Found...

When I was a young man, God used my first years away from home to “force” me to seek Him…to get either hot or cold…to get saved! In those days I was so disillusioned regarding my song writing abilities and so devoid of any inkling of an idea of God’s great love for.

Still, I wrote songs. I reasoned that, even of no one else liked them, they seemed to help me keep my sanity. I felt absolutely lost concerning my identity and absolutely incapable of being loved by God or anyone else. One song in particular came to me during a time of desperation, having come to a place of darkness in which I felt there was no return for me…that I was too far fallen…far too lost to ever be found.

In the music hall of the university I was attending one could find me on almost any given time of night or day. When ever I had the chance, I would find one of the small rooms with a piano in it and pour out my heart to God in song. More often than not, I felt I was writing for someone else. I found I could easily write these words to encourage others concerning God’s great love for them, but I didn’t really believe that He loved me this way!

One song in particular came during the fall of 1978 one night in that little music hall. It was the story song I now call ‘Sheep Song’ and was basically the story of the good shepherd leaving the flock to go in search of the one lost sheep. I was the lost sheep in the song, but honestly felt it was a song to encourage others with the love of God I could never seem to fathom possible for myself. I didn’t know that He could cleanse me the way He would in 1981!

That year - 1981 - after graduation from the university, some very special friends found out about my past - my hidden failures and shame - and I was devastated. As I ran from the house and into the night after their kind confrontation, it dawned on me to ask myself, “Where am I running to?” The next words out of my mouth were, “Lord, if You are real, I need to hear from You right now.” And then He spoke…

It was a moonlit night with only a couple of clouds in the sky. One cloud looked to be in the shape of an old man with a beard. It was as if I was looking at a kind, old shepherd. Another nearby cloud took on the shape of a little lamb. Right before my very eyes, the kind shepherd cloud engulfed the lamb cloud as if embracing the lamb in his arms.

It was in that moment that I realized this was God ‘speaking’ to me…that He was the Shepherd and I was the lamb…and He had come looking to find…me!

John 10:3, 7-11, 27-30 NASB

3 "To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep listen to his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. ... 7 So Jesus said to them again, "Truly, truly I say to you, I am the door of the sheep. 8 "All those who came before Me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. 9 "I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. 10 "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came so that they would have life, and have [it] abundantly. 11 "I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. ... 27 "My sheep listen to My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; 28 and I give them eternal life, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. 29 "My Father, who has given [them] to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch [them] out of the Father's hand. 30 "I and the Father are one.”

If you find yourself floundering around in the darkness and chaos of the world, I encourage you to call out to Jesus and trust Him to be your Shepherd - the Good Shepherd - Who only wants what is best for His sheep. If you need reminding of what that looks like, just take a few minutes and read Psalm 23 today. In fact, why don’t we read it right now:

Psalm 23:1-6 NASB

1 A Psalm of David.

The LORD is my shepherd,

I will not be in need.

2 He lets me lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside quiet waters.

3 He restores my soul;

He guides me in the paths of righteousness

For the sake of His name.

4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I fear no evil, for You are with me;

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

You have anointed my head with oil;

My cup overflows.

6 Certainly goodness and faithfulness will follow me all the days of my life,

And my dwelling [will be] in the house of the LORD forever.

One thing that has kept me seeking Jesus all these years is the fact that He first sought me! He never stopped pursuing me! I did not find Jesus. Jesus found me. I was the lost one…and He searched for me for years and through the darkness of my depravity and met me right where I was…and carried me into the lush, green pastures of His massive love. Let Him do the same for you today.

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this blog and to hear Sheep Song, go to https://www.podbean.com/ew/pb-ey6z8-1357744

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2018/06/03/10/31/religion-3450127_1280.jpg

Child-like Faith

On May 29, 1990, I wrote what would prove to be one of our family’s most enduring songs. Simple in melody and succinct in the truth of Who God is and how massively He loves us, I Am A Sheep has stood the test of time.

Know that the LORD Himself is God;

It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves;

[We are] His people and the sheep of His pasture.

Psalm 100:3 NASB

This song was written especially for my own children as a bedtime song and was meant to remind them that I am not their source…that God is! I long to be a good father like God is a good Father. But the more I learn of His love for me, the more I realize how far short I fall in comparison to Him. But, praise God, this only makes me depend on Him that much more! I bless you, the Jernigan children, with a deep, sweet, ever-growing and intimate relationship with your heavenly Father. I love you.

"My sheep listen to My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give them eternal life, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given [them] to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch [them] out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one.” John 10:27-30 NASB

I love this song and sing it almost on a weekly basis, most often to my grandchildren who request it! I feel so blessed to be able to sing God’s love to my grandchildren and pray that they will always listen for the voice of the Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ. My prayer is that I would keep my heart attuned to the love of God with the same simple child-like faith my grandchildren have as I sing this song to them.

All we have to do is listen. Father is singing over us…constantly watching over us…when the winds blow…when we’re lost or confused…when the enemy lies…He is in each moment, surrounding us with songs of comfort and deliverance. Be listening in the coming days. If you know Jesus, you can know His voice…and in these dark times, I don’t know about you, but I’ll take the comforting, reassuring voice of God’s presence ANY time!

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this teaching as well as the song, I Am A Sheep, go to http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/i-am-a-sheep/

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/08/04/21/05/rain-1570854_1280.jpg

Daddy's Song

The Father very gently cradled His son in His arms. The little boy loved the way his Father held him - because He held him a lot! Sometimes the Father would sing to him while He held him. In fact, more often than not, the Father would sing the little boy right to sleep. But sometimes, the boy would sing back to his Father in his own simple way. If you listened very closely you could hear them sing. You see, they loved one another very much - and loved to sing their love to one another. The Father, being a good Father, loved His son more than any Father had ever loved a child - more than the boy loved Him. And the Father's song was always sweet and tender, never forceful or harsh...

