..And the Books Were Opened

I heard the message several times about casting down imaginations and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God. I did an inventory of a few of the “things” that need attention in my life. There have been many distractions that fit into that very category and if you would indulge me I will attempt to elaborate with an imagination of my own that needs sorting out. In Revelation 20:12 there is a line I will pull from the verse to make my observation. And the books were opened. This is of course is a very serious verse and I hope not to take away from the full context but only to support some concerns about which books of record may be in question. Please allow me to run by you the list that applies to me when I stand before the Lord in my final court appearance.
1. The Bible.. How often did I read it, rightly divide it, practice and live like I believed the truth contained in that book? How often did I misinterpret or neglect to apply even the basic principles in my everyday life?
2. My prayer book.. How much time did I spend in effectual and fervent petition before the Lord? What types of request did I make and for what reason? How long did I wait quietly listening for an answer?
3. My journal.. What did I have to say that was so important and why did I think that such things were noteworthy? Would I mind having the whole world know my deepest anger, frustrations, curiosities and the substance of my vain imaginative faculty?
4. My appointment book.. Who were the people I met and where were did I go? When that schedule is opened before God, will I be embarrassed by the manipulation of events?
5. My check book.. What would this line of inquiry produce? I may be pleased with my 10% but would I be counted responsible when the other 90% was examined. The problem is not giving money. In the end faithful attention to stewardship will survive the fire.
6. My date book.. Like the appointments above this book differs in that it applies to the spare time industry. What kind of people did I enjoy being around? Perhaps, like in my case certain musicians and writers apply. Others lean to the sports oriented crowd or maybe you’re a bingo monger. I won’t play the bingo card here but what about your social life outside of the gospel? I don’t imagine there is anything on the outside of the gospel.
7. The TV Guide.. Just what are in those entertainment files? How dedicated were you?
8. The Song Book.. . .to him that hath, more shall be given.. That involves ears. If you are getting mixed signals you’ll develop a variety of opinions that will impair your ability to believe the truth when uncertain sounds are present. What was your favorite tune? One of my favorites is, was and will be Psalm 91.
9. My phone book.. Who did I talk to? What did I talk about? How long did I indulge my-self in meaningless conversations, holding up the progress of the poor sap on the other end with my foolish notions, weather reports and ball scores? While neglecting, I might add, Jesus on the mainline now.
10. Last of all let me mention the devotional. That would be My Daily Bread or a similar five minute spiritual fix for the day. It’s like the patch for those who are attempting to solidify that already waning lukewarm walk with God. You know, for those who are close to being totally free of the addiction to Christ. There’s nothing wrong with a few minutes with Jesus, it’s just that they may potentially become fewer & fewer. One can’t afford to spend less time with the Lord these days
Allow me to close with the final words of the book of Ecclesiastes. Solomon nailed it in these closings lines. Chapter 12 and verse 12 begins the conclusion of the whole matter by saying that the making of many books there is no end; and much study is weariness to the flesh. In the end the Lord will bring every work into judgment, along with every secret thing; whether it be good, or evil. Since we must all give account of the things that we now give our attention to, may we be found examining ourselves from the books that are at our disposal in this lifetime. Many of us will not be at this last judgment which I draw attention to here but we will be examined just the same at the Judgment Seat of Christ.

And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened, and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. Rev 20:12

