ol' man river and ol' mama lake
Walking the Mississippi River Levee in Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana
Greetings, beloved brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ:
I serve a risen Saviour, He’s in the world today. I know that He is living, whatever men may say. I see His hand of mercy; I hear His voice of cheer. And just the time I need Him, He’s always near. He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today!
It’s been a while, and as mentioned in my the last newsletter dated 27 January, FPGM is moving away from these sporadic email newsletters. Email seems now obsolete for these types of things, with low readership amidst spam, scam, and junk overload—our open rate has only been about 50%. To ensure those with genuine interest can stay connected, we now share brief updates, sensitive details, pressing needs, field reports, and prayer requests in REAL-TIME via a private Telegram channel (Zerayim), exclusively for FPGM supporters and prayer partners.
Telegram is a secure, no-cost app (download free on iOS, Android, desktop, or web). The channel is moderated for focus: only reactions/emoji allowed—no comments or notification floods. If you give to/pray for FPGM, please join to keep up with the work: If you don’t already have the free Telegram app, download it FIRST. Then, click on the Telegram logo to the right to request to join the private Zerayim Channel:
Reports in REAL-TIME from our second walk across America (#TheLongWalkUSA_BigRiver), next week’s labor in Peru, and this summer’s Team Yeshua will only come via this secure Zerayim Channel.
It saddens me to report that #HalichaIL, our planned evangelistic walk across Israel, has been POSTPONED indefinitely. On the eve of departure with two of my children (Charlotte & Josiah), all flights into Tel Aviv were suspended and the door of opportunity closed with the conflict in the Middle East. A lot of work and planning had already been put into this effort, but thankfully, everything expended on flights and occupancy was ultimately recovered. The Hebrew Gospel tracts we designed and printed have been temporarily shelved with the hopes that the door will again open sometime down the road:
We had our bags pretty much packed and were genuinely disappointed. Charlotte and Josiah had both secured time off from work and had sacrificially set aside six weeks to serve the Lord in obedience to the Great Commission …
… Therefore, we determined not to let the time set aside go to waste. For, “a man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps” (Proverbs 16:9). Several weeks prior, I had been playing around on Google Maps. I love studying maps and contemplating literal ends of the earth and ends of the road. It’s a great bathroom exercise. For some reason, I found myself drawn to a spot noted “The Southernmost Point in Louisiana,” at the end of Tide Water Road south of the tiny community of Venice. Nearby lies the Head of the Passes and the mouth of the Mississippi River. There’s an old sign there covered in stickers, at least according to Google Maps. Hmm, I thought, and then moved on to something else. I had some packing to do for Israel and needed to put another coating of copper spray-paint on my wooden snake.
Three days after our first flights were cancelled and the morrow after the backup flights were also scrapped, I shared this update on the aforementoned Zerayim Telegram Channel:
3.13.2026
If you familiarize yourself with the geography in Acts 16:6-10, you’ll see that the Apostle Paul wandered about over a lot of miles in Asia Minor, waiting for direction from the LORD. He tried to go places but was “forbidden of the Holy Ghost” (16:6) and “the Spirit suffered them not” (16:7) He finally ended up in Troas where Luke joined up with him (note the change from “they” in verse 8 to “us” in verse 10) and where he got the notable Macedonian Call. His plans were changed multiple times, but it all redounded to the glory of God and an incredible work of the Great Commission.
My heart was truly heavy that the Spirit suffered us not to go to Israel where I had hoped to be walking and preaching with my homemade brazen serpent on a pole. By this moment, we may have even logged a few starting miles down at the Red Sea. Instead, we were “forbidden of the Holy Ghost” because of events beyond our control and far higher than our pay grade, great matters whereby Christians would do well not to exercise their minds so much. It leads into great haughtiness. Read Psalm 131.
In an effort to salvage the next month already set aside for walking and preaching in Israel, we have sought the LORD, determined to walk and preach somewhere, just as Paul set his face to go somewhere and ended up in Troas after the roadblocks to Asia and Bithynia. Last week, we had the great privilege of celebrating the 5-year anniversary of the start of #TheLongWalkUSA by walking a 67-mile spur from that starting line at Cape Hatteras north along North Carolina’s Outer Banks, across Roanoke Island, through the town of Manteo, and over that long and dangerous old Manns Harbor Bridge to the mainland. Along the way, we enjoyed 47 Gospel encounters and gave away a Bible to a young lady from Serbia. A mile or so from that long bridge to the mainland, we passed by a sign along US 64 in Manteo that read: Murphy NC 563.