I'll have no other

For I love you only

I'll never forsake you

Or leave you alone

I love you

O, how I love you

I love you

O, how I love you

And the boy would sing in answer:

Here in Your arms

I'll always be

At rest in the precious love

You have for me

I love you

O, how I love you

I love you

O, how I love you

Every day the Father would call to His son, "Son, come walk with me in the cool of the evening." And the boy would run gladly from wherever he was for he loved these walks because they were so peaceful and refreshing - and because he knew that when they had walked far enough his Daddy would hold His little boy to Himself and carry him home, singing all the while:

I'll have no other

For I love you only

I'll never forsake you

Or leave you alone

And even though the boy always fell asleep in his Daddy's arms, his heart still kept singing:

Here in Your arms

I'll always be

At rest in the precious love

You have for me

The Father loved to give good gifts to His son. He wanted nothing but the best for him. Not only did He provide for the boy's every need, He also clothed him in the finest of clothes - a robe of white for every day and a coat of many beautiful colors to fit over his robe for their evening walks together. You see, the Father wanted everyone to know that this was His son whom He loved very dearly.

Every day was like this - joy and peace - for the Father lived to lavish His love on His son. And the son was consumed in his love for His Father...'til one day, the boy met a stranger - a very beautiful stranger - a man more handsome than any he had known, except for his Father, of course.

The stranger spoke in lovely tones, much like his Father. Why he even sounded much like his Father with a sing-song lilt to his voice and all. He told the boy of others who wanted to walk with him just like his Daddy. All he would have to do was love these new friends and sing their songs. The boy thought for a moment. This sounded good to him because if one love was so good then more loves could only be better. And after all, it was about time he started making some of his own decisions.

So, he decided that he would choose to walk with others. And he walked away...and as he did, he heard his Father calling in the cool of the evening. "Son, come walk with me. Son, I'm here!" And He sang for His son:

I'll have no other

For I love you only

I'll never forsake you

Or leave you alone

And He waited...

But the boy hid - for he had sung his love to another. And even as he sang the sweet song of his new friend he realized he had been deceived -he realized he had given his heart to another - something he somehow knew his Daddy would never do. How could he ever face his Father again? He felt so dirty and unworthy of his Father's love. And the song that had once brought so much joy to his heart now made him want to run away....

And still his Daddy sang for him:

Come here my precious

I know you are hurting

And though you have left me

I welcome you home

And the Father picked up the little boy and calmed his fears and dried his eyes and washed him clean as He held him close to His heart - closer than He had ever held him before. And He sang to His son:

I'll have no other

For I love you only

I'll never forsake you

Or leave you alone

And even though the son felt his Father's love, it wasn't the same as before - and it would never be the same again. And even though the Father loved him, the son somehow couldn't hear Him as clearly as before, for you see, when he gave his love to another, his ears were closed to any but the one he gave his love to. So even though the Father loved him more dearly than He did before, the son just couldn't quite hear it or believe it. And still the Father sang to him:

I love you

O, how I love you

I love you

O, how I love you

Day after day the Father called to His boy but day after day the boy walked further and further away and even began giving his love to others again - because he still had an empty place in his heart where once he had loved his Father - an empty place that longed to be filled. But since he found it harder and harder to hear his Father's voice he began listening to the voice of the stranger again and would even sing his love back to any stranger who would listen, for you see, he was still a little boy in need and little boys need their Daddy. And if they don’t come when their Daddy calls, they become hopelessly

lost.

And he became hopelessly lost - desperately lost. Afraid and ashamed. Hurt and dirty. Sick and dying. Alone in the dark. Every one of those other voices he gave his love to - every one of them one by one - stopped singing back to him. In fact, their love songs had to turned to screams of hate and lies. And their tender hugs were no longer gentle like his Daddy's had been. They hurt now! In fact, their arms felt more like ropes of iron and chains of steel than arms of love. One day he realized that he was trapped with no way out - and he realized that there was only One Who had ever really loved him - and that was his Daddy. If only his Daddy could hear him now. If only He were here! And he cried:

Daddy so dear

I'm all alone

I am afraid

And I want to come home

And he waited. How could his Father ever love him after what he had done?

Then his ears heard an old familiar tune and an old familiar voice and his heart felt an old familiar warmth as his Daddy picked him up and held the boy in His arms in an old familiar embrace. And his Daddy sang:

I love you

O, how I love you

I love you

O, how I love you

And his Daddy held him close. And as He held the boy He did a strange thing. He began to take off the chains and ropes one by one, humming His love to the boy all the while. He unraveled all the fears the boy had ever known. He untied the knots of despair and hopelessness - every one of them. He even cut away the hurt and pain the boy had inflicted on others - along with every harsh word, vile thought, or bitter deed he had ever done. And He broke off the hardness of his heart that had been built up by the boy's own doubt and pride. And He dried every tear and took away the boy's own deep pain and rejection as He washed away the dirt and filth His son had been clothed with for many years now. And then, the Father did an even stranger thing - He placed all of these things upon Himself- even the punishment the boy deserved as the consequence of his own failures. The boy was overcome with peace and joy but this soon turned to grief when he realized what he had done to his Daddy. For you see, the weight of all those things which had so burdened the boy had broken the heart of his Father - for the Father loved His son so much that he was willing to die for His child. And while the weight of sin choked the life out of Him the Father still managed to sing the song with His dying breath:

I'll have no other

For I love you only

I'll never forsake you

Or leave you alone

And the boy just sat there empty and alone - stunned by such a precious love. And he waited, for he knew that all those other voices were gone now. All he could hear was his Daddy's song, the memory of that final refrain playing over and over again and again in his ears. And after awhile he slept - the soundest sleep he had known since the last time he had walked in the cool of the evening with his Father.

