David C. Hughes, Writer

“For the LORD your God will bless you in all your harvest and in all the work of your hands, and your JOY will be complete." –Deuteronomy 16:15

Archive for the tag “Trust”

Not for Men

“And whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”  

                                                      –Colossians 3:17


Growing up Catholic, I had the opportunity to serve as an altar boy. My brothers and I started soon after we received our First Communion, and I served from third grade until well after high school. If the priest emerged from the sacristy with one or both of the altar boys absent, there was an obligation (and expectation) to leave the comfort of the pew, hurry to the back of the sanctuary, throw on a cassock and surplice, and join him as he opened the mass. I would have rather remained with the congregation, a mere observer and not a direct participant, but when duty called, I always answered.

Being on regular rotation meant I had to be available to serve as either the cross-bearer (and bell-ringer) or the book-bearer, not only on Sundays but during the week as well. When school was in session, mass took place at 7:00 in the evening, and during summer vacation, church started at 8:00 in the morning. Nine times out of ten we had to find our way to church on our own, traversing the one-and-a-half miles from home and back either on foot or on our bicycles. Many times one of my brothers and I hoofed it through snow, ice, and rain to make it on time to silently and respectfully (i.e., no giggling or horsing around) don our sacred vestments and queue up in front of the priest.

For the most part I didn’t mind serving. I fulfilled my duties when I was on the schedule, and I substituted when other boys didn’t fulfill theirs. For the ten or eleven years I served, however, one thing made always made me feel uncomfortable: emerging from the sacristy when the church was completely empty, accompanied only by the echoes of our swishing vestments or the squeaking of the priest’s black shoes. This seemed to happen more often in the evenings during the school year than in the mornings while on summer break.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but in the back of my mind I always hoped the priest would cancel mass so I could get back home and play Space Invaders or Breakout. He never did. And it seemed someone always showed up at the last minute to fill a seat or two. I don’t remember what prompted the priest one day to provide an answer to my question of why he officiated mass even when no one was in attendance, but I do remember the answer: “God is here.” And that was enough.

For years—decades—I did things only to serve myself, to bring attention to myself. I remember buying a knock-off Rolex watch soon after I graduated from college and had a real, paying job. I wore that watch to my grandmother’s funeral, not missing the chance to show it off to my family and later confessing it wasn’t a real Rolex but a cheap Chinese-made copy. For years—decades—I did things only to serve myself, even to the point of convincing myself that the foolish ways I sometimes handled money aligned with my own will for me to write for a living rather than carry out the duties supernaturally assigned to me by the Father. For years—decades—I did things only to serve myself, never really bothering to ask God what He had in mind for me, always assuming the burning desires of my heart and not my present reality were what God meant for me. As a consequence I lead a life of James 1:8 double-mindedness that cost me not only financially, but also relationally, emotionally, and spiritually. Lucky for me God was ready to pluck me out of the pit of failure when my way didn’t work. Again.

Thus the reason it’s been a year since I’ve written a blog post. My way didn’t work. My expectations completely misaligned with God’s desire for my life, a desire way bigger than me. But the Father, in His infinite kindness, let me barrel down the highway of selfishness, and the Father, in His infinite mercy, led me back to Himself with a soft whisper and a harsh lesson, yet another teacher gathered with all the other teachers He’s sent.

“Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction,” the prophet Isaiah wrote, “your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’ Then you will desecrate your idols overlaid with silver and your images covered with gold; you will throw them away like a menstrual cloth and say to them, ‘Away with you!’” (Isaiah 30:20-22, NIV®).

I tearfully, humbly, confessed to my wife, Mary, that I’d failed in this writing endeavor, and I apologized for putting us into a stressful financial situation. “You didn’t fail,” she insisted over and over. “Look what we got instead!” A paid-for fixer-upper as the chasm between income and outgo opened its jaws wide in an attempt to swallow us up monetarily. Freedom from a mortgage. Lower bills. Our own little piece of the country, our own little corner of the lake. Flexibility in work schedule, more family time. But most importantly, a lesson in perspective and alignment of expectations. What failed is doing it my way instead of God’s way. What failed is putting myself first rather than God first. What failed is the enemy’s attempts for me to serve the idol of self-sufficiency and not the God of all Providence. A realization that, as a man of God, my work is not for me or for other men, but for the Creator of man Himself. My teachers are no longer hidden, and what lessons they have taught!

So, as Paul wrote in his letter to the Colossians, “Whatever you do, do from the heart, as for the Lord and not for others” (Colossians 3:23 NABRE), I am now seeking to live my life for the Lord moment-by-glorious moment. As a planner and a worrier, this is sometimes hard. As a people-pleaser cut from the Proverbs 29:25 cloth, this is sometimes painful. As a self-focused introvert, this is sometimes excruciating. And so I write this blog with no more expectations that you will find it and read it; I do it to serve the Lord as He gives me the words to share for His glory. I do it because I’ve been called to be a light to His people and a witness to His glory, enjoying my Daddy. If you benefit from it, then praise be to God, but I’m now doing it to praise God. Period. As the priest answered my question as to why he officiated mass even when no one was in attendance, his simple answer is one of those teachers Isaiah spoke of: “God is here.”

