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Joseph, Son of David – Kevin Spencer

Posted on December 22, 2010 by Senior Editor

When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord commanded. He brought Mary home to be his wife. Matthew 1:24

Joseph, husband of Mary and father of the infant Jesus, stood in the warm illuminating glow of flickering candles…and itched. Itched mightily, in fact, because the robe he wore was an old burlap potato sack that had been given a second career as a prop in the church Christmas pageant. Worse than the itching though, was a baby Jesus that kept winking at him. Jesus was a plastic baby doll with eyes that were supposed to open and close, but one eye was stuck, with the result that as he and Mary gazed down adoringly, Jesus’ one working eye kept winking up at them. This caused Mary to giggle, and Mary’s giggles were highly distracting. Mary (Mary Ellen Cosgrove) was one of the prettiest girls Joseph knew, and that was distracting enough without the giggles.

I was Joseph, chosen to play the part because I was tall for an 8-year-old and could (more or less) sing. While taking part in our church’s Christmas pageant, I was struggling to remember my lines, trying not to scratch where the itchy burlap was rubbing my skin; trying not to look at the winking Jesus, and trying not to think about that odd tingly feeling I was getting every time Mary Ellen giggled. It was a long night.

It was an even longer night for the real Joseph that glorious night 2000 years ago in Bethlehem–caring for Mary and the newborn Jesus, cleaning out the manger, dealing with a steady stream of shepherds coming out of the darkness to see the infant, and the miraculous sight of a night sky full of singing angels. Not to mention the new star that glimmered above the manger. But Joseph kept the faith, kept doing God’s work, kept fulfilling the purpose the Lord had entrusted to him.

I think about Joseph often. Like him, I’ve been blessed with a child I didn’t father, but whom I love dearly nonetheless. I don’t know what God has planned for my grandson Caleb, but, like Joseph, I know my job is to get him ready for God to use him.

I got through that pageant so many years ago, remembered my lines, and sang my song. This Christmas, as you deal with your own version of itchy burlap, plastic baby stand-ins for Jesus, and cute giggling Mary Ellen’s, try and let His peace guide you through the bright baubles and shiny distractions, and stay focused on the one thing that is important: The wonderful love of our Lord, who has given us the greatest gift of all.

Merry Christmas to you all, and may God’s love be with you always.

Kevin Spencer lives in Tennessee with his beautiful wife Charlotte and grandson Caleb. A former prodigal son, Kevin is now trying to use the gifts God gave him, and by the grace of God has a life far better than he ever deserved.Read Kevin’s devotions

Sea Lane – Kevin Spencer

Posted on November 25, 2010 by Senior Editor

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. The world and all its people belong to him. Psalm 24:1

On a cool spring day late last April, my cousin Susan and I stood on a lonely stretch of North Carolina beach. The Atlantic, lively the day before, now rolled her breakers onto the shore behind us in a gentle rhythm. Susan and I, and my wife Charlotte, stood a few hundred feet east of the Ocean Crest Pier, looking inland at something that was no longer there. A family member used to live at that spot on the beach. Susan and I had spent many of our childhood Thanksgivings there. That “member of the family” was a quaint, 50’s-era, flat-roofed beach cottage named “Sea Lane,” built by my Granddaddy Lane. It had a unique and unforgettable personality our family loved. But it was gone now. As with all things built on sand, the inevitable will happen. As we stood on the beach, the only thing left for Susan and I… were the memories.

Every Thanksgiving our family gathered at the beach to help close our grandparent’s beach house for the season. Repairs were made, windows boarded, refrigerator and freezer emptied, water pipes drained…everything necessary to preserve an oceanfront house until spring. There were trips in Granddaddy’s Jeep around the Island to gather the translucent red Yaupon berries and the huge Carolina Longleaf Pine Cones Grandmother Lane used in her award winning Christmas decorations. We kids played on that cold November beach while our mothers scurried around fixing the usual wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. Food cooked at the beach always had its own unique flavor.

Sea Lane survived Hazel and Hugo and, in fact, survived all the big named storms that lashed that portion of the coast over the years. But as anyone who has ever built sand castles on the beach knows, the ocean always wins. A succession of lesser storms in the early 90’s with names like Bob, Earl, Grace, Danielle, and Emily eventually eroded the beach from under the foundation of the cottage. She was gone.

All of the earth is the Lord’s; we just get to use it for a time while we’re here. Susan and I stood on the sand and we remembered the beach He let us use. I’m so thankful for those memories. Thank you Lord, for the times we had there. Thank you, too, for the family and friends I was blessed enough to have and share those beach days with. I love you all, dearly. And thank you, readers, for letting me share my memories and stories with you.

