enslavement to sin is the greatest and most lasting freedom there is.

But like many exotic flavors, freedom from sin is a thing you must taste for yourself. Explanations fall short, but the joy and peace are like no other.

Fady Al-Hagal, aka The Tenne-Syrian

Besides, I expect to suffer in this world, for my Lord did and He promised I would, too. Yet I also know my King has overcome the world and will one day reclaim His throne and reign forever. No more cheap shots and playground politics, but a perfect and just theocracy backed by true power and Truth and followed by all things made new, restored to glorious perfection.

So why does He wait? If He’s so powerful and just, why not come now, put an end to this charade, and banish evil once and for all time?

My dear reader, He waits for all those who will chose Him to do so. He waits out of mercy, not wishing that any perish but that all will allow Him to free them from slavery to sin and its destruction and prepare them for life everlasting.

The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a roar, and the heavenly bodies will be burned up and dissolved, and the earth and the works that are done on it will be exposed.

2 Peter 3:9-10

He waits, knowing those who have trusted in His Son’s sacrifice and surrendered to Him as Lord can endure this light and momentary suffering because of the eternal weight of glory, joy, and pleasures forevermore awaiting us when this world has passed.

Perhaps, sweet one, He waits for you.

Would you trust Him today? Despite the lies you’ve been sold, His Way is not the end of fun, merely the end of your unbearable burden; your hopelessness and despair. But what you’ll gain--! You’ll gain HIM, and He is everything worth having!

I say to the Lord, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from You..."
I have set the Lord always before me; 
Because He is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken...
You make known to me the path of life;
In Your presence there is fullness of joy; 
At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
Psalm 16:1, 7, 11

But you can choose to cling to what the world calls fun and all the baggage it brings. You can allow your emotions to be steered by the outcome of potentially unhinged elites or the definitively un-sane media.

Or you can choose Christ and gain life and peace and joy and meaning and purpose without end. But the choice is yours to make. I earnestly hope you will choose life.

Excerpt from My First (Really Bad) Book

~ Heather Davis ~ 6 Comments

So, here’s a public admission, if you will. I’m working on a book. It’s been a long time coming, in part due to health challenges and the general busy-ness of life. And I confess – it’s sometimes difficult to give time to projects (like this blog, for example) that don’t offer financial help to my overworked husband and my three college kids. Yet, I believe the Lord has told me to write the book, so write I will. I’m starting to get some traction, but most of my writing time is devoted to the book at present.

But, I don’t want to leave y’all totally alone! The truth is, I’ve written two books before – truly bad ones. I’ve learned much since those first efforts, so maybe this time will be different. It’s in the Lord’s hands – my lot is to obey. Nevertheless, even from a bad book, there are good elements. Below is an excerpt from my first ever book; a scene I still like for the way it illustrates the seriousness of sin.

I’ll set up the scene by saying the character, Liam, is a successful star of sorts who meets the love of his life, a young lady named Stace who is a believer. Though she loves him, she keeps him at a distance because she doesn’t want to yoke herself with a man who isn’t committed to seeking the Kingdom of God first – even though from a worldly perspective, he would be a “dream guy.” Toward the end of the book, a freak accident results in her death. As she’s dying, she prays for Liam to see what she sees, and he has a supernatural experience with the Risen Christ. And now, on with the show:

For a moment, the Man held this posture, His hand poised over Liam’s blood-stained one, then He raised his head and looked Liam directly in the eyes. And Liam’s reality splintered.

In a flash, Liam found himself in a garden. In some inexplicable way, he knew it was not just any garden; it was the Garden – Eden. Amazed, he looked around, inhaling deeply of heady aromas. Everywhere he looked, there was beauty; well-tended and lovingly nurtured. Many of the plants were either in flower or heavy with a wondrous variety of fruits. The temperature was pleasantly warm. Birds twittered and darted among the trees and insects buzzed in and around the flowering plants…

As he moved forward with a steadily increasing sense of awe, he saw a woman who could only be the first woman, Eve. Just as he was about to call out a greeting, Liam noticed that she was not alone. Apparently, she was deeply immersed in a conversation with a creature unlike anything Liam had ever seen, for neither of them glanced his way as he approached.

Taking advantage of their inattention, Liam stopped beside the low hanging branches of a tree and observed the creature closely. Although he could not understand the words, something in the silken tones of the creature’s voice was appealing, even soothing. As it spoke, it paced slowly before the woman, displaying its beautiful, scintillating scales to great advantage. However, to Liam’s eye, something in the sinuous way it moved as it spoke was suggestive of a snake. This must be the serpent.