There’s an old cliche here in North Carolina, “Murphy to Manteo.” You don’t truly travel North Carolina unless you have been from Murphy to Manteo. On #TheLongWalkUSA, we neither passed through Manteo nor the spot west of Murphy on US 64 where a companion sign reads: Manteo 563.
However, a short 8.5 mile spur from Shoal Creek Church on Candy Mountain Road in Cherokee County (a spot we walked past on 8/8/2021, an afternoon with 6 Gospel encounters on very backwoods back roads) will connect us to that companion sign and form an unbroken Cross-walking route from Murphy to Manteo QUITE LITERALLY.
Josiah, Charlotte, and I will head out this afternoon to complete that unbroken route … but only as a means to get the legs warmed up. All that walking last week was physical training for walking across Israel. We can’t let it go to waste, nor the window of opportunity already set aside. Not long after I completed my first coast-to-coast bicycle ride for the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ in 2004 (4,712 miles from Surf City, NC to Neah Bay, WA), the Lord began to press upon my spirit to pedal across America again, this time from the top to the bottom. A year or so later, I did—3,412 miles from Escourt Station, ME to Key West, FL.
That Isaiah 30:21 prick in my spirit has been eerily similar of late. I believe it’s time for another walk across America, this time from bottom to top, and what better north-south artery is there than the Mississippi, ‘OL MAN RIVER.
In a couple of days, Lord willing, we’ll start walking from the end of the road, well below New Orleans at the mouth of the Mississippi, a depressing spot on the bayou with an old sign that reads “The Southernmost Point in Louisiana.” Our ultimate goal: the Mississippi Headwaters at Lake Itasca in north-central Minnesota and a finish line all the way at the end of the Minnesota Arrowhead at Grand Portage on Lake Superior.
As for Israel, the homemade brazen serpent, all the Hebrew Gospel tracts I had printed, and other sundry supplies for that journey have been put in a box and temporarily set aside, ready for use when the door opens again (hopefully, before the end of this year). Paul was forbidden to preach the Gospel in Asia in Acts 16. He went to Greece. Later, the door opened and he spent three whole years in Ephesus, the heart of the Roman province of Asia (Acts 19). The Lord’s way are always higher than our ways, and I trust Him.
Your prayers and support are much appreciated. The SAG is loaded with plenty of Bibles and Gospel tracts. This is a step of faith involving a missionary journey that once started, like #TheLongWalkUSA, must be finished. We head out with a lot of unanswered questions. For now, we’ll go connect Murphy to Manteo and then set our compasses south. Stay tuned.
Please pray for #TheLongWalkUSA_BigRiver
America is still in dire need of spiritual awakening in her streets and genuine Holy Ghost revival in her local churches.
By God’s grace, we closed that unbroken route from the Murphy sign to the Manteo sign in North Carolina and then made our way to the end of the road in Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana. From that old sticker-covered sign, with “You Have Reached the Southernmost Point in Lousiana” barely discernible, a new walk across America, a big river route, began:
Fast forward to this week, and I posted this to our Zerayim Telegram Channel:
4.8.2026
Greetings in the name of Jesus. We finished up the first leg of #TheLongWalkUSA_BigRiver last Friday. It was a fitting conclusion to walk up with the cross after dark to the grave of my 3x great grandfather, Jesse Boyd (d. 1864,) in the Baton Rouge National Cemetery. That spot capped an unbroken 235-mile walking route from the mouth of the Mississippi at the end of the road south of Venice, LA. Along that leg across 10 Louisiana parishes, there were 184 Gospel encounters, and 3 Bibles were received. I look forward to resuming from the cemetery for another leg in May and then a short leg in June with Team Yeshua on our way to Montana. Lord willing, we will make it to Vicksburg, Mississippi before heading west and then ultimately south of the equator to the high desert of southeast Peru.
