An Authors View

2011-02-26T12:33:00.000-05:00

Hands of Time
It's a journey really, each of us on a schedule. A schedule whose end we can not see or predict and whose path in reality is only illuminated usually enough to get through a day at best, a directional prediction of what is ahead. We dream of manipulating it to make it slower, sometimes wish it would go faster but in the end we are slaves to it. You see time has no life, no heart, it's eyes are uncaring to our needs, apathetic to our every cause, all we can do is grasp and covet pieces of time, the piece of time I have lived becomes more and more vague the details are lost to time itself. The pieces of the future we like to think we can create and orchestrate but in the end there is no promise of tomorrow. Inevitability, we are left with the only piece of time we can control the piece that the Lord has blessed us with: today. When we look back on our lives we see how these pieces of time have been brought together in union. Union with others on their journey, pieces of a puzzle that are brought into each others presence and even sometimes joined but like a rose floating on the surface of the lake the only surety is that this rose is mine and this lake of life controls my path. How fortunate I am to see that my contentment lies in the simple truth that the Almighty alone directs my drift with gentle breezes and unseen hands. Some may wonder at my desired lack of control but in this journey of life the release and surrender moves me from the bondage of responsibility to the freedom to live my life in peace under the watchful eye of the Almighty.

2011-02-26T12:32:00.000-05:00

Allis in the Field
I saw it in the distance, it looked liked a late 40's Allis Chalmers. There was a tall bed of grass surrounding every part of her and I wondered how many decades she had sat there. I wondered what caused such a wonderful thing to be walked away from and left to slowly decay. And I wondered how many thousands of others were sharing the same fate. Tractors to me are more than just simple tools they capture an America that used to be. A time when Mom new how to make bread from scratch and linen sheets smelled liked the cool fall air that danced across the prairie. A time when Dad's hands were calloused and the smell of farm animals was the smell of future meals, money for the five and dime, new shoes from the Montgomery Ward catalog, or maybe just an ice cold root beer on a hot August day. A time when a woman was proud to stay at home and on Sunday the aroma of Mom's perfume could not only be smelled throughout the house but would drift out to the tire swing where I spun and looked at the clouds and wondered if there really were Martians up there. I wanted to take that old Allis home with me, dig it out of that grass pile and at least get her under cover. In some way I felt as if I could just get her home, clean off the dirt, change her oil and see if her engine could spin something would happen. Maybe, just for a moment, I could smell Mom's perfume in the air, feel that tire swing spin or hear the tired comforting voice of my Dad calling from the field. That old Allis whispered to me that day, whispered please remember; and I will.

2011-02-26T12:28:00.001-05:00

Steel Rails to Heaven
It was iron and it was black and stretched so far down the track into the setting sun it seemed to all most touch it. Its life began in the depths of the earth in iron ore deposits that had been formed millions of years before. The ore was unearthed not by modern heavy equipment but the sweat and muscle of late 1800's labor. No health plans, no safety, no dreams just a few tons of ore a day to feed the kids and buy a little coal for the stove. This was the conception of an Iron Horse, a brooding sleeping giant that when brought to life lifted its voice and roared to the heavens with a never ending stream of smoke. As if to announce; “I am alive” and the children would run to their Mother’s sides and never fail to turn and watch the splendor of it all. Through the years the common thread no matter the generation is the mournful cry that beckons the listener. Its cry calls to us, down mountain valleys, desert flats, inner city ghettos, ocean vista’s, and flower filled Colorado meadows. Everyone knows they are machines, that they are simply tools going on their way. It seems, however, when we are not with everyone, and we are simply alone to listen, it whispers something to our soul. For over 150 years they’ve whispered the same secret, “I’m going someplace and I can take you with me” and for just as long we have yearned to go; escape the confines of our normal lives and take a different path. A journey where we too can cry out under moon lit skies for others to join us on steel rails that take a path to Heaven.

