Author: newkingjim

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

Several years ago, I was in a band with CRU, a Christian organization based in California. For over 4 years, I spent most of my time on the road doing concerts, both in the US and overseas. One day, we got news from the national office, that they wanted us to record an album, to make available at our concerts. We were only going to have a limited amount of time to make the record, since we were scheduled to do an overseas tour within weeks.

After several days of preparation, the recording sessions began at a studio in Southern California. We all were feeling major pressure to get the record done quickly, so we could take it with us on tour. Our producer was in a “One Hit Wonder” band in the early 1960’s called The Dartells, so he had a lot of experience working with stressed out musicians. Though the first day was a bit shaky, we finally settled into a groove, and seemed to be on track to finish the project by the end of the week.

A song we still needed to record, was one that I had written, and sang the solo on. As the band prepared to lay down the tracks, I began feeling tinges of performance anxiety. Our producer called me in, and asked if I could sing a practice solo with the band, so they could have some vocals in their headset. Since it would be a practice track for me, he set me up in a hallway with a microphone, and told me to sing the song exactly like I did in concert. As the band played in another room, I sang my heart out in the hallway, feeling absolutely no pressure to perform.

After we were done with the song, our producer called me into the listening room. He had secretly recorded my solo, and wanted me to hear it. When it was done playing, he looked over at me and said, “that’s a take.” He knew that without the pressure to perform, he would be able to get the very best out of me. Though I tried a couple more times to improve what I did in the hallway, I was unable to.

I learned a lot from my hallway experience that day. I saw first hand the futility of trusting in myself, and my own efforts to accomplish what only God can do. Though it’s a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again, I’ve seen that the more I allow Christ to live His life in and through me, the more I will experience His deep, abiding peace, in the midst of this chaotic and turbulent world.

“Cease striving and know that I am God.” Psalm 47:10

We’re starting into the Christmas season this year, and it got me thinking about peace on earth. Or the lack thereof. I’ve already seen news clips of craziness at Black Friday sales (which is why I’m sitting at home with locked doors). Ukraine is at war with Russia, dominating headlines. But many other smaller countries are also at war. We’re often unaware of just how much conflict is occurring outside of our own circle of reference. So (I use that word a lot) I’m going to spend a few posts considering what the Bible says about peace.

In Isaiah, we see the famous reference to Jesus as the Prince of Peace. The promise being that when Jesus rules, there will be peace on earth. My struggle with this concept is that, supposedly, Jesus is ruling in the hearts and minds of his followers. But our Christian churches don’t seem to be getting along all that well as we fracture and splinter over interpretations of the Bible. Many of us who attend church together find it difficult to get along with each other (if you don’t get along with me, I’m certain it’s not MY fault!).

Ephesians 2:14 says that Jesus is our peace. In the context of that verse, the general meaning seems to be that Jesus will heal the rift between Jews and Gentiles. Jesus will bring peace between two people groups who have never gotten along. It’s not too much of a stretch to suppose that Jesus can and will bring peace between our various churches and the various members of individual churches. If there isn’t peace, then we must be doing something wrong. Or not doing something right.

What that might be I’ll explore in my next post.

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

This is a picture I took a few years ago, out in the Oregon countryside. Though these trees had been here for quite some time, it was really the first time I had ever stopped and took notice. The Fall colors were so vibrant, that I had to pull over and take a few pictures. I remember asking myself why I had never noticed them before. The only answer I could come up with was, I was so consumed by the stresses of life, that I had failed to recognize the beauty God had placed around me. From that point on, I made a commitment to make these trees a regular part of my yearly “Fall experience.”

The following year, I decided to drive by the trees once again, to anticipate when they would return to their Fall splendor. As I pulled over to get a better view, my heart began to sink. An entire row of trees had been trimmed down some thirty feet, presumably as a result of a recent ice storm. There would be no majestic Fall display that year, nor for many years to come. At least not like the ones I had previously enjoyed.