May your Thanksgiving be filled with joyful memories and gratefulness to a Father who loves us enough to share His creation.

Promises – Kevin Spencer

Posted on October 24, 2010 by Senior Editor

You will increase my honor and comfort me once again. Psalm 71:21

I didn’t see death coming for me that morning. Wasn’t ready for it. But now it stood in front of me in the form of a 6’5” 300-pound grinning sociopath with multiple life sentences–one who had already killed three people, two of them while in prison.

I was in prison too. Several years into my incarceration, I had a job running the prison garment factory. God had been good to me. I worked my way up from running a sewing machine to office manager. I made enough money from my job (.50 cents an hour), that I didn’t need to depend on outside help.

Although the rules said all inmates were equal, I suppose it could be said I was first among equals. The garment factory was an oasis in the prison, staffed with civilian supervisors (“free people” we inmates called them) instead of Department of Correction Officers. In my position I dealt with the outside world (placing orders for raw materials, arranging deliveries, shipping finished goods). A great deal of trust was placed in me. In my desk were items I needed to do my job; things like indelible markers, numerous sharp instruments, and tools that the free people trusted me not to abuse.

But now the giant in front of me wanted something out of my desk–a tool I couldn’t give him. He demanded. I refused.

“Gonna be waiting on you come lunch.” he grinned sadistically. “Gonna kill you.”

“We don’t have to wait for lunch,” I said, “We can go outside right now.”

His grin widened. “Come on.” Turning on his heel, he headed for the exit. I shrugged goodbye to my close friend, then headed for the door. My mind registered the quiet that fell over the factory floor as the sewing machines spun to a halt and hundreds of inmates watched.

I wish I could say my mind was focused on God’s peace or that His promise to keep me safe in prison was uppermost in my mind; or that the Biblical examples of David and Daniel were all I thought about. But that’s not what happened. I focused on staying alive.

Time slowed and my brain shifted into high gear, struggling to deal with the fight that was coming. I wasn’t a fighter, not like this guy, and I wasn’t going to survive. I was dead. And to my shame, I had forgotten completely about God’s presence and His promise to me.

But God hadn’t forgotten about me or His promise. The giant passed through the exit door. I followed a few feet back. A step from the door and through the tunnel vision that had descended on me, I heard a voice calling my name. It was my civilian boss. “Spencer, stop!” he commanded. I ignored him.

“I said, STOP!” This time, it registered and I stopped inches from the door.

To my astonishment, a miracle occurred. The giant was handcuffed and led away by a squad of correction officers. They had no business being there, but here they were, standing right outside the door to the factory. The officers were doing a random inspection when the giant walked into their midst. Since he had no pass or authorization to be outside, he was charged with escape. I would have been too, had I walked through the door. I never saw him again.

As I returned to my desk, I caught the eye of several fellow inmates—saw several quiet nods. Later I learned I’d done okay in their eyes…passed a test of sorts; earned a new measure of respect. I’d never be bothered or challenged by an inmate in the factory again.

The noise on the factory floor returned to normal and in that moment a still voice in my heart said to me, See, I promised that you would be okay; that you would be safe and My promises are forever.

Yes they are Lord, yes they are. Bless you, Father. And thank You for loving me so very, very much.

Losing Me – Kevin Spencer

Posted on October 10, 2010 by Senior Editor

He must increase, but I must decrease. John 3:30

I need to lose weight. I have been working away at it all summer, but I still have a way to go. It seems that every few years or so I’ll buckle down and make a concerted effort to get my weight back down to a manageable level, only to watch it drift back up again. I blame it on my wife, Charlotte, who is such a fabulous cook, eating is sheer joy. Now, perhaps my somewhat sedentary state of mind is a contributing factor as well, but it’s easier just to blame it on Charlotte’s wonderful cooking.

John the Baptist had a weight problem too. As he said, there needed to be less of him. But I’m pretty sure physical weight wasn’t what John was talking about. A diet of locust and wild honey isn’t likely to cause you to have to let your britches out.

One of the things John was trying to say, I think, was that there needed to be a lot less of John the Baptist inhabiting his body, and a lot of more of Jesus the Messiah.

I can understand that. There needs to be a lot less of me period, physically and spiritually. There needs to be less of me trying to live in this body, and a lot more of Him.