Have you read a good book lately?
Blessings, T. LaVigne

Homeless Chronicles the Sequel

My Life with Al K. Hall*

Al K. Hall and I were the best of friends for several years. Our conversations consisted of Al doing the talking and me not paying attention to detail or accuracy. Al would often boast of great feats of strength and had the best of intentions but without me he was nothing. We would often wander uninspired down Any St. of Any Town America where loitering was considered a serious business and our unkempt lifestyle preserved our poverty.
Al and I were a team and we were going places, although when you are going nowhere in particular, any road will get you there. Al K. Hall and I went down that road together. We dwelled in the alleys and abandoned buildings strewn with broken dreams, rotting vitality and lost ambition. Our world was void of imagination and purpose, so I only wonder now what I could have done without Al K. Hall.
Al managed to escape going to jail. I of course stayed there occasionally because of some trouble he started. He was always faithful to wait for me outside until I did our time.
Al was always busy in an unproductive sort of way. He managed to tear a family apart and killed a couple teenagers on the highway. I wasn't with Al that time but I could have been. I’m sure I was vertically inconsistent and less than ambulatory. Al K. Hall helped me lose my job that very day. I heard Al was the featured attraction at a funeral, a brutal domestic violence incident and a prison sentence, all at the same time on the same day and at several places at once. He really gets around and the police know him by name. He seems to be a great influence in the community. Some of us just can't get enough of Al K. Hall. He's so entertaining, infamous and full of it. You know, taste and variety.
Al was such an inspiration to me. He encouraged me to gamble, steal and start arguments. I owe all my debts and failures to Al K. Hall. I spent the money I didn't have on people I didn't really know to pay for an experience that I don't clearly recall having. Everyone assured me that I had a good time.
I lost a fortune investing myself in his company. Al helped himself to most of my potential, and soaked up my creativity while all the warning signs or common sense went neglected. He often caused me to break down and weep like a child but as soon as we were back on speaking terms he assured me that nothing was going right, that life was meaningless and frequently made a suggestion that I find a gun and terminate my existence. He always mentioned he would be willing to stay until I obtained the nerve to complete the chore. He didn't say anything about who was going to clean up afterward. He only promised to remain close, right up to the end. I mentioned that Al did most of the talking in those days. It should be clearly obvious that Al K. Hall did most of the thinking too.
Al and I went to Hard Knox University in the mid to late 90's. We did our undergraduate studies at the Curbside Annex in Any Town. Al enrolled us in Hell 101 and our school colors were black and blue. I was short by a few days of completing a minor in DUI and almost graduated with a DOA. Although some people never learn from their mistakes, I on the other hand have earned a certifiable education that any liberal college professor could appreciate.
I haven't seen Al for some time now since we went our separate ways. We had an inevitable disagreement over that sobriety thing. We went to church together some but Al got real uncomfortable when he saw that a change was coming and just got up and left. With God’s help I don’t expect to be seen with Al ever again. I don't imagine there's any way for Al K. Hall to get right with God. I still see Al around from time to time in magazines or on television. I know he will most likely be here in Any Town until the judgment day. I know there's a case pending against him. I believe I can testify to that.