I'm actually traveling to Peru alone next week for about 11 days. Your prayers and support are much appreciated. I'll be rendezvousing with a missionary friend in Lima who is going to accompany me out to Puno to assist in making arrangements for this summer's Team Yeshua labors in that end-of-the-earth place. I need to secure some team housing and nail down a few other logistics. I also want to gauge the Israel backpacker presence and sow a few seeds before coming in July with the team. WE STILL NEED TO FILL THAT LAST SPOT FOR TEAM YESHUA CONTINENTAL DIVIDE. The team is now formally comprised of 3 young men (16, 16, 19) and two young ladies (17, 22). I'd like to have a third young lady to balance things out. Moreover, to make things work financially, a team of 6 is ideal and desired. Please pray for the Lord's provision in this. Time is running out. At the end of the day, we'll move forward with what He provides. It's just so hard to find young people these days who are willing to drop what they are doing for the Lord and sacrifice an entire summer on His terms for the Great Commission. It gets more difficult each year to find laborers. It makes me miss the days when we first started sending these teams. That first and second year, it was much easier to put together a team. Notwithstanding, the Lord is good, and I am excited about the five volunteers who have made the commitment. Next week's trip to Peru is a step of faith. Again, thanks for your prayers and support.
So yes, we are now 235 miles into #TheLongWalkUSA_BigRiver, and it has already been an adventure. We’ve carried the cross up from the Head of the Passes, into New Orleans, down Bourbon Street, past the Superdome and Tiger Stadium, and into the Baton Rouge National Cemetery right up to the grave of Jesse Boyd, my great, great, great grandfather.
The morning after we walked our 100th mile, I shared this testimony concerning my children. Oh what a blessing and a crown they are to an old man:
3.23.2006
Praise the Lord! A little after dark last night, having crossed the 4th Street canal in Gretna, we walked our 100th mile on #TheLongWalkUSA_BigRiver, and that by an unbroken route through the 9th Ward, the French Quarter, and down Bourbon Street in New Orleans, not exactly the safest or friendliest places on the Mississippi. The route continued via the Algiers Ferry through the ghetto in Gretna and over the Harvey Canal onto a quieter path along the Mississippi Levee with expansive views looking back upon the city. We fretted much about how to get around or through downtown New Orleans, and it was time wasted. I can say of the Lord exactly what the Psalmist testified in Psalm 31:21: “Blessed be the LORD: for he hath shewed me his marvellous kindness in a strong city,” a Psalm I found myself meditating upon this morning. Thank you for your prayers.
I’m very blessed by my two teenage children, Charlotte and Josiah. Today is Josiah’s 16th birthday, and yesterday he truly showed himself a man. Navigating the SAG through the French Quarter with its slough of one-way narrow streets was not something either of them could do or wanted to do. So, the Cross-walking fell upon them across perhaps one of the most wicked and spiritually dark neighborhoods in all of America, even on a Sunday afternoon. It goes without saying that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for our Lord, and I won’t dare repeat things said to my daughter, in particular, as they passed by peacefully with a cross and a “Jesus Saves” flag. Neither will I repeat what was screamed at my son simply because he said “Hey, how are y’all doing?” to some folks on Bourbon Street. The Bible refers to those types of responses to kind gestures as “without natural affection,” a societal mark of the Last Days (II Timothy 3:3). Notwithstanding, my son stood in the gap for his sister, and neither one of them backed down from exhorting the mockers to repent, warning of the coming judgment. One comedian was doing a stand-up act on Bourbon Street for a small audience. Even he had to get in a mocking jab on the mic as he saw the cross pass by. There are people in America who really hate the Lord Jesus Christ my friends. And many of these are not illegal immigrants or Muslims. They are white folks, some of them with thick southern accents.
I shadowed closely in the SAG and was ready at the drop of a hat to come to their aid if needed, thanks to 2-way radios and Apple’s FindMy feature on our iPhones. But every inquiry was met with: “We’re good, dad. All is well.” By the end of that leg, and notwithstanding any mockery, a whole stack of Gospel tracts had gone out, many saw the cross, and there were some good encounters, including a couple taking maternity photos and their hired photographer. Also: James, Gale, Kelly, James, Brandon, Rich, and Scott too. The Lord was good.
Late afternoon, I continued the route on the other side of the river for about 5 miles through a bit of a ghetto. I had numerous encounters myself and was able to pray over a strung-out man sitting outside a closed soup kitchen. I gave him a fresh pair of socks and a Bible. Antonio was his name, and He needs Jesus. I also happened upon a Jefferson Parish sheriffs deputy coming out of the jail, startling her a bit. She took a Gospel tract as I spoke of the Lord and of the kindness showed toward us by the Plaquemines Parish Sheriffs Department last week. At the 100th mile, Josiah and Charlotte were there to pick me up, and we all headed back to an Airbnb refuge in a quiet corner of an otherwise sketchy Algiers Point neighborhood. Hey, we’re grateful for it, as the industrial complex across the street ensures it is well-lit, and the location makes it easy for us to ferry across the river on foot today to go celebrate Josiah’s 16th birthday with a beignet from Cafe Du Monde. He and Charlotte also wanted to check out the aquarium, and they’ve truly earned that.