God’s message to me was clear. If I allow the weight of the world to consistently pull me down, I can be in danger of missing the beauty that He has placed around me today. God has promised to walk with me each step of the way, through wooded valleys and lofty mountaintops. If I will only take time to recognize His beauty in and around me, I can experience His peace, through both the smooth and rough terrain. For the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.” Psalm‬ ‭23:1-2

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

It was a normal Sunday, and my parents walked me to my Sunday School class at church. The first half of the class was filled with several planned activities to keep us four and five year olds occupied. During one of the games, I overheard a children’s worker asking another, if she would teach the lesson, because the regular teacher was sick. Though reluctant to do so, she finally agreed. Once the activities concluded, she walked to the front of the class.

Always the intuitive kid, I noticed that she seemed extremely nervous as she began. The lesson was about David and Goliath, and how God used the extraordinary faith of David to bring the giant down. As she continued, her nervousness seemed to increase. As I glanced around the room, none of the other kids even seemed to notice. It finally got so bad, that I closed my eyes, and said a silent prayer on her behalf. Then something happened that I will never forget. As she continued to talk about David’s willingness to be used by God, a peace began to come over her face. It was as if I could visibly see her begin to trust God, just as David did when he went against Goliath. Though I was a pre-schooler, it made such an impact on me, that I walked up to her, and thanked her for the lesson that day.

I don’t know who that Sunday School teacher was, or whatever became of her. But what I do know, is that the words she shared that day, have been permanently imprinted on my heart ever since. And because she was willing to trust God, and give Him everything she had, I was able to leave that Sunday School class, ready and willing to be a warrior for God, for the rest of my life.

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs‬ ‭22:6‬ ‭

As I’m preparing for yet another long drive to a city I haven’t been to before, I find myself recalling my first driving experiences in various locations. There was Philadelphia, where the roads are so small that two VW bugs have to battle to get past each other. There was Boston, where my innate ability to find my destination was disrupted by roads that start off in one direction and then meander off to places unknown. There was the Road to Hana, that was both beautiful and just a little bit treacherous with its unending, winding roadway. And there was Highway 82 out of Artesia in New Mexico. This one scared me because it was such a long drive through the middle of nowhere with literally no one else on this road in either direction.

                So many strange thoughts occurred to me while we were driving on Highway 82. Why is no one else on this road? Do they know something I don’t? Did I read the map correctly or am I actually driving towards Mordor? (This was before GPS and Mapquest existed and could reroute you away from Mordor). Roswell isn’t far from here. Are aliens abducting people from this road? Why did I choose this road in the first place? Why don’t they have some signs on this road saying, “Only X number of miles until you see people again”? What if my car breaks down out here?

                     We did eventually reach civilization that day. The experience has made me a little more cautious about choosing the roads I travel on. It’s a little more comforting to have fellow travelers around you. I know Robert Frost wrote that famous poem about the road not taken. It ends with the words, “two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” There’s something to be said for venturing out on unknown paths in your life. There’s much to be gained from the unexpected. But it doesn’t always turn out well. Just ask the Donner Party, who took the road less traveled to disaster.

                There’s a time for venturing out bravely into the unknown. There’s also a time for sticking with the known path and the safety of other people. How do you know which choice to make in the moment? I’ll let you know when I figure that out.

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

Camping was a regular part of my childhood. My dad used to love taking us on family outings, either at a state park, or on our way to Michigan to visit relatives. He always made sure we were fully equipped with the finest gear, to weather the most challenging of environments. I used to watch with anticipation, as he would unload our station wagon, and assemble our camp site. In just a short time, our tent would be up, and my mom would be busy frying potatoes on the portable gas stove.

Although we always had the latest and greatest camping equipment available, there was one simpler item that seemed to capture most of my attention. It was our Coleman lantern. I was completely fascinated with it, and how it could light up our campsite, even on the darkest of nights. If truth be told, there was another reason I was enamored with it. I was deathly afraid of the dark. Actually, it wasn’t the dark that I was afraid of, but what was growling or slithering in the woods around me. The lantern somehow gave me a sense of protection from the surrounding dangers.