2010-04-23T18:40:00.000-04:00

She’s Beautiful to Me
She lay there in the coffin as her husband explained the way in which she passed. An injection in the middle of the night to help ease the pain, a drink of water to ease her thirst and the end came in silence. He said it was the first time he couldn’t seem to make it better. He said he always, over the years, could make it better if she had an ache or pain but this time was not to be the case. He seemed lost in the thought staring at her lifeless body and in the midst of it he said softly...“She’s beautiful, to me.”
They married in 1951 and I‘m sure just before he asked for her hand he must of thought... “She‘s beautiful to me.” Her life would be the definition of suffering in so many ways and through it all their love held fast. When she gave birth to her children exhausted and tired I’m sure he looked at her and thought... “She’s beautiful, to me.” Despite the lines of age and pain that ultimately would etch her face...“She’s beautiful, to me”. Even as she lay helpless with the end on the horizon unable to sooth her suffering...“She’s beautiful, to me.” As the Almighty welcomed her into the glory of Heaven he took her in his loving arms and said...“She’s beautiful, to me.”

2009-10-31T10:21:00.006-04:00

Warmth of You

The sheets are cool, his old bones ache more than they used to. Somehow the pain, in a twisted way, is welcome, somehow it reminds him that he is alive.

He lays in the quiet and the old clock in the kitchen clicks off a second, and another, and another and his mind drifts to the memory of her. Memories of nights just like this; only her warmth was here then.

That delicate warmth that wasn’t there at first when she got into bed but would always drift like a fog across some far horizon, seep through the fibers of the fabric and engulfing him an inch at a time.

She has been gone awhile now and still in the middle of the night he’ll pull the blankets over her side to keep her warm. Some nights he recalls in the midst of doing this that she is never coming back.

All he can do is suppress the pain that’s just beneath the surface of his skin like some deep dark pond of suffering. As he drifts back to sleep he often feels her warm and hears her whisper
“It’s okay I’m waiting for you; I’m always near the pond.

2009-01-25T16:47:00.001-05:00

A Future Glance
He was dying and he knew it. So many years had gone by and he needed a revelation.. A revelation not of what could be his but what would be his. Some of us find the Lord in delicate whispers of his voice, “come to me“, “take my hand“, and we do. Others like Paul need to be brought to their knees on the road to Damascus. I suspect it was in the quiet when he finally came to terms with the gravity of his situation . That inner voice inside your soul that says this really is the transition point. That the tearful goodbyes, the hugs, the plans were more meaningful than ever before. Maybe he hadn’t always seen or appreciated the giver of life watching in the shadows throughout his life. The one that blessed him with a wife that loved him, children that brought him joy, a simple life that was a simple blessing and a precious gift. We don’t always see the beauty of the stars overhead, the health of our loved ones, the job that feeds them. Our Creator is frequently lost in the very life he gives us, but this night would be different. Tonight he would be given a precious gift, he would enter a world that he was destined for, a glimmer of the truth as real as the very life he would soon be transitioning from. It was simple, somewhere between the cool sheets he closed his eyes and for the first time in his life he saw the truth. It was a gift that few are given. He must of been so very special to be given a glimpse and introduced to another who was also in the shadows of his life. This moment was his and he made the choice to fight for his eternal future. This day he would stand before the heavens while Angels watched in wonder and be stronger than he had ever been in the weakest time of his life. His fight was not for the life that lay suffering in this bed but a life with the one who said “Come to me” and he did.

2009-01-25T16:43:00.003-05:00

Eternal Life
The day will come and you will soon realize what eternal life really is. It is the knowledge that this new life you are about to hold in your hands is the continuation of you. That for thousands of years the same blood that flows through your veins is the very blood that flows through this one as well. That the prayers of your Mother, and a hundred women in line before are fulfilled in the breath of this child that will soon be in your arms. So remember when you hold this precious Grandbaby for the first time, that this is not the beginning. Remember this is simply a bend in your river of life. A precious river allowed to flow by the eternal grace of the Almighty and whose current is provided by the prayers and love of all the women before.

2009-01-25T16:35:00.003-05:00

Whispers of the Creator
There is an exact point in each of our lives that our life begins. Maybe it’s that very first heartbeat when the very first thump radiates from the mother’s womb and plays in the heavens like a song. Maybe its that first breath when we open wide and pull in those few breaths and cry out we are alive to everyone in the room. and yet another song plays for the angels to hear. I suspect the simple fact is that the Almighty breaths our name and like the world itself; it’s done. Whether God is the great planner who plans our every step or simply lays a path for us to step on is of little consequence to him or to me. I only know that there was a moment when the Creator of the universe whispered my name and the angels rushed to see it happen again as if it were the very first time. You see, unlike us, angels never loose their fascination for the creation nor their amazement at the work of the Creator.

