Pastor's Devotions by Tim Harris

While at the beach the other day, I couldn’t help but overhear a little girl call out to her mother, “Look mom. I found a shell. It’s a shell!” Apparently this girl hadn’t been to the beach too often for she picked up the very first shell she found in the sand, although broken and really not at all special looking, as if something very extraordinary.  As the day went on, she realized that there were nicer shells to be found, not so much up in the sand but down towards the water. So, most of the day she spent her time down by the water looking for that special prize that she could claim as her own. It was really quite entertaining, watching her run back to her blanket and call out to her mom every time she thought she had found another extra special shell. What really struck me, however, was how this one little girl out of all the people on the beach found such excitement in finding even the most common of shells. Whereas most people, including us, just walked right by them, this litt

They say it’s common with dogs, but I’m amazed at how afraid our dog Mabel is of thunderstorms. Whenever she hears even the slightest bit of thunder in the distance, she immediately goes to one of our bedrooms to find what she must consider to be a safe spot. Sometimes even just the darkening of the sky is enough to cause her to go into hiding.   It happened again the other morning. Even before the storm began, I found Mabel hiding next to the bed in my bedroom.   And when I got up to leave the room, Mabel followed, sticking closely to my side. I guess she felt that I could keep her safe—or, at least I gave her a sense of security. Sure enough the storm came with its flashes of lightening, roaring thunder, and pouring rain. And, Mabel just stayed next to me as I did my work, finding some sort of comfort in my presence. The Psalmist wrote, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.   I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my for

A few days ago, while in Nicaragua, I visited the Masaya volcano. When we reached the top, we found ourselves looking into an awesome crater. The geological configurations were incredible. From the top, we could see for miles around. But, what I didn’t realize until we got there was that, this volcano is active. When we looked down from the rim into the volcano, we could see smoke rising from within it. Within a short time we realized that smoke and smell of sulfur were permeating the air, making it difficult to breathe. After about fifteen minutes we had to leave because of the sensation of the sulfur and smoke getting into our lungs. Even after an hour or more, the affects of the smoke continued to linger in our lungs. The awesomeness of the view and of the volcano itself were overshadowed by the terrible affects of it had upon our breathing. That volcano has become for me a picture of what life is like not only for so many of the people whom we met in Nicaragua, but for so many pe

This past Monday was Memorial Day. As we do just about every Memorial Day, we attended the parade in which two of our children, Nathaniel and Joanna were marching—Nathaniel playing snare drum in the high school marching band and Joanna marching with the color guard. At one point, you could hear people starting to say, “They’re coming” or “The parade is on its way.” How did they know? Even before they could see any sign of the parade, they had begun to hear the beat of the drums. And, then sure enough the parade turned the corner—the police in full uniform, the band playing patriotic tunes, the civic organizations represented, all to the cheers of the people. It all made me think back to a less then pleasant childhood memory of a Memorial Day parade in the town where I grew up. Again, long before the parade actually appeared I could hear the parade coming. But rather than get excited, I found myself getting nervous, even terrified. Why? Because I knew that each year in the parade ther