One year, my dad decided to take us to a completely different campground we had never been to before. When we arrived, I noticed something that troubled me right away. The nearest public bathroom was a good distance from our campsite, and I would have to walk down a dirt path just to shower, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed. When I expressed that concern to my dad, he said, “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll walk down there with you.”

After we ate dinner and sat by the fire for a while, I knew the time had come. I was going to have to walk down that path. And even though my dad was going to walk with me, I still had a great deal of anxiety regarding the dangers we might encounter. When I finally told my dad I was ready to go, he did something totally unexpected. He grabbed the Coleman lantern instead of the flashlight. As he lifted the lantern over his head, he said quietly, “I will walk in front of you all the way there.” As we walked toward our destination, I began to truly understand, even as a child, that this is exactly what our God does, for each and every one of his children.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation— so why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?” Psalms‬ ‭27:1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

One morning, while on vacation in Michigan, my grandmother asked me and my younger brother, if we would go on a hike with her out in the country. She wanted to gather some wild berries, which she used to make her homemade pastries. She was also an avid photographer, who enjoyed taking pictures of wildflowers. We weren’t really excited about going, but she promised to make us one of her blueberry pies, if we went with her. That was definitely enough to convince us to go.

That afternoon, we hiked out to this beautiful field, where wild berries were growing in abundance. For the next couple of hours, we picked enough fruit to provide ample preserves, for the harsh Michigan winter. As dusk began to set over the countryside, my grandmother asked if she could take a picture of each of us, before we left. When it was my turn, she said, “I want you to stand sideways, and look straight at that fork in the road, where the two paths split. That way I can take a picture of your profile, with the beautiful sunset behind you.”

My grandmother’s comments completely caught me off guard. Little did she know, I was in the midst of a serious life crisis, where I was facing a “fork in the road” of my own. In this case, it had to do with my relationship with God. The first road, led to the one true God, which would require a total surrender on my part. The second road, led to a god of my own making, which would require me nothing. As my grandmother snapped the picture, it had become clear to me, that I had already chosen the wrong road.

The next several years were very difficult. My life was unraveling before my very eyes. The path that had once promised me freedom, had now led to betrayal. One day, while in college, I was talking with a friend about my commute to school. He mentioned that there was a different road I could take, that would substantially cut my commute time in the mornings. The next day, I decided to take this alternative route. As I was driving, a song came on that I had listened to hundreds of times. On this particular morning, one lyric now seemed to tower above the rest:

“There’s still time to

change the road you’re on.”

I eventually did change the road I was on, and surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. Since then, I have been radically changed, and have seen HIM be the one, to lead me into pastures of plenty. And the fruit that he has produced along the way, can only be attributed to his immeasurable, and awe inspiring grace, which rescued me, those many years ago.

“Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.” John‬ ‭14:6‬

Most people will recognize this statue of Romulus and Remus. As the story goes, they were twin brothers abandoned by their parents and set adrift in a basket on a river. Sorry, Moses. They stole your story. It’s not as well known that their mother was a vestal virgin and daughter of the previous king. She was apparently not as vestal virginny as she should have been, though she claims that the god Mars came to her in a sacred grove. When her pregnancy became known, the new king ordered the brothers killed. Anyway, the brothers washed ashore and were found by a mother wolf who took them in and nursed them to keep them alive. Sorry, Tarzan. They were first.

After some months went by, a kindly shepherd took the infants and he and his wife raised them. I’m not sure why the mama wolf allowed this, but I suspect another Roman god was involved. They always seemed to be interfering and causing problems. In time, Romulus and Remus grew up to be great leaders of their people. Like all great leaders everywhere, they wanted more power, so they decided to found their own city. And they wanted to build it at the spot on the river where they came ashore in the basket. Unfortunately, the two brothers identified two different locations. They argued. They couldn’t agree on where they had washed up to shore. Did they come to a reasonable compromise? No, they did not. They fought. One brother killed the other. That brother founded the city of Rome on the spot he identified. The rest is Roman history.