2008-12-28T10:46:00.002-05:00

Strength for a Moment
He came to life in the backyard around Christmas of 2008. Like all of us his life started when his creator made the choice to bring him into existence. Human hands shaping him into the man he would be. Not too tall, not too short, not too heavy and not too thin. Compressed, pushed, rolled and trimmed. All the while his creator, like our creator, knew that his existence was temporal. All the while his creator new that he could only stand for a short time but in giving him a life she also gave him a purpose. Even in human creation, using God’s own material, she could send a message with him being brought to life. Today his life bore the burden of telling our children and theirs that we simply wish they were here. Wish they were here to dance among the drifts, make a carrot nose, limbs of wood and lay Grandpa’s Stormy Kromer hat atop his snow covered head. Sit by the fire and open some presents, read a story of Santa and reindeer or simply hold Nonna’s hand. If he had a voice to speak even he would cry; “I’m so glad my life has a purpose, so glad that in my creation my life had meaning even as I melt back into the earth from where I came."

2008-11-14T12:31:00.002-05:00

Purple Sky's and Union

It was a warm summer night, some garden of Eden, well a garden of Tipton, Michigan, and on this evening separate hearts from all around were here with a single purpose: to witness. Some were friends, some were relatives, some new them both, some knew only one. It's interesting this ancient ritual of union, sometimes the words are different but the outcome is always the same, two hearts. I watched the little girl dropping rose petals, focused on the task at hand, felt the humidity in the August air, and tried to blow the many little "no see um’s" off course. In the background guitar music played and one of the two hearts made his way to the gazebo and waited. I don't know how old Randy is but I did know that in a few minutes his life as he had known it till now would never be the same. Emily suddenly appeared with her Dad, a simple but elegant white gown contrasting with the dark thick lawn and I was surprised that her Dad could keep his tears from seeking the earth below. With his first few steps and his daughter at his side is where my tears began, you see I knew, all Daddy's know, that this walk shared by Father and daughter can only end in one way. A Father giving his baby away with a kiss, no Father wants to be a Father when it comes to his little girl he always wants to be: Daddy. A Daddy wants those little fingers back, the giggling, the innocence, the boy craziness, even the late night phone calls on school nights. This is what the Almighty planned, all Daddy's know this day will come, we just never wish it would. I watched the transition where he offered her hand to this young man, he even said the words that would seal them together forever, and I marveled at his strength as my tears touched the earth and thought how perfect and wonderful it all was... that the very Man and the very God who both shared in the creation of her life would at the same moment in time unselfishly entrust that precious life to another......

2008-11-14T12:23:00.003-05:00

Huron Memory

It started out simple enough, just a classic stroll along a beach, your sneakers getting snagged in March snow left along the trail heading to the lake known by the French as the "Fresh Water Sea". I had never touched the water of this lake and simply yearned to touch it. Pick up a few ounces of its 23,000 sq miles and let its icy liquid coldness escape between my fingers for the first time. I don't understand my desires I simply yearn to fulfill them. Like my desire for you…it's in the analysis of my desire that I get confused not in the fulfillment of it.
And as we strolled along in the dead calm of that evening we stopped and listened for a second and heard that the lake that appeared frozen in winter still was erupting and alive. The ice moving and shifting a phenomenon we were suddenly tuned in to, the subtle breathing of millions of gallons of water yearning to be set free from the binds of its winter constraints. The ice like dominos would break, creak and fracture in an endless melody of evolving sound; no doubt yearning to be warm and dance in the summer among children's feet and bring the gift of life to so many creatures that only the creator knows the exact number.
As we approached the clear running stream feeding the lake as it has for millions of years, they appeared. Two geese disturbed by our approach lofted from the stream and landed 100 yards away in one of the few water holes in an endless sea of ice. How wonderful that this couple, mated for life, joined another couple near this ice covered lake. I revealed this to you, that they were joined for life, and as I did a flock of geese flew overhead and I thought for sure the couple would lift themselves from the cold waters and join their fellow geese in flight, but they didn't, they stayed together. Comfortable with the peace and security of just each other knowing that neither would act alone, knowing that their journey was shared by the pair of them and not influenced by their kind flying just above. Knowing instinctively, that they, first and foremost, were bound to each other bound for eternity as God ordained in these simple creatures.
We left them in peace to simply be in the presence of each other only, blessed to sense and know the ability to communicate in only two ways, in presence and in spirit. How fortunate that we can speak, but in you I find and need no more than that simple couple; mated for life, surrounded in peace and simply yearning to be bound to each other. Not in the midst of analysis just the midst of the heart and spirit that reveals the truth of our union and has nothing to do with the mind. What a precious simple understanding of our love… I bask in its simplicity taught to me by two of God's simple creatures lying gently together on what the French once called The Fresh Water Sea.