The last few days have been a whirlwind. Friday got us through the Chalmette Battlefield from the War of 1812, across the sketchy 9th Ward, and down to the east end of the Crescent Street Promenade—where we continued yesterday. There were lots of great encounters: Roman, Angie, James Brown, Dave, Mike, Roger, a bonafide gangbanger in the 9th Ward, a couple from New York touring the battlefield, a family from Florida doing the same, and many others. Some fresh socks went out to the homeless, and the Lord’s angels were an hedge about both the walkers and the SAG.
I ran into James Brown in the Chalmette National Cemetery, looking for the grave of an unknown soldier who died in the War of 1812. From a distance, as he approached on an afternoon walk in a quiet place, I presumed the encounter would be hostile, something there was about his gait. I presumed wrong, very wrong, and nearly missed a blessing by failing to engage. It proved a friendly conversation with a life-long New Orleans resident whose brother was killed in Vietnam. He said he had been reading the Bible more lately and gladly took a Gospel tract as I shared testimony. I praised the Lord and continued on down the path with my cross, thinking “That was that.” An hour or so later, when I rendezvoused with the SAG and my kids beside an old cannon and the very earthworks thrown up by the Americans and General Andrew Jackson in January of 1815, I learned that James had paid them a visit. “I ran into your dad and read what he gave to me. It really blessed me.” He then gave them a case of bottled water he had picked up for us and a $100 bill. The next morning, I was meditating in Mark 9 and came across verse 41: “For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward.” I thought of James Brown at the Chalmette Battlefield. Lord, bless him.
Then, there was Dave. As Josiah and Charlotte walked through the 9th Ward on a busy road, I was spotlighting them from a sketchy Dollar General parking lot where two homeless guys had asked me for a quarter and got two pairs of socks and Gospel tracts instead. A pickup truck pulled off the highway, and a guy got out with a bit of a Brad Terrell-esque manner. Josiah and Charlotte didn’t even flinch. I thought, “Uh-oh,” and prepared to dart across the highway. Then, I saw him giving my kids a big bear hug. Turns out, Dave was crying and so blessed to see the cross. He was simply a believer in need of some encouragement from the Lord and blessed my kids with $20 to get them something to drink. Folks, encouraging believers in the highways and byways is just as important as witnessing to the lost. Believers need encouragement in these dark days, and a bold testimony for the Gospel in a rough neighborhood can powerfully be so. Praise the Lord!
We celebrated Josiah’s 16th birthday with a rest day involving a ferry ride from Algiers Point, a visit to the Audubon Aquarium, coffee and beignets in the French Quarter, and an incredible spicy seafood boil for dinner.
As Josiah, Charlotte, and I ultimately walked with the cross out of the New Orleans ghetto and industrial sprawl and into the plowed sugarcane fields along the Mississippi in Saint Charles, Saint John the Baptist, Saint James Parishes, it got rural pretty quick, and in some places, white folks walking through with a Cross and a “Jesus Saves” Christian flag are definitely a strange and unusual site. The heat index was up; the humidity was high; the afternoon sun blazed down; and the bugs were biting, and all that well ahead of summer in the Deep South. Much of our route was the Mississippi Levee, and elevated path above local roads that makes the cross very visible to local passersby. As I plodded along, I found myself singing an old 1927 show tune about the Mississippi. The Beach Boys did a rendition thereof in 1968, but by far, the best is Paul Robson from 1928:
Ol’ Man River, he must know somethin’ but he don’t say nothin’;
He just keeps on rollin’ along.
He don’t plant taters, he don’t plant cotton;
And them that plants ‘em are soon forgotten.
But Ol’ Man River, he just keeps rollin’; he keeps on rollin’ along.