As he slept, something wonderful began to take place. He began to hear the song his Daddy used to sing to him. After awhile he even thought he could see his Daddy's face. And he was almost sure he could feel his Father gently place the special robe of white upon him and over this the coat of all those wonderful colors which had been a sign of his Daddy's deep love for him. And then he felt a warmth so great it could only be the arms of his precious Father holding him close. And then the boy realized the Truth - his Daddy was here and alive and this~was no dream even though he was at complete rest. His Daddy loved him - no matter what. Of this he was sure now more than ever!

The little boy held his Daddy close because he knew now there was nothing that could ever separate him from his Father's love - ever again! So they held each other. And they sang this song:

I'll have no other

For I love you only

I'll never forsake you

Or leave you alone

Here in Your arms

I'll always be

At rest in the precious love

You have for me

I love you - O, how I love you

I love you - O, how I love you

Hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this story at https://www.patreon.com/posts/daddys-song-78310182

Daddy’s Song

By Dennis Jernigan

©1992 Shepherd’s Heart Music, Inc.

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/08/10/01/01/baby-2616673_1280.jpg

Fallen Too Far?

In 1985, I was ministering to a quite a few people who felt their sin was too vile or far-fallen for God to deal with. I remember feeling the same way before Jesus rescued me. David committed adultery and David committed murder, yet David is remembered as being a man after God’s own heart! How could that be? Adulterer and murderer, yet a man after God’s own heart? The question I asked myself was, “If God could do that for David, could He do that for me?” Could He cleanse my depraved heart and help me seek His heart the way He sought mine?

In 1 Samuel we find this account of what the Lord thought of David’s heart when Dvid was a young man, before his sin with Bathsheba had taken place:

1 Samuel 13:13-14 KJV

13 And Samuel said to Saul, Thou hast done foolishly: thou hast not kept the commandment of the LORD thy God, which he commanded thee: for now would the LORD have established thy kingdom upon Israel for ever. 14 But now thy kingdom shall not continue: the LORD hath sought him a man after his own heart, and the LORD hath commanded him [to be] captain over his people, because thou hast not kept [that] which the LORD commanded thee.

But what did God think of David long after David’s death? Read on to find out:

Acts 13:22 KJV

22 And when he had removed him, he raised up unto them David to be their king; to whom also he gave testimony, and said, I have found David the [son] of Jesse, a man after mine own heart, which shall fulfill all my will.

During a period of several weeks in February and March of 1985 as I meditated on 2 Samuel 11, the story of David’s sin with Bathsheba, the story/song, “David”, came to me. The reason I was meditating on this portion of David’s story?

“David” was born out of a need I saw in the Body of Christ…the need for repentance and the need for people to believe God could handle any sin and adequately deal with it…leaving us clean and renewed and stronger and more humble in the process. 

Although the sin portrayed in this recording is David’s sin of adultery and the sin of murder, the answer is the same for whatever sin we find ourselves faced with.  The bottom line is this:  God knows about our sin regardless of how well we think we hide…and He knows our sins will find us out. 

Why do we think we can hide from God or from the truth?  The very truth we fear is actually the first step in the process of being set free. You will know the truth (get honest that you have a need) and the truth will set you free (restore you to intimate relationship with the Redeeming God of Grace through the cleansing blood and resurrection power of the Lord Jesus Christ). 

Although this story song was written 38 years ago, I believe the message is timeless. If you think you have fallen too far for God to reach or to redeem, think again. He can reach as far as we can fall. Listen to “David” with your heart and be set me free this very day!

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast episode featuring the story/song “David”, go to https://www.patreon.com/posts/david-77958302

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2020/03/27/16/09/help-4974118_1280.jpg

A Thread of Hope

A Thread of Hope)

It’s a cold rainy night and somewhere in the darkness a little girl sits alone. Although she’s not really a little girl anymore, she still feels like one. The pain gave way to numbness a long time ago. But every once in while a small glimmer of emotion tries to make its way out into the open. But she’s grown too wise to allow those little glimmers to see the light of day. Numbness is better than pain. At least that’s what she used to think. She’d grown up in such a different world than the eye is accustomed to seeing. What had been normal for her and her family would be considered so perverse to anyone else…that is if they could see behind the veil of secrecy.

The girl’s life hadn’t started out this way. When she had been a young girl, her first memories surround the dress her momma had given her…the swirl-around dress she had called it because she could spin around in an impromptu pirouette and watch as the skirt would lift in flight to her dance of joy. Along with the dress, her good memories would be consumed with the little doll her grandmother made for her and had presented to her on her 5th birthday. The plastic body of the doll was only about 12 inches tall with rosy red cheeks and beautiful, long auburn hair. The eyes would close when she laid the doll down and open when the doll was placed in an upright position. Clothed in a simple dress and slippers, the doll also wore a plain white apron. What drew one’s attention to the apron was the single golden thread that seemed to make its way through the material like a gently meandering stream around the edges of the little piece of cloth adding just the right amount of glitter to a very inconspicuous little toy.