2008-11-14T12:20:00.001-05:00

For Richard's Mom

In the quiet, when the boys are asleep, I listen. Listen for the memory of you, listen for the sound of your voice, listen for the memory of your smile, the softness of your fingers, the smell of your hair; listen. Some nights the listening leads to overwhelming grief, some nights to overwhelming love, but most nights I lie between cool sheets and between listening and sleep, I reach out my hand and your spirit reaches out to me and whispers: "Here I am Mom, go to sleep".

2008-11-14T12:15:00.001-05:00

Rings of Life

It was a sunny day, a perfect day really to pick the rings out; a long process for you, not a shopper whose mind is in any particular hurry. This after all was pretty special as far as shopping goes, but honestly the rings were never that important to me, they were simply symbols of something special, timeless, and eternal. I don't know how long the ritual of rings had been in place but regardless of the time I guess something needs to be a public display of something that can't possibly be seen with human eyes…a spiritual union; how else could something so obvious to the heavens be made plain to the world.
I knew where I would formally ask the question, it wasn't far from where we were, it was my place that I was willing to turn into OUR place. It was a symbol of so many things that represent "us" a light house built in 1872, a symbol of safety, of light, a warning, a beacon of hope, of warmth. I wondered as we walked hand in hand how many others had made this journey, how many saw the symbolism in its strength and its age. How many men dropped to their knee and gave their lives to the one the Almighty graciously entrusted them with. I was nervous but I had no shadow of a doubt in my mind or my heart. The water was beautiful, as was the sky, it so often is when winter is yearning to become spring, yearning to finally breathe life back into the world. To the left between some shallow dunes a footprint filled path led to the place where I could kneel to one knee and ask your: forgiveness.
Forgiveness for mistakenly thinking I had found the right person in the past, not seeing my soul mate as the Lord had chosen, blinded by my desire to simply be relieved of my life of loneliness. I was ashamed but would make it right by seeking the blessing of the only person that could free my heart: you. What a precious gift God gave me in failures of my past, how precious the pain of those failed relationships, knowing that through it all this woman would hold my head in her hands, pull me close to her heart, tears in my eyes and simply, agree to be bound, eternally: with me. Whether the rings remained in the shadows or for the world to see was of no consequence, the angels danced that day as only angels can, rejoicing that these two hearts were finally brought together as the precious Father intended all along.