It’s not easy, though. At least it’s not for me. In fact, it’s a lot harder than just trying to lose physical pounds. It’s hard for me to see this loss of self. There isn’t a scale you can step on. It’s only by looking back over many years that I can see less of Kevin living in this body, and more of my Lord. I’ve still got a long way to go, not only in losing me, but also in trying not to reclaim the parts I’ve given up. Just like my physical weight likes to sneak back around my middle when I‘m not looking, so does my old ‘self’ like to sneak back in to rooms I thought I had cleaned out and given to Him. Thank goodness my Lord is a patient Lord.

Thank you, Father, for loving me so much you’re willing to live in this poor body with me as long as I keep making room for you.

Now, if I could just stop thinking about that quart of chocolate ice cream in the refrigerator. Sigh…

“I Was in Prison…” – Kevin Spencer

Posted on September 5, 2010 by Senior Editor

I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me. Matthew 25:36

“I was in prison…”

“Inmate Spencer, Kevin…Inmate Spencer, report to the Front Gate. You have a visitor.”

That was me. I was Inmate Spencer, Kevin. But I wasn’t expecting a visit. It was a hot summer Saturday in Florida about halfway through my multi-year incarceration. Outside visitors for me were few and far between. I didn’t know anybody in the State of Florida who would be visiting me, and any out of state visits I always knew about in advance. So this was unusual, and in prison anything “unusual” was immediately stressful.

For inmates there is comfort in routine. Having daily events happen when and how they are supposed to happen made our lives easier and safer. Having something happen that you didn’t expect was cause for immediate concern. I didn’t need anymore stress. Living behind bars was stressful enough, but lately I had begun to give up hope of ever going home. God had promised me years earlier, when I had gotten down on my knees and pleaded with him for help, that it would be okay. And while He had kept his promise, and kept me safe so far, I was losing hope. Home seemed so far away. And lately God had seemed pretty far away too.

I dug out my cleanest prison-blue uniform, the one I kept for my rare visits, got dressed, and walked up to the visitation room at the front gate. I really thought it was a mistake. It took awhile to be processed. By the time I was finally cleared into the visitation room, the Florida sun had created sweat stains on my clean uniform. I still had no idea who my visitor was.

I pushed open the door, walked through, and looked around. From a table across the room, a figure stood–the last person I expected to see. With a big grin and open arms, my best friend walked across the room and hugged me. I hadn’t seen Eddie since the troubles that had landed me where I was. I didn’t even know if he was still my friend. But here he was, big as life. Yes, there were tears in my eyes. Clumsily hidden, of course. I was an inmate, after all. But they were there. And the bleak and dark fog I had been living in, suddenly didn’t seem so bleak and dark.

I doubt Eddie knows to this day how much his visit meant; how much it restored me. How, for a couple of hours while we visited, home no longer seemed so far away. But God knew. He knew what I needed. And I should have known He wasn’t really that far away. He had promised me, and His promises are forever. Thank you Father…and thanks, Eddie.

.36 Cents – Kevin Spencer

Posted on August 8, 2010 by Senior Editor

Be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. Ephesians 4:2

Father Kirby adjusted his cap on his head and called out to me as he headed out the back door. “Breakfast was excellent,“ he said. “Thank You! I left your money on the table,” he continued. ”See you in the morning!” Out the back door he went.

I called to my grandson Caleb to put on his shoes and go make sure his “Paw-Paw” didn’t get lost. Out of curiosity I went to see what Father Kirby had left by his breakfast dishes. Sure enough, he had left money. A quarter, a dime, and a penny. 36 cents. A tip I suppose, for his breakfast, or perhaps he thought he was paying the bill.

Father Kirby is 91 years old and physically as healthy as can be. A career in the Army saw to that. His issues are mental–a touch of Alzheimer’s. More than a touch, really. He is living with us this summer and it’s been a challenge.

The constant questions are enough to drive you insane. If they were different questions, maybe it would be better, but he locks in on a particular issue and asks the same question over and over and over. He forgets within seconds of you finishing the answer. And so it starts over.

Finally I hit upon the idea of writing a brief history of where he is, who we are, and why he is living here. Now it helps when the questions start to simply let him read the history and find the answers for himself. Of course, sometimes when he starts in I feel like shouting, “JUST READ THE PAPER, FATHER!” I don’t, of course.

In a sense, we have a paper full of answers for our questions, too. A book actually. It is our Bible, the living word of God. I wonder how many times, listening to my prayers, that my Father in heaven has wanted to shout, “JUST READ THE BOOK, CHILD!!” He doesn’t, of course.