*My Life with Alcohol.. 6/22/2005 T. LaVigne

A Classic Deposition

I don’t remember the day or the hour that I first saw the light and the burden of my heart rolled away. I was a young man void of a life at the time. Confused, irresponsible and totally deluded. Growing up with behavioral problems is not something I appreciate talking about but it’s a fact just the same. My parents sent me down the street to the Mennonite Church every Sunday morning which was a blessing to my parents and gave the church folks a reason to rejoice when the service was over. As time passed I found myself in a Pentecostal Church across the alley from the house where we lived in Toledo. I mention all of this because I don’t think I was really paying attention during any phase of these encounters.
When I was 21 I met an old acquaintance from the Miami Children’s Home while I was driving a cab. He invited me to his church and I was driven to go after reading a few Hal Lindsey type books and was becoming scared to death about missing the Rapture. That night I went to The First Apostolic United Pentecostal Church and my world changed forever. I remember the alter call and very little about the actual message but when I left that night everything was different and nothing was the same. I was baptized in Jesus name and filled with the Holy Ghost that next week.
So now let me share the rest of the story; the story seen from the angle of the classic car that you see on the road from time to time. The day I was set apart unto God was the best day of my life. What follows is an allegory of my salvation as it relates to a brand new automobile. My experience with the Lord on the day I was saved was in showroom condition. It looked great; it shined and had that new car smell that was pleasant to breathe. The Lord handed me the keys and gave me the title to an awesome responsibility and to tell the truth I was proud of it in an innocent sort of way. It came with a full tank of gas and an owner’s manual. There were limitations and maintenance requirements and I was given charge of a powerful new vehicle. At first I kept it washed and shined it often. I changed the oil and rotated the tires just like the service agreements specified. I was careful in the traffic and kept my speed to a minimum, well, to some degree. Then time began to have its way and the novelty started to wear thin. After a good season of learning about what was required of me as an owner and manager of such a wonderful gift, I began to get a bit lazy. I didn’t wash it as often and I ran a few stop signs. I got pulled over once or twice for some infraction or a busted tail light. I became lax about taking care of the basic business and soon I began to hear a noise in the transmission. A tire went bad and the dent wasn’t my fault. A car must have backed into me at a shopping mall or a local tavern. It couldn’t have been at church or an auto parts store because I hadn’t parked close to one of those for some time. Little by little and day by day my blessing began to fall apart and I stayed parked for lack fuel and maintenance. It wasn’t long before the bird droppings and the weather laid claim to my existence. I was forced to move on because of personal issues and the last I saw of salvation, it was sitting in the yard, up on blocks and beyond repair. When I left that day I thought I’d never see it again.
As the years passed I walked or hitchhiked everywhere. I went to Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. I drove other people around from time to time in their own car and was an expert on their salvation but didn’t even have the compassion to change a tire for them. I would think about my salvation and cry big tears of sorrow but did little to address the topic until the Lord began to deal with me about returning to the scene of the crime. I said things like; it’s too late but I should go back and scrap it out for parts. Maybe I could sign it over to the devil for 30 pieces of silver and get me a nice bicycle. Praise God, the Lord didn’t see it that way. When I had absolutely nothing left in this world He reminded me that I still had an old clunker sitting in my yard. After convincing me that He would help me restore it to its original condition I was on the road again home.
It was an embarrassing encounter the day I first saw it in this new light and the burden of my heart was that it was raining and I didn’t look any better then the old beater that sat there before me. We both needed washing at the very least. What could possibly be the first move here? I was clueless but the Lord said let’s start by getting the engine running again. That would be the heart of the matter. Many replacement parts were needed and as time passed I still walked to work but the sound of the engine running at last was a pleasant sound in my ears. After a new set of tires and a major clutch and fly wheel overhaul we were close to being at least road worthy. At first I could only drive during the day as I hadn’t dealt with a broken headlight yet and the crack in the windshield was a ticket magnet. As the days passed the responsibility returned and I worked out my own salvation with fear and trembling, like the Bible says. I was soon being seen on the street again behind the wheel of the best thing I ever owned. It didn’t look good on the outside and a trip to the body shop was in the forecast. The engine hummed and the noise in the differential disappeared. I too began to show signs of improvement as I told other owners the truth about WD40 and the GPS. I was looked to as an authority on disrepair and was able to steer a few novice owners away from the ditch ahead. The Lord helped me keep the pride in check as my old clunker turned in to a car show classic. I was this close to joining a Classic Car Club for Jesus group but the Lord said, don’t even go there. I allowed Him to continue the up keep and receive the credit as I had little to do with the restoration of my vintage experience in Christ. These days I get looks when I drive down the street and people make comments but in the end they may never understand this whole story. I saw an old man in a vintage model the other day and his story was that he got it brand new and has owned it and kept it in show room condition since the day he first drove it. I was blessed to know that there are people in this world who have a healthy respect for the gift that God has given them and take care of it with their life. I too now tell my story when I meet the guy who just obtained the title to his new ride and advise him to drive with the utmost consideration for others on the highway and to keep his eye on the fluids. There’s no telling where he will be in 10 years but I pray that he has sense enough to maintain that wonderful blessing called salvation.
One other thing should be mentioned. The Lord held the title during the whole process of preserving and restoring my soul. That probably explains why I couldn’t find the title until I searched the scripture and found it in the top drawer. It was there all the time.

Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ: Phil 1:6

….let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith;… ( lifted out of Hebrew 12:1-2 )