When her grandmother had given her the doll, she had told her to remember that whenever she felt a little sad or lonely to keep in mind that the doll was given by someone who loved her very much…and she challenged the little girl to never forget the golden thread that ran through the apron. That thread was to represent hope…and just as this thread ran it’s simple course through the cloth, hope would always be there running through the fabric of her life. A rather weighty concept for such a little girl, but she had never forgotten her grandmother’s words. To help seal this in the little girl’s heart, her grandmother had taught her this song.

Did you know that someone loves you?

Loves you lavishly!

Loves you more than the whole wide world

That someone is me!

When you fall, I’ll pick up the pieces

When you hurt I’ll bind up your wound

When you’re alone or afraid

I’ll be right where you are

And I love you

Yet here she was, so many years later, the song having faded and been tucked away somewhere in the far recesses of her memory. Alone. Abandoned. Afraid. Worn out and weary from simply trying to survive. Hopeless. Packed somewhere in the one frayed bag holding all her worldly belongings was the doll she had come to call ‘Hope’. Her life in no way could be categorized as hopeful. Through the series of events she called her life, hope was the last thing that ever came to mind. Having had her hope crushed so many times by so many people in so many ways had led her to the place where pain gives way to the only reality she had come to know. Her mind could take no more…so she had become more of a walking dead person than a living human being.

She had grown so bitter at the words of her own grandmother…that hope would be running through the fabric of her life. At times she had wanted to crush the little doll…or burn it…or just get it away from her consciousness. But for some reason, she had never been able to let go. By now the doll’s little dress had become quite frayed and the golden thread had faded to dull brown. And along with the faded song, the doll had come to represent some other reality…some other world…for some other person. Long ago, whenever hope was still alive in her heart, she had become so accustomed to rejection and abandonment that she had actually changed the words to her grandmother’s song. So whenever the memory of that song had been stirred she could comfort herself with words that reflected what she had come to accept as normal.

Is anybody out there?

Can anybody see

That who I am on the outside

Is really not me?

When I fall who will pick up the pieces?

When I hurt who will bind up my wound?

When I’m alone or afraid

Will anybody be there?

I’d like to know who…

Reaching the underside of a bridge on this rainy stretch of road, she threw her bag to the ground and sat there. Nowhere to go. No one to talk to. As far as she knew, there was no one who even knew – or cared – that she existed. If only she could start a fire, maybe the glow of the flame would lift her spirit and at least warm her body. Groping through her bag for the lighter, her hand brushed what she knew was the little doll, Hope. Sad to say, but a little tinge of life and emotion had electrified her heart in one brief touch. Even sadder to think that an inanimate object had become her best friend. Finding enough dry wood and kindling nestled beneath the dry underbelly of that old bridge, she was able to start a small fire. And she had been right. It made her feel a little better. Warm. Somehow not so forgotten.

She picked up the doll and began to retrace the memories invoked by every frayed edge. Around each arm and leg were threads of other memories she had collected through the years. When her father had beaten her for interrupting his TV time and had locked her away in the closet for those three days, she had unraveled a thread of the carpet and had decorated Hope…just to pass the time…just to keep her sanity. Then there was the thread that represented the many verbal assaults and insults she had suffered due at the hand of her mother who seemed to be so jealous of her own daughter. She had never quite understood the reasons her mother had felt the need to put her down – especially in front of her dad. Spending so much time in that closet, Hope had come to have quite an array if threads of myriad colors wrapped around her plastic arms. Each thread represented a definite memory, having been pulled from her surroundings during those times of sorrow and suffering.

Sitting there beneath the bridge, rain falling, fire glowing, literally alone, she had come to reject all things material. Her parents had always gone out of their way to have the finest things, biggest homes, designer clothes and whatever else seemed to make them feel as if they were the kings of the neighborhood. Even as a girl, she had felt this was surely not the way a normal family should live. But that had come to be her normal. Pretty and polite and well-received in public, but hiding a world of pain, sorrow, and suffering none of her friends would have believed.

Then she came to the two simple white strands of thread wrapped snuggly around the waist of the little doll. She had tried to forget this one for so many reasons. The first thread represented the night when she was 12 years old and had given birth to that precious little girl. She had not even gotten to hold the baby…but had managed to pull at the white cotton edges of the blanket as the infant was pulled away from her trembling arms. The plain white tread reminded her of the helplessness she had felt when the man had come into her room so many times. Her own relative. She had told her mother, but her mother had told her to watch her tongue.

The second thread represented the little boy that had been taken from her when she was 14. Again, she had managed to grasp one little thread away. This strand reminded her of how odd she had felt when her own family pretended nothing had happened yet at the same time seemed to silently blame her for the predicament she had placed them all in…as if she had somehow had a choice in the matter! Even when she had tried to go to the authorities in her small town, she was told to stop talking such nonsense. Even though the threads of her life had been wrapped around a little doll named Hope, hope was not even remotely possible.

Is anybody out there?

Can anybody see

That who I am on the outside

Is really not me?

When I fall who will pick up the pieces?

When I hurt who will bind up my wound?

When I’m alone or afraid

Will anybody be there?

I’d like to know who…

Having her heart warmed, she was able to rest. Even these perverse memories gave her at least something to cling to. As she thought about her life, her eyes grew tired and she soon drifted off to sleep. Dreams had never been sweet in her life…but tonight the torment of the countless nightmares she had grown accustomed to were simply not there. Soon she found herself twirling round and round in her twirl-around dress, dancing for her grandmother again. So free and so full of joy. She danced and danced for hours as her grandmother sang the old lullaby.

Did you know that someone loves you?

Loves you lavishly!

Loves you more than the whole wide world

That someone is me!