I remember even now. Roughly 160 miles, 7 Louisiana parishes, and 118 encounters into #TheLongWalkUSA_BigRiver, we were weary; and like the Psalmist, I was grieved for the transgressors (both rich and poor) who keep not the Word of God (Psalm 119:158) in a land where the General who led the Americans to an improbable victory over the British outside New Orleans in January of 1815 (we walked right across that old battlefield) and who later became President (He is featured on the $20 bill, you know, what has become more like a $5 note from the 1990s in terms of value) declared in his old age: “That BOOK [the Bible] is the Rock upon which this Republic rests.” My friends, spiritual delusion rests upon those at the tip-top of government power and influence in America and can be found all the way at the very bottom, even amongst the poorest of cane farmers along the Lower Mississippi. One day along Ol’ Man River, as Josiah walked with the cross through the rcommunity of Engard, he passed by a group of black men sitting outside an old grocer and shooting the breeze. It was still early afternoon, and most of them were at least two sheets to the wind. Josiah politely introduced himself and said, “I’m from North Carolina and am just walking the Mississippi River with this cross, praying for the country. It’s a mess, and we are so far from God. America needs Jesus.” These men were friendly enough, and they all took Gospel tracts, praise the Lord, but then Josiah, a 16-year old kid, was asked for money by grown-ups who seemed to have plenty of money to purchase afternoon booze: “Hey son, give this black man some money. You white people always have money, and we black folks need some of that money. Come on, give us some money.” I know how I would have responded, but Josiah handled it well. One of them sitting by declared, “Young man, I can see you love Jesus.” Now, that’s a fine testimony, and it makes a happy father.
Later, Josiah and Charlotte crossed paths with a friendly couple riding their ATV on the levee in spite of “No Motorized Vehicles” signs dotting the grass ad nauseam. They were genuinely curious (and that without an ounce of the prejudiced entitlement earlier encountered outside the grocer) and happily received a Gospel tract. Hey don’t get me wrong, prejudiced entitlement yes, but folks in those parts are at least polite about it and take Gospel tracts. Not once did we sense even an ounce of danger, despite the strangeness of our presence. That’s much more than I can say for plenty of predominantly white communities, some of them affluent, through which I have plodded along more than 9,000 cross-walking miles.
Jackson Browne once sang: “Doctor, my eyes! Tell me what is wrong. Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?” Having seen much, I understand the sentiment, but praise God my eyes were open enough to see one afternoon at a busy RaceTrac gas station in Boutte, LA. I was very tired and downtrodden, but the Lord lifted my spirits with a token of honesty in a dishonest country. It was busy, and the cashier was moving extra slow. I simply wanted to pay for my coffee, get a receipt for my gas, and get out of there. By the looks of that employee (especially the finger-in-a-light-socket dreadlocks), I found myself presuming with prejudice, and honestly, was it really any different than what Josiah encountered outside the Engard grocer? No it wasn’t, except for the fact that I kept my mouth shut, praise the Lord. I paid for my stuff and walked out. On my way to the SAG, I heard a rapping at the window, a hard knocking to get my attention. It was Nizair, the cashier. He was motioning me back inside. You see, I had given him a $10 bill and had forgotten to take my $7 in change. He kindly handed me the bills that he so easily could have stuffed into his pocket, and neither I, nor the register, would have ever known the difference. Immediately, my spirits were lifted. I thanked this young man for his dose of honesty in a dishonest world. I went out to the car and grabbed him a nice new pair of MK Socks (my brother’s company) and a Gospel tract as a token of my appreciation. I waited until the line dissipated and then re-approached Nizair, explaining how that one little act of honesty in this messed-up country, when no one but the LORD was watching, really edified this white preacher walking the entire length of the Mississippi with his cross. I thanked him again, and we returned to the levee, rejuvenated for a few more miles. Praise God for Nizair. Pray for his salvation.
Through it all, OL’ MAN RIVER, he just keeps on rollin’ along. And that, my friends, is a testimony to many things eternal.
I can’t wait to get back out there. Lord willing, Carter and Bethany will join me for another leg in May. And instead of having Team Yeshua meet me in Montana, we are praying about taking them to Montana by way of another short walking leg en route. There is no better way to start off a summer of Great Commission missions than by diving into our own Judea and Samaria with a week of Cross-walking through some of America’s most aberrant territory. What was long ago an affluent water highway lined with great wealth and large plantations, where, they say, literal floating castles could be seen moving down the river, now seems backward, delapidated, and forgotten. No floating castles, just barges and cargo ships.
Through it all, OL’ MAN RIVER, he just keeps on rollin’ along. And that, my friends, is a testimony to many things eternal.
