El Cajon, CA
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Articles by Dean Kellio

Its 2:22 on Tuesday afternoon as I walk out my front door my Terrier-Border collie mix meets me with her favorite Frisbee in her mouth. I grab it and sail it through the air past a courtyard full of roses, iris, geraniums and star jasmine. She misses catching it because it was a bad throw and the disc careens into a large Dandelion patch. Several of the spherical seeds explode into the air sending hundreds of parachute like seeds on a new journey in search of a place to sprout and grow.

The gears crashed as a loud grinding sound thundered from under the driver’s seat. The lead car had faded slightly going into turn seven and slammed into the railing sending the number two car spinning into the infield. As the number three car desperately tried to avoid the debris the sidewall of a it’s rear tire overheated and exploded into shredded steel and rubber.  The car rolled several times before it went end over end finally coming to rest against the concrete T-rail barrier.

Have you ever seen a rare gold coin? Maybe you’ve even had an opportunity to hold one in your hands. The first distinguishing feature you notice is its weight, as they just have that “Hey, I’m worth something” feel to them. Next, if it’s an old European gold coin, you might notice the image of a king and some marking denoting denomination.

Paul was a tent maker. That was his trade through which he supported himself while visiting distant churches as he traveled the world. He did not want his work for God to be a burden on the local church so he very graciously took up the needle, canvas and thread. He met others while traveling who were also in the trade of sewing tents.

The flame on the oil lamp flickered as a cool breeze pushed the fabric hanging in the doorway to one side. The evening air was refreshing to Peter as he watched the sun disappear behind the western wall of the Temple signaling the beginning of the Passover festival. This was a special Wednesday, High Sabbath, which happened to fall right before their weekly Saturday Sabbath.  

It’s been said before that there is always a period of calm before a storm. A beautiful moment when the sky is clear and the winds cease to blow. Birds cheerfully sing from branches above us while butterflies flutter in the breeze before our eyes. Out in the distance, out over the horizon, however, high clouds are beginning to blow in. They begin to gather into thick, dark gray storm clouds that block out all the beautiful light. We instinctively know it’s time to find shelter, protecting ourselves from the ravages of the coming storm.

Life; what a miracle it is that literally envelops us at every turn in the highway and signpost we pass while traveling through our lives. It is a magnificent, glorious spark that ignites lifeless matter into living, breathing, self aware, conscious beings that are spirit filled with the breath of God.

The inner cell of the jail was dark, dank and smelled of mold and mildew. A very thin sliver of light fought to find its way into the inner chamber. A rat scurried and stopped standing on its hind legs long enough to smell two men who were chained to the concrete floor. It was midnight and the men, who had been beaten on their backs with canes, were carefully leaning against the damp cold rock walls singing hymns to God.

In the afternoon twilight the quaking aspens moved and shimmered with each gust of the wind. It was as if I was watching an ocean wave build then crash into a reef where it boiled and churned in several cyclonic eddies. I couldn’t actually see the wind and therefore never knew from what direction it came from or where it was going but still I had the evidence that it was a real phenomenon as it tossed and turned the shimmering aspen leaves.

I’m sitting here looking out my kitchen nook window as the sun rises, a few clouds slowly roll by as a flock of swallows dive and dart in the beautiful light that gracefully radiates through a partially cloudy sun rise. It’s pleasing to me that each new morning brings more of God’s eternal grace and mercy. I’m aware of my breathing as my chest inflates and exhales, and think how many things there are to be thankful for.