Apprehensively, Liam took a step closer stopping only when he noticed that the woman and the beast were not alone. Nearby, a man sat leaning back against a tree, half-listening or perhaps pretending not to listen as he idly wound then unwound the tendrils of a vine around his finger.

As understanding struck him, Liam’s heart sank; he knew this story. It was one of the first he learned from the Bible.
Wait – could he stop this from happening? If he stopped this first great tragedy, would it save Stace? Maybe that’s why he’d been brought here!

Running to the woman, he tried to distract her, to warn her, but she seemed not to hear.  He whirled around to grab the man’s shoulders and haul him to his feet if necessary, but Liam’s hands passed through empty space. For the first time, he realized he wasn’t actually in the Garden. Rather, he was seeing a memory, painted in vivid color and for all the world like some sort of three-dimensional movie. Although he experienced the scene as if he were a part of it, he could neither interact nor interfere.

Sickened, he watched the woman listen attentively to the deceiver; watched her eyes growing thoughtful. Though her husband was still close enough to hear, hands now resting limply at his sides, he made no attempt to engage in the dialog.

Liam looked again at the woman. A subtle change was coming over her face. The childlike guilelessness he first saw began to harden, touched by a tinge of disdain. The serpent continued its ceaseless spiel, and her eyes began to drift toward a tree.

Suddenly, a Voice broke into the scene, “The tree she looks upon is the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The Tree of Life is not far away. Watch, and learn.”

Uselessly, Liam continued to watch as the woman moved toward the forbidden tree, watched her examine the fruit closely, weighing it in her palm as if the weight of consequence could be measured by the heaviness of the fruit. The subtle change he had begun to see in her face moments ago steeled into something so entirely modern that he reeled with the shock of it. He recognized it as the very look that had haunted him from his own mirror on so many occasions. It was a face filled with Pride; ruthless, stubborn, and petulant pride.

With the painfully familiar expression came another: doubt. Almost, Liam fancied, he could hear her inner dialog. Perhaps all the serpent had implied just might be true. Perhaps God was being stingy, withholding something that was good for them because He wanted no rival. Perhaps there would be no death. Such thoughts swam in her eyes as plainly as if printed there.

The woman took a bite of the fruit. Then, quickly as if she feared taking this step alone, she handed some of the fruit to the man who was with her, and he ate as well.

In that one, seemingly insignificant and ordinary act, the first man and woman turned their back on the One who had given them everything, even life itself.

A weight of horror settled on Liam, and he could only observe in futility as the shock of comprehension, then shame, distorted their faces. No longer did their expressions radiate an almost uncanny, beauteous innocence; no longer did their eyes dance with joy untainted with sorrow. 

The knowledge they’d craved did not bring the power they hoped. It never did. It never did. Oh, if only they had listened! He felt the ache of it so deep, he could hardly stand.

As the couple turned and fled deeper into the garden, Liam saw the discarded remnants of the fruit lying on the ground and he knew: Death had entered here.

Having rejected the Tree of Life for the one Tree forbidden them, they now knew they had chosen poorly and now their innocence had been ripped away leaving behind a ragged wound. The days of walking with their Creator in simple love and trust had ended. The horror and shame of what they had done drove them to try to hide from the God Who Sees.
Liam ached for them.

But quickly, other scenes flashed past with brutal intensity; the far-reaching consequences of one simple act of distrust until the mind-bending network of billions of sins and their consequences culminated in the ultimate price. Death, it is true, but a death like no other.

The Man – the same Man who had knelt by Stace – now raised in a gruesome display before a mob. This time, he wasn’t He clothed in intense white but caked in blood and dust, bearing on His head the very symbol of the curse of sin – branches of thorns twisted into a sick parody of a king’s circlet and shoved down over His brow, Blood from numerous scratches ran into His eyes.

God’s own Son, battered and torn, crowned with the unfathomable weight of countless sins, covered in shame and wretchedness that belonged to mankind – yet He wore it willingly. For the two rebels in the Garden. For all humanity. Even for the very ones who jeered from the crowd, He suffered humiliation and agony and Death.

For the first time, Liam understood the wonderful, terrible reality of the God who came to rescue those who rejected Him by paying the price of their insurrection with Himself.