When you fall, I’ll pick up the pieces

When you hurt I’ll bind up your wound

When you’re alone or afraid

I’ll be right where you are

And I love you

As the song faded, her dream continued…but her grandmother had been replaced by a man who seemed to be a Shepherd. The strange figure was surrounded by sheep that were contentedly grazing around the meadow…but He kept beckoning to the girl to follow Him. So she did. As they went from green lush pastures and deep flowing streams to wonderful mountain vistas her heart seemed to leap from her chest at the sheer freedom and acceptance she felt in the Shepherd’s presence all along the way. But soon he began to lead her down through the darkest of valleys, full of sinister glowing eyes peering out from the crevices in every gully they passed through. Instead of the serenity of the calm meadows the darkness was constantly pierced with the shrieks and groans of fear and pain. She found herself being pulled to the Shepherd’s side. She could still feel her surroundings, but she somehow felt safe at the same time.

The journey soon took them to a place of terrible and unmentionable horror. It was obvious that everyone around her was there to torment her and to take her life…but the Shepherd would never allow the enemy to touch her. To her amazement the Shepherd led her to the most extravagant feast she had ever seen. Right there in the midst of His enemies the Shepherd had prepared an elaborate smorgasbord. Taking a seat, they dined for what seemed like an eternity. After taking their fill, the Shepherd picked up the little girl and carried her to a secluded forest glen where the shrieking had been replaced by absolute quiet and the darkness of the stormy night had given way to the brightness of a full moon. Though she remembered all those nights when the other men of her childhood would carry her away in fear, she felt none of that in this moment. Lying in peace on His shoulder, she was soothed to sleep even in her dream by the Shepherd’s simple song.

When everything you are

Just seems to fall apart

And you're alone in the dark;

Sorrow, like endless rain,

No longer hides the pain

And now you've drifted too far;

Come down from the ledge

Of your own broken heart.

Run here to My open arms

Where you can fall apart!

I'll be your Light in dark!

I'll be right where you are!

I'll hold you close through the pain!

I'll calm the raging tide!

I'll be right by your side!

I'll shelter you from the rain!

Put your head on My shoulder!

Put your head on My shoulder

…and rest.

No more tears left to cry.

Wishing that you could die

And make this hurt go away!

This endless raging storm

Has left your heart so torn

You simply can't see a way!

Come down from the ledge

Of your own broken heart.

Run here to My open arms

Where you can fall apart!

I'll be your Light in dark!

I'll be right where you are!

I'll hold you close through the pain!

I'll calm the raging tide!

I'll be right by your side!

I'll shelter you from the rain!

Put your head on My shoulder!

Put your head on My shoulder

…and rest.

As the song ended the girl began to open her eyes. The Shepherd had taken her back to the bridge where the dream had first begun. She was so full of questions but she somehow sensed that her dream would end soon. “Who are you?” she said to the Shepherd. “My name is Jesus. And I’ve been watching over you for such a long time now.”

“But why did You allow all these terrible things to ruin my life?”

“I allowed them, yes, but your life is far from ruined. Like your little doll, Hope, I’ve been with you every step of the way. And like the golden thread that runs through her apron, I have been constantly there through every one of your sorrows, calling you to Myself. You just didn’t know how to hear me very well! If you never knew the dryness of the desert, would you ever know the sweetness of the rain when it falls? If you never knew the sorrow and pain of life, would you be able to experience the comfort and healing that I now offer you?

Like those extra threads you’ve added to Hope through the course of your journey, your life may seem frayed and frazzled and beyond hope right now…but here’s what I would like to do if you will let me.” And the Shepherd took the doll from the girl and began to unravel all the threads that had come to represent all the pain and sorrow and suffering…and right there in the spot He began to somehow magically weave the most beautiful tapestry the girl had ever seen. What had just a few moments before been a shambled mess of brittle timeworn thread had now been transformed into the most exquisite piece of cloth the little girl had ever seen.

“As the Shepherd handed the beautiful tapestry to the girl, He left her with these words. “Just as your life may seem a series of broken promises and shattered dreams and wounds beyond belief, I can take the threads of even your most shameful moments and weave them into something beautiful. I can make your life a tapestry of grace…a tapestry that defies logic because all who see it will know what it was made from, but they will see the depth of beauty due to the touch of the Master Weaver. Your life can be that transformed…but only if you let me have those threads. Give me every thread of hurt. Every thread of disappointment. Every thread of broken promise. Every thread of bitter failure…and I’ll weave something beautiful from your life. For so long you have felt you were hanging by a thread…and you were right. Now let me make something beautiful of that thread. Follow me.”

And He was gone. She startled from her dream and clumsily searched for Hope. Finding the little doll, she looked to see if all the threads from her dream had been transformed into the tapestry she had watched unfold as she slept. But they had not been. They were still there. Still glaring reminders of her tattered and torn life. But something WAS different now. The little golden thread that had become so faded with time and wear now seemed to have a little glimmer of shine to it – as if someone had purposely buffed away some of the grime. A glimmer of hope. That is what she now felt. She slept the rest of that night there under the bridge dreaming of the tapestry the Shepherd would soon make of her life. And He did.

Through the years, she never forgot the many twists and turns of her life. She simply learned to see them from a different perspective…the perspective of a Shpeherd who met her and a little doll under a bridge in a dream…and now the little girl had grown up…but had learned to find the melody of the Shepherd and every once in awhile you could hear her singing in the meadow, spinning around in her big-girl twirl-around dress, holding a little doll close to her heart all the while. Hope had been restored.