All that being said, I’m leaving out for Peru on Monday. Your prayers are much appreciated as it is a long trip in a short amount of time. Pray for the Lord’s provision in terms of Team Yeshua housing and other arrangements that must be made ahead of this summer. I haven’t been to Puno in almost 20 years. It is a city of nearly 150,000 people situated on the high-altitude Andean plateau at roughly 13,000 feet in elevation. It lies near the Bolivian border and is situated on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the largest lake in South America and the highest navigable body of water in the world. Most importantly, for our purposes: Lake Titicaca, Puno, and the mountains around the lake lie along the South American Hummus Trail established over the years by Israeli backpackers. This area is a true stopover on the route connecting La Paz, Bolivia and Cuzco, Peru—both very popular destinations for Israelis, lost sheep from the House of Israel. May the Lord grant me some Gospel encounters, even on this scouting trip and ahead of many encounters this summer with Team Yeshua Continental Divide, just like we experienced last year in Ladakh with Team Yeshua Big Sky. I’ll be reporting on the ground next week in real-time via the above-linked private Telegram Channel.
While the definitive moniker for the Mississippi is OL’ MAN RIVER, Incan legends associate Lake Titicaca with an OL’ MAMA OF THE LAKE, Mama Ocllo. Fairy tales aside, both of these very old bodies of water are a stark testimony to things ETERNAL, and I am privileged to be quite literally hopping from one to the other. As Moses penned by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit long ago: “Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God” (Psalm 90:2). As for sinful man, this same Psalm later states the obvious: “For all our days are passed away in wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away” (Psalm 90:9-10).
On January 19, 2026, Yasutaro Koide, the oldest living man at the time, died at 112 years of age. After his passing, the oldest living person became Susannah Mushatt Jones. Born in 1899, she died on May 12, 2026 at 116 years of age, the last person American born in the 19th Century to pass off the scene. In my years of ministry in Nepal, I encountered several in the mountain villages said to be over a century in age. Can you imagine what these people beheld with their eyes, what they experienced with their hands, the tides of life they have were forced to navigate with their sanities? Think about Ms. Jones, the changes she had seen growing up and growing old here in America. Yet, she lived through it all, she endured—World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War, the Cold War, the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, the 1970’s gas lines, the economic hardships of the early 1980’s, the turn of two centuries, etc. etc. Do we really believe one Republican Administration, one midterm election, one little flare up in the Middle East is that big of a deal in the whole scheme of things under the hand of Almighty God, “the governor among the nations” (Psalm 22:28)?
When one lives to be 116, are there not other things in this “tale that is told” (Psalm 90:9) of far more importance than Donald Trump or Benjamin Netanyahu? Life will move on; mankind will endure; America will go on toward its end; and all will march as it has been written until the Lord Jesus Christ returns to set up His Kingdom. The tides of life will ebb and flow, and there is nothing new under the sun. Donald Trump, JD Vance, the Epstein files, sodomite foolishness, Christian persecution, Mohammedan mayhem, wars, and rumors of wars—“That thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:9). And behold, “all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 2:11). Therefore, see the tides of this life under the sun as they are: the predictabilities of a fallen world and the inevitabilities of what is prophesied in the Word of God. Endure the tides of this life as through the eyes of a supercentenarian. And, heed the words of Moses in the 90th Psalm: “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom . . . And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it” (Psalm 90:12-17). Just as getting married and having children during the Holocaust that would make grandchildren (who would then populate the Modern State of Israel) was the greatest of all vengeances the Jews could have exacted upon the Nazis, even so, our resting in God’s truth and in His Messiah; our living well; our rowing with the tides of life; our rest and joys at home amidst family and friends; our Bible in our hands; our peace making the LORD, not America, our true dwelling place; our obeying God rather than men; and our raising up children to do the same—this is the greatest and sweetest revenge against the fools that solicit our votes and claim that the nation and the world rise or fall depending upon what happens in a little election or newsworthy event in one country at one point in time in all of history.
As for us here at Full Proof Gospel Ministries, the tides of life ebb and flow; the tides of ministry come in, and they go back out. And, as the summer draws nigh, we have much more important things to be concerned with in terms of the Word of God and the Testimony of Jesus Christ. The Jews are lost and in need of their Messiah. The Gentiles are lost and in need of the Gospel. The Church is floundering and in need of genuine revival. So, we row WITH and NOT AGAINST the tides of ministry, and we take what the LORD in his sovereign Providence chooses to give to us, even it is a long walk up OL’ MAN RIVER or a quick jaunt down to OL’ MAMA LAKE. If you, dear brethren, will endeavor to do the same, you will find peace amidst the chaos. And soon, our Bridegroom will come for us in the clouds!
Oh, I almost forgot, along the Mississippi River’s east bank levee in East Baton Rouge Parish, he hit we hit 9,000 TOTAL MILES of Cross-walking on American highways and byways. 8118 was the count at the end of #thelongwalkusa on the Northern California coast. All hail King Jesus.