I read my Bible every day. It isn’t enough. I know I should be IMMERSING my self in the word; that there are times when I let the TV or the computer or the latest bestseller distract me from where I should be. I’m constantly falling short. But my Father, my God, is patient. Thank goodness He doesn’t shout.

Later that night I slipped the 36 cents back in Father Kirby’s pants. I’ll probably find it on the table again. somewhere down the road. But that’s okay. It’ll remind me, again, of how patient my Lord is with me. Thank You, Father.

Kevin Spencer lives in Tennessee with his beautiful wife Charlotte and grandson Caleb. A former prodigal son, Kevin is now trying to use the gifts God gave him, and by the grace of God, has a life far better than he ever deserved. Read Kevin’s devotions

Sweeter than Honey – Kevin Spencer

Posted on July 25, 2010 by Senior Editor

The Word of God is more desirable than gold and sweeter than honey. Psalm 19

“Wow,” I thought, as I traced with my finger the crack in the leather spine of my Bible. I’d finally managed to wear out my first Bible. Not my first Bible, in that it was the first Bible I had ever owned. I had owned several Bibles. They did a great job collecting dust on book shelves. But this was the first Bible I had ever read and studied enough to finally crease the spine to the cracking point.

This was a special Bible, given to me by my parents. It had my name embossed in gold on the cover. And, in my Mom’s neat handwriting, it has an inscription inside that simply says it is to me, from them, on the occasion of Christmas, 1998. To me, though, it says much more than that. It says that my parents loved me, despite everything.

You see, that Christmas of 1998 I was going through the latest in a series of self-inflicted low points. My parents had every reason to wash their hands of me. But God put it in their hearts that Christmas to give me a Bible, and they listened.

The Bible stayed in the box it came in for another couple of years, in the bottom of a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. But on that day when I finally fell to my knees and begged God to help me, the Bible my parents gave me that Christmas called to me from the bottom of the drawer. I pulled it out, and began to read.

Now, a decade later, my old Bible is full of sticky notes, and highlighted passages. There are a dozen different bookmarks scattered throughout with index cards stuffed here and there, and notes jotted in the margins. I suppose I’ll have to start over with a new Bible, but then the “…Word of God is living and active, sharper than a two-edged sword.” So it will always be new and fresh and alive.

Thanks Mom and Dad, for loving me so much and for listening to the gentle nudge of God that Christmas many years ago. Read Kevin’s devotions

Seeds – Kevin Spencer

Posted on June 13, 2010 by Senior Editor

“But he that received seed into the good ground is he that heareth the word, and understandeth it; which also beareth fruit, and bringeth forth, some an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.” Matthew 13:23

My father-in-law has come to live with us for the summer. Father Kirby is 91 years-old and as healthy as a 91-year-old could be. His only problem is Alzheimer’s and, with that, he has good days and bad days.

Father Kirby was career military, having visited North Africa, France, Germany, both Korea’s, and Vietnam, all courtesy of the US Army. Raised on a hard-scrabble farm in west Texas, Father Kirby lied to Uncle Sam about his age. He fudged it a year, telling the recruiter he had been born in 1918, instead of his real birth year of 1919, just to get off the farm. But farming and planting must have left an indelible impression because now, in the twilight of his years and through the fog of the Alzheimer’s, it’s planting and growing things that seem to give him the most pleasure.

Helping him, and learning at the same time, is our 5-year-old grandson Caleb. The whole business of planting seeds in the ground and watching them grow is a new experience for him. He is fascinated by it all and he has his own “garden,” as well as helping Father Kirby with his. Caleb is also learning valuable lessons about sowing and nurturing, watching and waiting, and, most of all, patience.

There are over 50 verses in the Bible that refer to seeds and sowing. (There are probably a lot more than that, but I quit counting at 50.) Jesus referred to seeds and sowing, several times as he taught. Obviously, the whole concept of planting and nurturing was an important one to our Lord. Being part of the Baby Boomer Generation, (otherwise known as the “Instant Gratification Generation”), the idea of my having to patiently GROW toward my Lord like a seedling was a startling one for me.

But that’s the way it works. For me, the Bible is literally a box of seeds in the form of verses and truths that have to be planted in my heart and nurtured to fruition. They have to be thought through, prayed about, and mediated on, and, in the process, they grow in my heart as I grow closer to my Lord. It’s a slow process, largely because I’m not the world’s best gardener. All too often I allow my heart to grow more weeds than I do the truth of the Word. Or, I allow my spiritual garden to grow dry, the heart hard, because I forget to water it with His peace. I keep trying, however. And it occurs to me as I watch Father Kirby teach young Caleb how to nurture his young plants, that my Father is trying to teach me exactly the same lessons.