2008-11-14T12:11:00.002-05:00

First Date

The neighborhood was one of post war suburban sprawl, her car in the drive; she was waiting, easier for me than her I suspect at least I was in motion. It's always the same, no one appears in pictures as they really are, and it's that combination of spirit and soul that when added to the mix a life is born and at that moment the real truth is revealed; the depth, the intellect, the joy and even pain. She was nicer looking in person, a pleasant surprise not always the case in situations such as these. And thrown into the mix was her Mother, an elderly woman with a certain spark in her eye and a comfortable confidence. Unusual to meet so soon but I liked the peace of her and more importantly having the opportunity to meet a part of her. The part of her that gave her the precious gift of life, if not for her….she… would not be.
I watched; long limbs and squared shoulders and a beautiful neck like Grace Kelly, beauty is in the details and in her I searched; her hair was more auburn than brown but brought out her eyes, her eyebrows were thin and appeared black and I wondered if that was her real hair color. I listened to her Mom, her niece and to her. I heard the words but watched; her. She was very slender, she was just right, she didn't know it but she was. She has a couple of things that I would change but she'll never know and I will never tell her because what can't be changed shouldn't be revealed after all none of us are perfect. I knew for certain I would be proud to have her with me anywhere, with anyone.
And she's intelligent, not with formal education but pure intellect which makes her quick and desirable to me. She's one of those people that literally could have been anything she wanted but we have little control over our journey sometimes. Her education, her pay, her title was all irrelevant to me. I would take of those earthly financial needs if things came to pass. All I wanted was to know if we had a shared destiny, a fulfillment of our mutual call by the Almighty.
My God she could talk, like a 13 year old, hardly a break for air, but I didn't mind it gave me time to take her in. I hated where we went, and wanted to leave the public nature of it all but at least my leg could touch hers under the table a detail not lost on me, it's always in the details. I just wanted out of there, and the first time I held her hand was then on the way out, I just took it, felt her long fingers, longer than any other, at that point I sensed what may have been a hint of uneasiness but in the truck that disappeared and I think she enjoyed my touch.
Maybe she enjoyed my delicate touch but she didn't reveal it one way or another. I just stroked the top of her hand, a slight touch of her wrist, brushed her hair once with my hand, it's always in the details. I sang to her, which I hoped may have been a new experience for her, I sang John Mayer's "Our love was comfortable and so broken in" because that song represents my greatest yearning, just that perfect peace that only soul-mate's can share that has always eluded me and I suspect her.
I'm not sure she knows what it's like to receive the gift of love from a man, the capacity of a man to adore her and treat as precious. To be given pleasure, comfort, protection just as a simple gift an expression of one's love to another, quite frankly I'm not sure I do. Only through people outside my lover's circle have I received that kind of unconditional giving.
Sushi was a test, to see if she had the capacity to expose herself to something new, the first time we said grace together. Although I desired to reveal to her my home she opted to delay which was the right thing to do. I just wanted to expose her to me, the details of this and that, but in the final analysis I would have yearned to be encased in her arms and her body and at this stage we both would have both regretted it, if she even would desire me which I've yet to find out. Instead we returned to her Mother's home and sadly we had little time alone because as we settled on the couch her Mother returned from church. Not that I didn't enjoy her presence just would have coveted a few minutes of peace and privacy with her.
But I was happy, content, and took grasp of her ankle with my hand again no feed back, no reciprocation, but that's okay maybe she needs for the first time in her life to be reached out for without any expectation of HAVING to return or maybe it was just her Mom so near, it's always in the details…. I decided to finally depart, her Mother as if sensing our need for privacy disappeared and I hugged her, kissed her cheek for the first time and asked for a kiss which I immediately sensed trepidation but it was quick, and on my way out I tested it again wondering did she want to kiss me? or was it the environment that prohibited it?
As is always the case you never know what the future holds, never know if you'll see the person again but I wanted to really touch her to give her a physical revelation of me to fill in that piece of the puzzle. And at least from my end I felt a sense of sadness that she didn't get a chance to feel my touch, to kiss me deeply, open up to me in a physical way that might cause her to feel a subtle inner yearning for Shawn, to begin the process of possibly creating an "US".
But maybe God through his Spirit is the better one to illicit that in her without my carnal assistance. He knows her details better than I, and in love and passion it's always: in the details.

2008-11-14T12:06:00.001-05:00

Faded Memory

Another election has passed but this one has significance. The normal apathy of who leads this great land has been replaced by simple fear. That a time envisioned in black and white has been lost. That somehow the grasp the common man had on our country's greatness has slipped through our fingers. That the world our Father's envisioned for us has eroded into a liberal cesspool of homosexual rights, unabated abortions, stem cell research, anti-gun rhetoric, welfare for the masses, and the death of an idyllic Mayberry world where people go to church, predators are kept from our children and America is a place known as the land of the free and the home of the brave. We have morphed into a country that drinks the dream kool-aid and in the name of righteousness the righteous are suppressed at every turn. A place where you have the freedom of speech as long as we speak what the audience wants to hear, where I can defend myself and my family from tyranny by calling 911, and our future president not only will negotiate with terrorists he'll have lunch with them. What revelation occurred that an extremist left wing, pro-abortion, anti-gun, pro-homosexual was the answer to all our problems? How can the duplicitous Christians rationalize their actions? I'm lost in the logic if it all. I feel like I'm in the Stepford Wives movie and not seeing the value in the "Change" of this man. I not only don't get caught up in the passion of his oratory I'm distraught that so many of my neighbors have. I keep thinking of how a German rose to power in the midst of economic depression, a people under the appearance of oppression lead like mice to their deaths with oratory, pomp and circumstance. While others dance and revel all I can do is watch in wonder at the celebration of a death, the death of the real dream that was……..America.