Many weary miles

Many painful scar

Many shattered dreams

To get me where you are

Many bitter tears

Many broken hearts

Many disappointments

But worth it still by far

Because I know You

Deep inside of me

In ways I’d always hoped

Your love would somehow reach

Knowing You is worth each struggle

Worth every mile

Worth every single tear

Every fiery trial

Worth every heartache

Worth every pain

Worth every valley

Not one step in vain

Knowing You

Is worth everything

Many sleepless nights

Many painful falls

Many lonely days

To many dead-end walls

Every painful step

I’ve ever had to face

Has led me right to You

And Your amazing grace

And helped me know You

Deep inside of me

In ways I’d always hoped

Your love would somehow reach

Knowing You is worth each struggle

Worth every mile

Worth every single tear

Every fiery trial

Worth every heartache

Worth every pain

Worth every valley

Not one step in vain

Knowing You

Is worth everything

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast telling of this story and to hear the story BEHIND the story, go to http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/a-thread-of-hope/

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/10/19/04/49/doll-2866471_1280.jpg

To purchase the book, A Thread of Hope, go to https://www.amazon.com/Thread-Hope-Dennis-Jernigan/dp/1613142870/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1674663169&sr=1-1

No Life Too Small

I am sharing the story of a song called No Life Too Small today. This particular song came to me in October 14-15, 1992 and the way it came to me still stirs my soul to this day. I’d like to share some passages from God’s Word as it relates to this song:

You will make known to me the way of life;

In Your presence is fullness of joy;

In Your right hand there are pleasures forever.

Psalm 16:11 NASB

Jesus said, “…life is more than food, and the body [is more] than clothing.” Luke 12:23

When Christ, who is our life, is revealed, then you also will be revealed with Him in glory. Colossians 3:4 NASB

I’ll get right to the point. We hear so much about the rights of different people groups and the rights of a woman over her own body and we hear so many opposing views on what truth is. I believe God’s Word is THE Truth and that life begins at conception…and far too often, we conveniently forget about the rights of that unborn human being…that baby. To hear the world’s view concerning an unborn child it seems as if that life is too small and too insignificant to give him or her a second thought.

The song, No Life Too Small, was written for our friends, Wayne and Tina and for their son, Aaron Bryce. Aaron was born prematurely and went to be with Jesus. What had broken my heart the most about Aaron’s death was the fact that I had watched Wayne and Tina as they had prepared for the birth – so excited and wonder-filled at the prospect of their first child.

I remembered the way I had felt when Melinda first told me that she was pregnant with our first child, a son. The news took my breath away and joy filled my heart. How would I have felt if my firstborn son had gone to be with Jesus?

Trying to put myself in the place of this precious family at suffering such a great loss took me to a place of sorrow I did not enjoy, yet God used this place to show me the value He places on life.

Aaron had departed this life…but He truly was with Jesus. Even though his little life had been so brief, I was left with the realization that his life was every bit as significant as mine. All I had to do was think of the grieving parents and the sense of loss they must have felt to know that great value had been placed upon this precious little child. If anyone understands how these grieving parents must have felt, it is our heavenly Father Who gave His only Son to save and redeem us all. There is no life too small for God to see and love and care for…

Jesus said to him [ His disciple, Thomas], "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except through Me.” John 14:6 NASB

Life is a gift. Its quality not in the length or in the level of comfort we attain, but rather, in the knowledge that each one is so precious to the Creator no matter how brief or insignificant it may seem to us. This song came as a reminder that no life is insignificant to God – no matter how long or short it is lived. Every life is of the greatest value to Him…no matter how small. It would do us all good to remember that truth.

Every human life is of highest value to our Maker. Do we value every human life? Let’s ask the Lord to show us how to express value to others around us…no matter how insignificant they may appear to the world at large. Let’s just be Jesus to the world around us.

Dennis Jernigan

To hear the song, No Life Too Small, listen to The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this blog at https://www.patreon.com/posts/no-life-too-77315253

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/09/05/11/37/baby-2717347_1280.jpg

Watching Over You

I will raise my eyes to the mountains;

From where will my help come?

My help [comes] from the LORD,

Who made heaven and earth.

He will not allow your foot to slip;

He who watches over you will not slumber.

Behold, He who watches over Israel

Will neither slumber nor sleep.

The LORD is your protector;

The LORD is your shade on your right hand.

The sun will not beat down on you by day,

Nor the moon by night.

The LORD will protect you from all evil;

He will keep your soul.

The LORD will guard your going out and your coming in

From this time and forever.

Psalm 121:1-8 NASB

On March 23, 1995, I was ministering at a conference when God spontaneously dropped a song from His point of view into my heart - and the song still rings true and through my heart to this day. The reason this song still stirs my soul deeply to this day is that it came spontaneously during a ministry time at a retreat center near Orlando, Florida.

While sharing my story and leading worship at a ministry conference for those desiring to step out of and overcome same sex attraction, the keynote speaker taught on destiny and anointing in such a way that God brought me personally to a greater level of healing in my own heart than I even realized I had needed!

God had chosen me and even anointed me for ministry at an early age…yet the enemy had perverted my giftings and perceptions of myself to the point that I had allowed my God-given strengths to be overshadowed by the enemy-inspired weaknesses of my flesh. As the minister spoke, God inspired me with the truth of this song. I quickly jotted down the words and I sang it there on the spot that day in almost the exact form it appears on my recording called No Life Too Small.

That song is called Watching Over You and is a song from God’s perspective of us. The following passage from the Psalms reminds me of the healing balm of the song:

One who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

Will lodge in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress,

My God, in whom I trust!"

For it is He who rescues you from the net of the trapper

And from the deadly plague.