Lord, please help me to have a green thumb, and to grow your Word in my heart.

A Love Letter – Kevin Spencer

Posted on April 25, 2010 by Senior Editor

“Your godly lives will speak to them better than any words. They will be won over by watching your pure godly behavior.” I Peter 3b, 2

Of all the gifts my gracious Lord has bestowed upon me, the greatest of all has to be my dear wife Charlotte. She is a gem, a pearl beyond measure, and she lights up my life with her love. She is a living, breathing example of Peter’s instruction to wives in the third chapter of 1st Peter.

Charlotte was raised by nuns in a Catholic orphanage in Augsburg, Germany. While there wasn’t always a lot to eat in postwar Germany, there was always time for a Catholic education, and the Nuns made sure the lessons sunk in. As a result, Charlotte has a knowledge of the Bible that I truly envy. She can rattle off verses, tell you who did what to whom, and deftly connect the dots from Old Testament prophecy to New Testament fulfillment. She remains a Catholic to this day, but I call her an Evangelical Catholic. I don’t know if there is such a thing, but if there is, that’s Charlotte.

Charlotte’s greatest gift is the way her light shines as she quietly lives her life. She is a deputy sheriff, working as the public face of the Williamson County Sheriff’s Office. Hers is the first face you see when you walk into the Sheriff’s Office and, as such, she encounters a great many people having a very bad day—from distraught parents with a child in jail, to long-suffering spouses bailing out a mate caught, yet again, driving drunk, Charlotte endeavors to treat them all with compassion. It’s not always easy. Some people come in just plain mad at some perceived slight, and Charlotte is the one they unload on. She does her job well, and she does it with His love.

But it’s Charlotte’s gifts to me that I truly treasure, for she is a wonderful, amazing wife, quietly filling the place as my spouse with light and love. In the times I have lost my way (and Lord knows, I’ve lost my way more than once), Charlotte has always been there, a light in my dark forest, saying by her love, “Come this way, this is the way out.” Why God blessed me with this loving woman is beyond my comprehension, but I am so very grateful he did. By the way she lives her life, she shows me how to embody His love. I never do it as well as she does, but I keep trying.

Today, April 25th, is her birthday. And while she will be showered in gifts and cards and well-wishes today, none can ever equal the gifts she has given me through her love and life. Her example is like looking directly into the face of Jesus. Her godly life uplifts me as Christ uplifts the church. How fortunate I am to have two who love such an undeserving soul so much.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte, I love you.

End to Enders – Kevin Spencer

Posted on April 11, 2010 by Senior Editor

“…and you will hear a voice say, ‘This is the way, turn around and walk here.’” Isaiah 30:21

Hanging on the wall in my office (okay it’s not so much an office as a corner of the living room), we have a framed document proclaiming that my dear wife Charlotte and I are official “End to Enders.” Part of a promotional campaign for the Blue Ridge Parkway, the document is ‘awarded’ to anyone who has traveled the entire length of the Parkway.

From almost as long as I have memory, my family has traveled and camped on the Parkway. When I was a boy, it was a road of mystery. There might be waterfalls, amazing vistas, ancient log cabins, or deer, and maybe even a bear around every bend. The Parkway is host to a lifetime of memories, from camping to picnicking to racing my little brother, David, up Mt. Pisgah. (He won, the speedy little scoundrel.)

From a host of mountain tops up and down the length of the Parkway, you can look down and see miles of the ribbon of concrete as it winds along the ridge tops below. As a boy, I imagined this must be how God sees us, gazing down on us from some remote spot high above, occasionally brushing aside a cloud to get a better view.

As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve discovered that my youthful analogy has held up. No, I don’t think of God peering down through the clouds anymore, although He might, but rather that He lives in me and with me. But what is comforting, like my boyhood image of God looking down on the Parkway, is that God can see all the twists and turns of my life from beginning to end. God can see what I can’t.

He can see what lies around the bends in the road. He can see what joys and dangers are hidden from me by the curves of life’s road. He provides for me what He knows I’ll need. He teaches me lessons that will serve me up the road, in some future situation I can’t even imagine now, because He knows where my life’s road is going. I take comfort in that…when I remember it. Unfortunately sometimes He has to remind me that He is in control, that He knows the road ahead far better than I do.

When the curves in your life’s road seem to be too sharp to handle, remember that He knows what lies around the corner. From birth to death, God has an ‘End to Ender’ certificate for each of our lives. Trust in Him.

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