There’s not much about this story that’s historical. We do know Rome was built next to the Tiber River. It was so swampy that the Romans had to build a huge stone drainage system to ‘drain the swamp.’ This makes me suspect the other brother might have been right about the location. We also know the story of Romulus and Remus was a part of the identity of Rome. The wolf image became a part of their culture, appearing in architecture, pottery, drawings, and jewelry. It was a fictional story but it became part of the cultural identity of the Roman world. It may not have been true, but the Romans lived as though it were real.

Which leads to the question: how much of our individual lives is true and how much is fiction? In this post truth world we live in, many would argue that it doesn’t matter. We create our own truth and live out that fiction just like the Romans. My Christian faith says a lot about knowing the truth. It says the truth will set you free. It teaches that denying the truth has consequences. Looking for the truth is painful when you have been living life based on fiction. But we need to look for it and we need to live by it. Truth is better than fiction.

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

One day, my mother brought home a vintage clock that she purchased from a local antique store. Even though she had no idea where to put it, she felt compelled to buy it, since it appeared to be in good, working order. When I first saw it, I couldn’t figure out why she bought it. It looked to me like it was worn out, and had already served it’s purpose. It would also require one of us to wind it up every day with a key, just for it to be useful. All that didn’t seem to matter to my mother, and she proceeded to have my dad make a shelf, to display this worn out relic from the past.

For the next couple of years, we would all take turns, winding up the clock, and resetting the time, just to keep it going. In spite of our best efforts, there were still times, where the clock would remain motionless for days, due to the fact that we were all occupied with other activities. One day, I noticed the clock had stopped, and got the key as usual, to wind it back up. As I was turning the key, the spring mechanism gave way, causing it to spin in the opposite direction. Not only did this render the key completely useless, but the hands eventually came off as well. My mother finally acknowledged that the clock was broken.

Even though it was broken, the clock still remained on the shelve for the next couple of years. Then one day, my mother got an idea. As a gifted artist, who had painted many portraits and landscapes, she decided that she would use the clock as a canvas, to paint a picture that would last, well beyond it’s inner mechanisms. When she was through, it was clear that a new purpose for a broken and lifeless clock had emerged.

As you can see in this old picture, the clock is proudly displayed behind me.

And though it’s original purpose was shattered by brokenness, a new beauty has been brought to life, which has lasted for several years. As I think back on this experience, it’s obvious to me, that in the same manner, God uses our brokenness, to bring to life His pictures of beauty in and through us. And yet, the pictures that he paints will last for more than just a few years. They will in fact, last for all eternity.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted And saves those who are crushed in spirit.”‭‭ Psalms‬ ‭34:18‬

I was visiting Pompano Beach, a nice place to escape to for a few days . From my window on the tenth floor, along with the intra coastal waterway and the beach (yes, great view), I could see a small grassy park with a raised mound of grass in the center. I didn’t think too much of it. Maybe it was part of a children’s playground. Maybe the city workers weren’t paid enough to level it. Maybe the Mole Man (Marvel Comic’s Villain) was burrowing up to take over the world. I didn’t know. It was just a mound of dirt.

After a closer examination, I could see a small brick structure at the top of the mound. The next morning, I took a walk to see what this mound and structure was. Actually, I looked it up online first, but that’s far more boring than pretending I didn’t know what it was until I got there. Anyway, when I reached the mound (yes, I really walked there) I discovered this tiny park was called Indian Mound Park. The mound is an old burial ground containing the bones of Tequesta Indians who inhabited the area hundreds of years ago. The little brick structure is a memorial with a commemorative metal plate explaining that the Tequesta buried their dead in community graves.

The past is everywhere around us. You never know where there might be an ancient burial ground (home developers, watch Poltergeist and beware). You never know where there might be lost treasure. Here in Florida, we have a stretch of coast called the Gold Coast because people are always finding coins, jewelry, and pottery from the hundreds of ships that sank in that stretch of water. You never know how much of the past you’re surrounded by until you start intentionally looking for it. Then you find out that the past surrounds you. It’s inescapable. So don’t ignore it. Respect it. And learn from it.