He will cover you with His pinions,

And under His wings you may take refuge;

His faithfulness is a shield and wall.

You will not be afraid of the terror by night,

Or of the arrow that flies by day;

Of the plague that stalks in darkness,

Or of the destruction that devastates at noon.

A thousand may fall at your side

And ten thousand at your right hand,

[But] it shall not approach you.

You will only look on with your eyes

And see the retaliation [against] the wicked.

For you have made the LORD, my refuge,

The Most High, your dwelling place.

No evil will happen to you,

Nor will any plague come near your tent.

For He will give His angels orders concerning you,

To protect you in all your ways.

Psalm 91:1-11 NASB

God desires to take our greatest weaknesses and use them for His glory by showing us His strength. He can even take our failures and redeem them to the point that they become vessels of His glory as they testify to His redeeming love and power. Jesus Himself said we would do greater things than He did. How? By walking in the truth which we were created to walk in.

[Make sure that] your character is free from the love of money, being content with what you have; for He Himself has said, "I WILL NEVER DESERT YOU, NOR WILL I EVER ABANDON YOU," so that we confidently say, "THE LORD IS MY HELPER, I WILL NOT BE AFRAID. WHAT WILL MAN DO TO ME?” Hebrews 13:5-6 NASB

Let’s do this. Let’s be quick to remind our own souls - every day - multiple times a day - that we are never alone…and that our Father is constantly watching over us. I recommend that you listen to the song Watching Over You a couple of more times today…and in the days to come. It really will do your soul good.

Dennis Jernigan

Hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this blog along with the song at https://www.patreon.com/posts/watching-over-76999172

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2019/06/08/12/24/father-4260027_1280.jpg

You Are A Gift To Me

Behold, children are a gift of the LORD,

The fruit of the womb is a reward.

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,

So are the children of one's youth.

Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them;

They will not be ashamed

When they speak with their enemies in the gate.

Psalm 127:3-5 NASB

On July 15, 1994, our twin sons were born. Ezra Thomas weighed in at 3 pounds, 10 ounces. Like his brother, Asa (2 pounds, seven ounces), he had come 9 weeks early and we were concerned that we might lose them. Yet God brought him through! It was in the process of the whole ordeal, though, that we came to know his life as a greater gift than we realized at first.

It was in seeing Ezra’s little life as God sees mine that I realized this truth: God sings His love over me, yet the paradox – the mystery – is that I am the reason for the song…and in a way, I am His song…and He is my song and the reason I sing!

I know, it doesn’t make sense. But that is the way God is. His ways are higher than ours. His thoughts are higher than ours. Relationship is a two way street – even with God! I listen for His voice to me, and I speak my love back to Him. Life happens through relationship. It is the same with people. It is the same with God. In that way, I am as much a gift to Him as He is to me!

Why do I believe that? Because I, as an earthly father, feel that way towards my own son, so how much more does our heavenly Father feel that way towards us?!

God gave His Son as a gift to me. I give my life back as a gift to Him. He gave my son as a gift to me. I give my son back as a gift to Him. Life is a precious gift. Let’s be good receivers of that gift as well as good givers of that gift.

Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow. James 1:17 NASB

You have two choices in every moment of life concerning whether or not you believe God loves you. You can either believe He loves you or you can believe He doesn’t. Regardless of what you and I think, that is a done deal. God’s very nature is love…but it’s our choice as to whether or not we will receive that love. Guess which way of thinking - which belief - has brought healing into my life? Let’s be good receivers of God’s love for us today.

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this blog and to hear the song Dennis wrote for his son, Ezra, go to http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/you-are-a-gift-to-me/

What's In A Name!

“A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.” Charles Spurgeon

As I sat down to write this, I thought it would be best to get the story straight from my mom…and I learned something about how I received my name that I had never heard before!

For the longest time, I hated my name. As a boy, I was constantly called ‘Dennis the Menace’ and that irked me to no end…because EVERYBODY did it! To add insult to my perceived injury, my middle name was Leon…which I equated with being a pretty lame name. Just being honest here. Whenever I was in trouble, I could count on hearing my mom or dad use my entire name, “Dennis Leon Jernigan!” Since I became an adult…and since God transformed my life forever in 1981, I have literally come to love and appreciate my name. My mom tells me she believes I have the perfect name…and I am inclined to agree with her. To this day she does not like it when someone calls me DJ. She says, “That is not your name. Your name is Dennis Leon!”

Until I talked with my mom this week, I believed I was not named after anyone in my family line. My brother Paul William was named after one of my Dad’s best friends, Paul Williams. My brother Bob (Robert Lewis) was named after my dad (Samuel Robert) and my dad’s favorite uncle, Lewis Snyder. My brother Sam (Samuel Everett) was named after our paternal grandfather, Samuel Washington Jernigan and our maternal grandfather, Herman Everett Johnson. I never knew until I called my mom today that I was named after someone specifically!

As the time of my birth drew near, my dad wanted to name me Dennis Lewis. During the years my dad was growing up, he had a close friend named Dennis Edwards who attended school and church with him. Dad wanted to name me Dennis Lewis Jernigan. My mom said, “No child of mine will ever be called Lewis!” (Sorry, brother Bob, lol!).

When they could not agree on Dennis Lewis, my dad suggested they call me Robert Wayne. My mom hated that combination, too, so they compromised and my dad chose the name Dennis and my mom chose the name Leon out of thin air just because she liked the name and how it sounded with Dennis. Dennis Leon Jernigan is a good name.

A [good] name is to be more desired than great wealth,

Favor is better than silver and gold.