2008-10-30T13:13:00.002-04:00

Weathered Wood and Love

It was an old red barn, commonly known as an English barn it was 50 by 75 ft and I loved her, although she's not mine anymore I still do. She was moved there in 1908, five years after the house on the property was built in 1903 for a Mennonite minister and his third and last wife. She was made of hand hewn timbers of oak, poplar and cedar shingles with thousands upon thousands of fine square nails in her roof. Hewn by hands that had no choice but to take simple tools and with sweat and muscle shape this huge building into a tool itself. A tool made from things that once lived, to house things that bring life. I call the barn "she" because this barn had so many attributes that made it a thing of beauty that like other more mechanical devices transcends from being just created to truly being a creation. In typical fashion she had a milking area with rusty old stations that held the cow in position and a block milk house that was at the northern end and had the only sign of any sort of climate control. Hand carved pins that held her together and old hay from decades before. Her ridge line was 50ft above the earth and had greeted so many sunsets and sun rises it would be difficult to count. I was fortunate enough to sit up there many times and simply enjoy the view, watch a few of the Lord's sunsets myself and feel the gentle breeze of summer. I never really felt I owned her I felt more as a steward over her. I fixed the foundation of stone dug from the earth nearby, replaced the siding as money allowed and prayed that lightning would stay away. I knew that she was standing a century before I came along and I prayed that the roof I put on would maintain her until another owner comes along that would see her for what she is. My fondest memories involved my daughter on the tire swing out front and the simple joy of having the gift of appearing to own that barn that you could see from a mile away. The reality was I never really owned her, she has always owned me. I was simply there to preserve her for another generation to laugh on a swing out front and enjoy the view aloft on warm summer evenings.

S.B. McWilliams 2008

2008-10-30T11:30:00.004-04:00

Canadian Boat Ride

It was a dreary, rain filled morning, with a banged up aluminum boat with no doubt much more time on the edge of the water than on its surface. The smell of fall was in the air, damp leaves that lived up their short life before the glory of their color could arrive. It was a new lake for us, my bride and me. Like a dream we had spent the night listening to the rain cascade endlessly through the canopy that surrounded the cabin. The boat was a relic of 1950's mass production, the remnants of her beginning was the shadow of a turquoise stripe across her bow. Somehow the stripe had clung to the surface of the metal as tenaciously as the environment tried to retch it to the wind. I struggled with whether to take her out but in the end the call of the water caused me to walk moss covered paths to see what she could do. The boat was stored on two ramps of wood, dragged to its position by a winch that was strapped to a birch, the tree younger than the boat, the winch older than some of the rocks by the looks of it. Any effort to force her down the slide was as much a risk to the boat as it was to the person desiring to get in her. Moss covered granite stones; mud and compost helped me slide perfectly but was of no use with regard to the boat. I managed to break her free and she slid gracefully into the water. Somehow by the grace of the Almighty I slid with her surprising myself that I was in her instead of along side her in the cool water. My bride joined me at the shore looking like she was ready for a photo shoot in yachting magazine and while I, dripping with sweat, wondered myself if there was a super yacht coming and picking her up instead of me. I arrived at the pier with an oar in my right hand and prayed that as her majesty came down the ladder that her Polo deck shoes would not get soiled which didn't matter because I would personally soil them for her as I struggled to start the beast while in gear. My bride settled in to the comfortable aluminum seat and immediately informed the Captain that the climate control system of my fine ship was allowing her to become cold and wet. Ultimately, I returned my bride to the shore and I sped off and found a new affection for this little boat. Like an ugly horse that when set free runs like the wind so did she and I was once again filled with the joy and peace of the water below and the wind in my face. Boats are just like people having their own personality, how they approach the water, how they react to it, how strong they are in adversity, how beautiful they are in view, how well they are crafted, how they stand the test of time, how they endure over time, and how they bring joy to the people use them. I won't remember the sweat and effort; it was all washed away by the wind in my face on a little boat brought to life.