And yet, still many did not believe. So many, oh so many, chose to believe themselves wiser, stronger, more progressive or modern or advanced than to believe in something so foolish as a God, never knowing that what they rejected was the glorious exhilaration of true Life. And such a Life—Life lived in harmony with the power, wonder, and endless love of the very Creator of life!

The scene shifted, and Liam saw himself ad a very young man; saw his mockery of his parents and his rejection of the two hard-working, plain people who loved him as best as they could. But he turned his back on them to become something more than a small-town hick. And Death entered that relationship.

He saw himself after his first big break, flattered by the attentions of many young ladies and reveling in his own sexual prowess, never once thinking of anything but his own pleasure. And Death stalked into many relationships.
He saw himself grow in fame and begin to wield some control over what roles he would accept, sometimes withdrawing like a sulky child when his whims were not met. And Death prowled among his business relationships, too.

Again and again, Liam watched countless moments of his own life; moments where he had chosen to feed his pride or flaunt his aptitude, often to another’s detriment and always to achieve a sense of personal victory. And side-by-side with each distinction and achievement as his self-importance swelled, Death walked through wide-open doors into many places in his life.

Finally, he saw himself waking alone in bed the morning before he had first met Stace, and he knew—the Thing that had stalked him when success and wealth failed to fill a deep void within; the Thing that clawed with hateful fingers at his throat and stifled his breathing – was Death.

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 6:23, ESV).

A Note to My Church Family

~ Heather Davis ~ Leave a comment

And he [Jesus] is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church.

Colossians 1:17-18a

Hello, church family,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Heather Davis, and I’m one of many who call the Church at Station Hill home. I may have taught your elementary-aged child or preschooler on Sunday mornings or at VBS, or you may know me from another capacity in the church. Or you may not know me at all.

That’s kind of my point. I’m nobody in particular; just a church member like you.

Like you, I have many emotions about Jay’s candidacy as the next Senior Pastor at Brentwood Baptist. I have no doubt in my mind or heart that this is God’s will. I cannot think of a better-suited man to take this position. Nor can I think of a better Senior Pastor’s wife than Tanya. She has the incredible ability to support her man while keeping his hat size reasonable and his feet firmly planted on Earth.

I love them as a team and I love them as people. They are wonderful. I am going to miss them and their family, just as all of us are.

But.

Church, I want to talk to you a little bit today. I want to impress on you that we cannot be followers of Jay Strother. We must be followers of Jesus Christ.

If this is God’s church, it’s His choice who goes where – and when – and why. We need not worry about it because we know that He is good. We know that He works all things for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

I can tell you from experience, this literally means all things. It means pain. It means suffering. It means this great shaking up. It means joys and triumphs; it means trials and challenges. It even means devastation. ALL THINGS.

This is the amazing power of our God. He can even take our past mistakes and the sin He freed us from and work it for the good of those who love Him and for His church by opening avenues of ministry to those still captive. He fully, utterly redeems. It’s astonishing. That’s what I want us to focus on right now – how good our God is and how thoroughly we can trust Him.

Something I’ve realized over the last couple of days of reflection is how Jay – in true Jay fashion – has been subtly preparing us for this moment for some time now.

Our pastor has worked closely with our God, weaving hints and allusions to change and scattering into his sermons, working from passages God ordained ahead of time. By doing so, he’s helped ready our hearts and simultaneously given us an example of walking in the good works God prepared ahead of time for him to do.

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Ephesians 2:10

This is why we love his preaching so much. But it’s also why I know he is well-suited to be the next Senior Pastor.

So for now, I encourage us all to just come around him and his family, and show them love and support. When we get our next pastor, let’s show him and his family the same love and support.

I pray that our church will grow spiritually through this; that we’ll experience God’s goodness and sovereignty in an amazing way. And church, I pray that we’ll each lean into what it means to be disciples of Jesus Christ. We cannot follow any human teacher or leader over Jesus.

I’ve had the privilege of sitting under the teaching of amazing and gifted teachers and leaders in my new life in Christ. These people challenged and inspired me, but I don’t follow them. I follow the Lord. And I encourage you to do the same.

Let me share with you that my experience with the Lord includes being saved from dark and horrendous sin as an adult. This was followed by decades of chronic pain and invisible illness, dealing with past and present emotional trauma, and things that honestly might surprise you. I can tell you that every bit of it has served to bring me closer to Jesus. How? Through His Word and through prayer. It really is that simple.

Church family, whatever we face, whatever lies ahead, know this: God is good. He is the One we need. He is our leader, not Jay.