T.LaVigne
thewinevine@hotmail.com

Homeless Chronicles

It was never my intention to add insult to the injury of being poor. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is very likely but not all homeless people experience what I went through in the mid- 90’s. The following is part of my testimony. I was homeless for almost three years
I was the worse case scenario type homeless person. I was a lazy street educated welfare scheming sponge with no taste for responsibility. I kept myself in mental and spiritual disrepair in the occupation of my own choosing. Poverty! I was the Director of Waste Management assigned to the chore of going under. I managed to develop my life into a thriving waste of time. The hours were long and the pay was nil. No health, no life and no days off. I stayed busy at being nonproductive until I retired in 1998.
I displayed the unkempt, unshaved urine soaked alcoholic look on many occasions and added drug addicted to my resume. I was a garbage picking shoplifting freebie monger with a fondness for an all week expense paid night on the town. I had compassion on all those who made life easy for me and had something to offer. After all, people are just waiting in line to be used up in the hand out industry. I maintained an obnoxious and disgusting attitude during office hours but was very pleasant, especially around other degenerates. Even the shiftless have standards. Although I had all the qualities mentioned above, I still had to come up with an excuse as to why I was so visibly pitiful and yet so deserving of help. It really wasn’t my fault that I had ruined my existence and somebody should have to pay and it shouldn’t have to be me.
Back then I wasn’t about to allow any shelter program, preacher or some soft sell job search system assist me in any personal repairs. I was able to convince myself that I wasn’t a certified derelict but that I was just sobriety deficient and employment deprived. I slept in the alleys and gutters of Tucson, AZ in ideal weather conditions. I would wake up in a sewer drain or under a bridge. One time I had passed out under a urinal in a bus station and my only concern was that another application of deodorant would hold up through the food stamp interview. I was enrolled in a crash course at Curbside College as a final semester student in a seatbelt experiment.
The first thing on the daily agenda was to acquire a cigarette and a quart of Old Milwaukee, in a brown paper sack in order to remain anonymous. Although I rarely owned a pack of cigarettes, I felt everybody else got one extra in their pack which automatically belonged to me. Kind of like an early spread the wealth concept. And the beer, well, it’s not just for breakfast anymore. A dollar bill is nothing but a Beer Stamp to a drunk but drugs have to come by way of a free loaded grant from any and all possible sources. Friends and family are expendable due to technical difficulties. The kind and gullible folks who have jobs and pay taxes often take the necessary pity and are overly liberal with a pseudo enabling generosity. They will sponsor a crafty panhandler’s situation especially if a sign of woe is involved. Anyone with half a heart can’t help but give a dollar to a pitiful looking guy with a sign that says disabled vet, broke down with five kids and will work for food. The truth behind most of those signs is alcohol or drugs or both. Work is not often in the equation because almost no one can live on minimum wage, if addiction is somewhere on the menu. Living, to those who have no life consists of an endless chain of bad habits that cost money. The difference is that the rich can afford to be drunk on excess and stay suitably functional. The poor acquire no such privilege but still demand an equal opportunity. The poor also want cigarettes, marijuana, cocaine and alcohol. They also like to gamble, view pornography and be gluttons. This is the America, in their mind of the brave new world and the home of the free ride. As long as a poor person thinks freedom is the exemption from responsibility we will always need soup kitchens and shelters. And the government of the people by the people, catering to a generation of disenfranchised malcontents cannot stand. How can we afford to support those who refuse to expend any effort achieving at least a minimal spiritual or pseudo prosperous existence?
I had become a full grown candidate for becoming a potential criminal. Of all the things I had lost, I began to miss my Christian life the most. Thinking clearly started to gel during times in jail and in church. In the soup lines and on the lonely sidewalks of the big city is where reason came home to roost. I realized my whole mission in life had come down to a full belly of free food and a warm place to relieve myself. My soul was priced to sell and was marked down from an already low, low price that I still could not afford. If it had not been for Christian charity I would have perished on several occasions. I look back now in appreciation. The genuine volunteers of America deserve credit but should not be required to pay the way for able the bodied to enjoy their self inflicted destitution. These days there are many who are out of work because of the economy. That is a totally different story altogether from what I have recorded in this brief account of my American experience. I should think that life is more difficult for those who were already resigned to a vow of poverty through various addictions. As long as there are Christians in the world, the world will be fed. If there were no charity in the world who would put up with the poor; the rich and selfish? How about other homeless volunteers? How about the Buddhist who can’t even feed himself? The New Age Church has no time for it. They are too busy being prophetically enlightened with themselves. Beside that, population reduction can’t be accomplished if you feed everybody. Ask any dictator. Homeless people and poor countries looked to America as the last hope of the hungry world but when the food gets scarce things will become apocalyptic. Until then which shelter is serving dinner tonight and at what time?
I can tell you from being exposed to the homeless system that many of the destitute people, in spite of Obama’s dream, will not change. Not every poor person lives like I lived but a healthy faith in Jesus Christ will help anyone to survive the hard times ahead. That faith in Him brought me out of the homeless lifestyle in due time as I repented of the sin that was so easily being made available through the generosity of others and social programs. The land of there’s plenty more where that came from is now all but history and we are facing the wrath of God in the days to come. Soon the store shelves will be bare of those items that once suited our extreme indulgences and we will either call on God or perish. The perishable item on the shelf now is the soul of the individual. The situation can only change when any person fitting the description above has had enough of milking an empty cow. That was my life without much exaggeration. The name has not been changed to disavow the whole episode. Are there any questions? I can only think of one at the moment. Will you accept the invitation to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb?

*Most of the content of the above posting has been edited and the current thyme updated from a speech that I gave at The University of Toledo at a symposium on homelessness in 1996. It is to be noted that I received no applause. Thank God. Maybe someone actually listened. T. LaVigne