S.B. McWilliams 2008

2008-10-30T11:27:00.002-04:00

Steel Rails to Heaven

It was iron and it was black and stretched so far down the track into the setting sun it seemed to all most touch it. Its life began in the depths of the earth in iron ore deposits that had been formed millions of years before. The ore was unearthed not by modern heavy equipment but the sweat and muscle of late 1800's labor. No health plans, no safety, no dreams just a few tons of ore a day to feed the kids and buy a little coal for the stove. This was the conception of an Iron Horse, a brooding sleeping giant that when brought to life lifted its voice and roared to the heavens with a never ending stream of smoke. As if to announce; “I am alive” and the children would run to their Mother’s sides and never fail to turn and watch the splendor of it all. Through the years the common thread no matter the generation is the mournful cry that beckons the listener. Its cry calls to us, down mountain valleys, desert flats, inner city ghettos, ocean vista’s, and flower filled Colorado meadows. Everyone knows they are machines, that they are simply tools going on their way. It seems, however, when we are not with everyone, and we are simply alone to listen, it whispers something to our soul. For over 150 years they’ve whispered the same secret, “I’m going someplace and I can take you with me” and for just as long we have yearned to go; escape the confines of our normal lives and take a different path. A journey where we too can cry out under moon lit skies for others to join us on steel rails that take a path to Heaven.

S.B. McWilliams 2008

2008-10-29T15:46:00.006-04:00

Stones under Heaven

She came a thousand miles on a wagon with her beloved. It was a thousand miles of creaking oak wheels, dust storms, high winds and rain. A thousand miles of being pregnant with child number 3 and the constant jar and bump on a literal sea of prairie. A thousand miles of wondering how her family was back home, is her Mom okay? is the farm doing well? missing the smell of cookies in Mom's kitchen. And through it all she had nothing at times but hope, faith, and her precious beloved. Her beloved's hands were calloused from the leather reins, dark brown from day after day of pounding sun and his voice hoarse from encouraging the horses to take just one more step. A few months earlier Colorado was a place so distant it seemed worlds away. The stories of it's beauty were hard to believe but they would take this journey together. She only knew that if nothing else that in that togetherness they would see this land. Their success and failures would be THEIRS and theirs alone. There was something fulfilling and even a bit selfish about knowing that even their disappointments would be hers and his alone. Every hardship, every joy, every reward was theirs to share. One hundred years later just west of Creede Colorado they shared something else, two piles of stones, for decades unmarked watching the sun rise in the morning and the heavens give birth to the stars at night. No one really knows their story. I only know that when that last stone was placed atop the pile the person who placed it there so long ago, as did the Lord, knew that her and her beloved truly belonged… together.

S.B. McWilliams

2008-08-10T12:00:00.003-04:00

Angels in the Shadow

It was known for silver, 10,000 came to wretch it from the earth.
It was a time when death was as familiar as the sunrise. For millions of years it lay dormant and in less than a century the passion, the lust, the greed, the lives were lost…but no matter how much earthly treasure was removed the heavenly treasure remained.
Deep valley's with river wild, mountain peaks kissing the very face of God, thunder rolling while the sun still shines, and rainbows so frequent they are just as common as the clouds.
A few miles west of a town called Creede God set aside a special place, a patch of ground 30 acres in size, insignificant in the scale of things but with one unique difference…it was blessed.
This place was chosen by the Almighty himself to be a sanctuary for all who came. The mountain winds dancing off her timber walls, rain singing off her metal roof, and if you listen closely you will here angels whispering in the Aspen trees.
It is a place where dreams are in color, where silence becomes your friend, where the world as you knew it is forgotten at least for a time…and every once and a while the fragrance of the Almighty is in the breeze.
If you are here consider yourself rare, because God does not share this place with but a chosen few friends and family of his beloved…and a few special angels in the shadow of an Aspen tree.

S. B. McWilliams-2008

2008-08-10T11:42:00.004-04:00

Colorado Yearning

It has only been a few hours since we left and I yearn for Colorado.
I found a piece of God there, as if he whispered to me and said "Have a glimpse of my glory".
Mountains as high as an eagle can fly, rivers rushing exactly as they have for millions of years, herds of Elk out in the distance and more rainbows and waterfalls in one day than I have seen in years.
How wonderful at last to be nearly a half century of age and finally to be immersed in God's creation.
I can't decide if I miss Colorado or miss seeing and feeling the presence of God around every pass and in every rainbow.
In the evening when I lay down my head and seek peace from my troubles of this life; I will dream of Colorado. I will listen for the comfort of the Lord who after he created her found it much too painful to leave… as I just have……

S.B. McWilliams 2008