If Christ is truly the head of the church, don’t forget that He is the one to follow. He has so graciously given us his Word. That is what I urge you to press into at this time. Get into the Word of God. As Jay has said so many times, he can’t fill us on Sundays; he can only make us more hungry.

For his sake, for the Lord’s sake, for your own sake – be hungry.

God’s Word is good. The love of Christ, the Word of God, the Spirit of God acting and moving in us – that’s what we are made to need. That’s what God designed us to crave.

And church family, I can promise you this: following Jesus isn’t always comfortable. Just like He’s shaking up our church right now, He will take you places you can never imagine and pull you way, way out of your comfort zone. I’m pretty sure He’s doing that now with Jay and Tanya.

Yet I can promise you this as an ordinary layperson who happens to love and trust the Lord – if we fully surrender and trust in Him, it’s going to be good.

ME/CFS and Long COVID or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Pandemic

~ Heather Davis ~ 2 Comments

A Day With ME/CFS Part 2

If you are just joining, start with Part 1 of what it’s like to live with ME/CFS.

Orthostatic Intolerance

You stand up from the table to put your Bible away (if you remember to put it away, that is), but you stand slowly. No dizziness right now. That’s good. Thankfully, this symptom is nothing new. You’ve dealt with it your whole life – it’s just a little worse now.

What you hate is when a wave of dizziness hits for no reason while you’re on the stairs.

The Other Things

You’ve started talking about your ME journey a little bit because you realize so many people who have it are not as fortunate as you. Some are housebound. Others are bedridden.

Driving to work, you see a homeless person asleep in a bundle of blankets under a bridge and wonder if he suffers with ME/CFS.

Still, you hesitate to talk much because of the stigma. So many people think it’s all in your head. You were once one of them.

But time after time, you pushed through and pushed through only to end up with bronchitis or meningitis or some other major issue as your body simply couldn’t muster the energy to both push through the fatigue and produce an appropriate immune response.

Some days you drive to work but have to take a 20-minute nap in the car before going in. Or you have to pull over and take a 20-minute nap so you don’t fall asleep at the wheel.

You realize you are nearing a crash. Thankfully, it’s Thursday and the weekend is coming, although you’d really like to do something with your weekend other than recover. Like clean. Or even something fun.

The body aches are annoying. Your thinking is sluggish and you feel generally unwell – like the beginnings of a bad cold or a mild flu.

But you’re thankful it’s not a bad day.

Even on a not-so-bad day, it feels like the air is made of molasses. During class, you slur a few words and tell your students to get out their cameras. You meant to say laptops. Ah, aphasia! So a migraine plans to join the party. At least there’s medicine for that.

Photo by meo on Pexels.com

Your students help you sort your words out. Thankfully, they are sweet girls and you already told them not to worry if this happens. More than likely, it’s a migraine prodrome and not a stroke. You rely on the weird manic energy you’ve been able to concoct in public for the last several years to get through classes. And you don’t sit still for long so you don’t fall asleep.

Your gut is a mess, but you decide not to get into that. It’s just unpleasant to talk about.

On the drive home, your body hurts worse and you look forward to bed. Now that you’ve learned to balance things a little better, gotten strict with your sleep schedule, and accepted that you can’t exercise like you used to, bed is no longer the only thing you look forward to.

The heartrate alarm on your watch goes off because the organ decided to jump up over 100 beats a minute even though you’re just driving. So weird. You shrug.

Before bed, you thank God for His mercy. You realize that ME/CFS has made you rely more and more on Him, and so it’s good. It’s also given you compassion for others, because not everyone who looks healthy, is.

Even so, you have days of sadness. You miss being able to get up super-early, working out, and being productive. It’s hard to feel like crud most of the time. You don’t really get excited about much these days except Eternity and God. You keenly feel the truth that “the outer self is wasting away but the inner self is being renewed day by day.”

You try to decide if your achiness is enough to warrant taking an OTC medicine or if you can sleep reasonably without it. It’s best not to since you need to save things like that for migraines, so you skip it.

You skipped dinner because of the gut thing. That’s OK. There are people all over the world who skip dinner because they don’t have any. You thank God that you have the option and pray for those who don’t.

As you turn out the lights, your heart does a gymnastics routine. It feels like a guy with a peg leg trying to run through a yard riddled with mole hills – but in your chest.

You pray – in part to keep your mind focused on the Lord and in part to suppress your body’s adrenaline response to the weird heart stuff. As you do, you feel comforted that you have the Lord. He is with you.