Isn’t that enough?



Copyright © 2017 by David C Hughes


The Three Trees (2015-04-09 Daily)

… blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,

whose confidence is in him.

They will be like a tree planted by the water

that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes;

its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought

and never fails to bear fruit.

 –Jeremiah 17:7-8 (NIV ®)


“Open your heart and allow the Spirit to move you,” the facilitator instructed. “Allow Him to direct you to a place where you can receive Him openly.” Excited and expectant, I anticipated the time I’d be spending alone with God, but I didn’t relish the idea of sitting outside behind the retreat facility for three hours, bundled in a heavy coat and long johns against the subfreezing temperatures. I’m cold natured, and spending any time outdoors when the temperature is below 65 degrees is, well, uncomfortable. Go ahead, call me a weenie, but I made my peace with the reality of my thin blood long ago. That’s why I left upstate New York for southern California after I graduated from college. Brr! But at least this morning the sun was shining, fresh and renewed after a long, restless night. I sipped my coffee. Not a breath of wind stirred the mirror-still surface of the huge lake behind the lodge.

I tucked the white three-ring binder under one arm, threw the chair bag over the other, and opened my heart to the urging of the Spirit. With only a rustle of nylon and the rattle of aluminum-framed chairs, twenty men fanned out from the facility’s back porch and headed toward the lake shore. I beelined toward the water’s edge and unfolded my chair in the open lawn twenty feet from the shoreline. I set down my cup of coffee and opened my notebook.

How am I going to write like this? I thought, holding my pen in a thick glove more suited for a day of snowmobiling in Colorado than sitting on the bank of Lake Fork in east Texas. Nonetheless, I uncapped the pen, wiped my dripping nose on the back of my glove, and began to write. An hour later, shivering from both the cold and excitement, I finished.

As I closed the binder, I looked up, and for the first time that morning I really noticed where the Spirit had planted me. In front of my chair rose a tall, thin tree, obviously dead, the bleached remains of its fallen limbs poking out of its scrawny trunk. Around the base lay branches scattered in the grass. Thirty feet beyond the dead tree, closer to the lake, stood another tree. This one looked alive but distressed, with a thicker trunk and a fuller crown filled with leafless twigs. And at the edge of the reservoir, past the second tree, rose a third tree, healthy, strong, standing on the bank with eyes closed and branches outstretched in worship of its Creator.

This first tree, whispered the Spirit, bringing my attention back to the remains standing in front of me like a sad utility pole, is a reflection of how you were. As I studied the tree I realized it was a picture of what a person becomes when pride and self-sufficiency take over—he becomes withered, diseased, spiritually starved, eventually dying as his roots give up striving to obtain nourishment from the rocky soil of worldliness. I thought about the fear and frustration that had ebbed and flowed over me during the past three decades, hollowing me out like a spiritual cancer. I reflected on the disillusionment that had blinded me and the depression that had smothered me as I struggled mightily with the disconnect between reality and my purpose—the very definition of who I am, who God made me to be.

The second tree, said the Spirit, is you now. Alive but having suffered, still suffering, still clinging to the world but stretching toward the Truth. This tree embodied hope and renewal, but its roots were still resolutely anchored in the tenuous soil of the flesh. I pondered what had transpired the evening before, the thirty minutes of repentance and confession, the shedding of the desiccated leaves of past unforgiveness, anger and hopelessness until I finally accepted the truth of who I am. Though I’d suffered much, my bare branches now reached up toward the Source of all life rather than grasping at the lies perpetrated by the world’s expectations and false definitions.

The third tree, whispered the Spirit, is who you will become. As I took in this robust specimen standing confidently on the shore, I realized its roots stretched into the lake, an endless source of sustenance for both times of drought and abundance. Though it wore the cloak of winter’s dormancy, this third tree bore its full potential with quiet steadfastness, completely alive in its fulfillment of what God had made it to be, a reflection of His glory. “In repentance and rest is your salvation, /” it seemed to say, “in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15 NIV®). Yes, quietness and trust, stillness and confidence, qualities I had not yet completely embraced as my wants and God’s will conflicted with the “shoulds” of the world’s empty promises, something I’d have to learn to relinquish.

After three hours of cold soaking in the morning stillness, one of the facilitators whistled for us to return to the lodge to warm up and share our stories. I folded my chair and stuffed it in its bag, then gathered up my three-ring binder, pen and empty coffee cup. As I joined the other men making their way toward the back porch, I thought about the words of King David:


Blessed is the one

    who does not walk in step with the wicked

or stand in the way that sinners take

    or sit in the company of mockers,

but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,

    and who meditates on his law day and night.

That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,

    which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither—

    whatever they do prospers.

-Psalm 1:1-3 NIV®


As I walked through the glass doors into the warm lodge, I took one last look at those three trees, excited to share the lesson the Spirit had revealed to me in those moments of shivery contemplation. Indeed, I did get to share, as many of the men did, and now, years later, we men—the trees God planted by streams of Living Water and nurtured by His mighty hand—continue to become, yielding abundant fruit, all in due season.


Copyright © 2015 David C Hughes


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