You pray for people who don’t know Him and have the peace of trusting in His plans. You imagine ME/CFS without God. If you didn’t trust Him, didn’t trust His purposes for allowing this in your life, there would be no point in going on. Without the certainty of His goodness, you would have given up long ago.

You thank Him for being a God who is not a stranger to suffering, and you surrender to His plan.

You can rest in knowing He is good, even when life is not.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

ME/CFS and Long COVID or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Pandemic

~ Heather Davis ~ 4 Comments

A Day With ME/CFS Part 1

In an odd twist, the COVID-19 pandemic has been a blessing to me. I know that sounds strange, but with the advent of long COVID, there has been more research into ME/CFS due to clinical similarities.

To geek out for a minute, because yes, I sometimes read medical journals, both share such clinical findings as “redox imbalance, systemic inflammation and neuroinflammation, an impaired ability to generate adenosine triphosphate, and a general hypometabolic state” and symptoms such as “profound fatigue, postexertional malaise, unrefreshing sleep, cognitive deficits, and orthostatic intolerance.1“

Let me break that down for you in real talk.

I will describe a generic day with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, more commonly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or ME/CFS. Oh and migraine. Because why not, right?

Buckle up, kiddies. Here we go:

Profound Fatigue

You wake up, but only because you have to. You went to bed on time. Early even, but it doesn’t matter. You turn off the alarm, pick up your sense of duty, and wipe away a thin sheen of shame because you need so much sleep.

You also peel your clammy PJs off, remembering half-waking in the night, drenched in sweat. Again.

It wasn’t always like this. You can dimly recall waking up and feeling ready for the day. Or was that a dream?

No matter. Today you get up and do your thing – whatever it is – because you have to. And because people don’t understand. But it’s OK. You can’t blame them. You didn’t, either, until it was your life.

Postexertional Malaise

As you start your day, you think back to your gym rat days and the time when you did P-90X and were in the best shape of your life. You look at your once-chiseled arms as you dress and have a moment of missing the upper body strength.

Back then, you’d start every day with a workout. A brisk walk or run followed by some weight training. Fond memories of times when your body just moved well. Working out was fun; it was therapy.

Now you drag yourself to the yoga mat and hope you have the energy to do a 30-minute flow. But, you remind yourself, be thankful.

You are one of the lucky ones. Some people with ME/CFS can’t muster the energy for yoga. Or going to the grocery story. Or walking up stairs.

You have a part-time job and can even go for a walk a couple days a week. Sure, you have to constantly adjust because a little too much physical or mental effort will cause a crash. Then, there goes a weekend down the tubes. But at least you can still function reasonably well.

Still, as you go into the first downward dog and feel that odd sensation in your muscles that you used to associate with doing heavy reps to the point of muscle failure, you can’t help but miss the strength. It feels like your muscles are starving for something.

Because they are, you remind yourself. The ATP production is janky and there just isn’t fuel in the tank.

Hmmm. Three miles must have been too far to walk yesterday. You remember when 10 miles was nothing.

You say a prayer that the Lord will help you wake up enough to read your Bible without nodding off, and you know He will make it work out. If not this morning, later on today. He’s good like that.

Cognitive Deficits

You close your Bible and thank God for giving you the mental energy to actually read and understand today. Not every day is like this. You start your prayers and include one you forget most of the time:

Lord please help me to remember people’s names today. And words. And my lessons.

Your brain simply isn’t what it used to be. Of course, some of the cognitive issues started after the first go-round with meningitis and the resulting chronic headache condition. Thank you, Lord, that it’s no longer chronic.

Still, as a teacher, it can be awkward to get in front of your class and forget words. It makes you look like you don’t know what you’re talking about. Worse is when you can’t get a student’s name to come to the surface. You know this child; you’ve known her for years. The name is in there somewhere. But it seems buried.

It’s laughable to think you were once recognized for your memory. It was borderline eidetic. Being able to call up scenes, snippets, the pictures of numbers – that was handy. If you wrote it down, you could remember it because you could call up the image of your writing. You could recall scenes, like having a video playback inside your head.

Now when you reach for a memory, it may or may not be there. You wonder if this is what it feels like to lose a limb. By habit, you go to put weight on it or reach to pick up a glass but there’s nothing there. You say a prayer for people who’ve lost limbs.

Then you remember your Mammaw who had severe dementia and say another prayer that the Lord will take you home before your mind goes so your kids don’t have to go through what your Mama did.

To be continued…

1PNAS article