Proverbs 22:1 NASB

Dennis literally means ‘follower/worshiper of Dionysius, Greek god of wine’. Because I am a follower of Christ, I asked the Lord to reveal to me the true meaning of my name as a result of who I am in Christ. He told me Dennis means ‘follower/worshiper of the one true God/Jesus’. Leon literally means ‘lion’ or ‘lion-hearted’. When I hear my name now, I hear the meaning behind it. “Worshiper of Jesus who walks with a courageous heart.” That is a good name and it means more to me than great wealth because it serves to remind me of who and Whose I am.

Dennis Leon Jernigan

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2018/07/31/22/08/lion-3576045_1280.jpg

Merry Christmas!

Listen to the Dennis Jernigan Christmas recording, Carols Made New. It’s absolutely free. Use the link provided below.

Merry Christmas!

Dennis & Melinda Jernigan

You may need to copy the link and paste it into your search bar. Here is the link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/carols-made-new-76111565

The Tree Patch

I thought you might enjoy another chapter from a memoir I have been working on for several years.

Dennis

The Tree Patch

Consider a tree for a moment. As beautiful as trees are to look at, we don't see what goes on underground - as they grow roots. Trees must develop deep roots in order to grow strong and produce their beauty. But we don't see the roots. We just see and enjoy the beauty. In much the same way, what goes on inside of us is like the roots of a tree. Joyce Meyer

No one can reap the fruit before planting the trees.

Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva

"For you will go out with joy

And be led in peace;

The mountains and the hills will break into shouts of joy before you,

And all the trees of the field will clap [their] hands.

Isaiah 55:12 NASB

I have a friend whose grandfather was a lumberman, managing several groves of pine along with a small lumber mill. When he was a boy, his grandfather took him to plant a tree together. My friend tells me he asked his grandfather how long it would take the tree to grow before it could be harvested. His grandfather simply said, “That day will be long after I’m gone, son.” My friend then asked his grandfather, “Why are you planting a tree you will never get to see harvested?” HIs grandfather’s reply? “I’m not planting it for me, son. I am planting this tree for you.”

Now that Dad is gone, my mind floats back to scenes from my childhood more often than I imagined they might. Part of me is wistful and melancholy, yet the old man perspective gives way to the wonder of a child’s point of view as I gaze back in time.

When my father was just a boy growing up on the farm, his dad - my grandfather - had set aside a portion of the 90 acres for the sole purpose of planting trees. We called it the Tree Patch. The specific trees chosen for this small 5 acre forest were Bois D’arc. We called them horse apple trees. Other names for this tree are bow wood tree and the Osage Orange Tree. The Bois D’arc is a small deciduous tree that grows to maturity in a relatively short period of time, reaching heights between 40 and 60 feet. Rife with thorns, the yellow center of the wood was often used to make dye by Native Americans who also valued the tree for the strong bows produced using the wood. Thus, the name Bois D’arc. Each fall, these large bushy trees would be laden with hundreds of rough, spherical, bumpy-to-the-touch inedible fruit - like skin made of cobblestone - and my brothers and cousins and I would use them as bombs for our many mock battles on horseback. Upon contact with the ground - or the back of one of my ‘foes’ - these cannon balls would crack open, splattering an Elmer’s Glue-like latex that was difficult to rinse off!

Beyond its obvious use from a boy’s point of view, my grandfather had wanted to accomplish several things with these hardy trees. Since Oklahoma can be a windy place, a line of these hardy, bushy, brambly trees could serve as a windbreak form the harsh winter winds blowing down from the north across the plains. Even without their leaves, the Bois D’arc’s numerous and tangled branches could provide protection from the onslaught. Many farmers and ranchers would plant a row of these hardy trees running east to west in order to give shelter to their herds during winter blasts of arctic air blowing in from the north.

In the days following the Great Depression, frugality was the midst of my grandfather’s generation, especially in places like Oklahoma, which had been hit hard by the difficulties of the Dust Bowl days. Steel fence posts were considered a luxury, so fence posts were made of whatever material could be salvaged. Since my grandfather raised cattle in addition to managing oil wells around the county, the need for sturdy fence posts was always a necessity, and the need to manage money was ever-present in his mind. The most affordable way to obtain fence posts was to grow them…and Bois D’arcs fit the bill.

My dad had helped Grandpa Jernigan plant the five acre grove sometime in the early 1950s. In very precise rows, they had painstakingly plotted out the rows to ensure enough room to grow to maturity yet make the most of the growing area, making for a path one could barely ride through when on horseback.

Since dad raised cattle and since cattle need to be fed in the winter when green grass has turned brown and dormant and stopped growing, we had to keep the cattle fenced out of the hay meadows and to keep cattle out of the hay meadow required a good strong fence. I still remember as if it were yesterday the time when we built the fence following the contour of terraced field between the front and back pastures. Dad told me we were going to fence off the hay meadow and that he needed my help…and this meant a trip to the Tree Patch to harvest fence posts…something Dad had talked about for many months.

Telling me his dad had planted those trees for just this purpose even before I was even thought of was like being invited into a living legend! For so long, Dad had talked about the time he and his dad had planted the forest and how one day we would be able to use the trees for the fences on the family farm. The stories were about to give way to reality - and I was beyond excited.

By the time I was about 8 years old, I was already driving the tractor and milking the cows, but I was not quite old enough or big enough to wield the chainsaw. Dad and my little brothers and me, hitched the flatbed trailer Dad had fashioned from an old pickup bed to the tractor and headed toward the Tree Patch. Walking through the forest, I was at once excited about felling that first tree but anxious about what the demise of that tree would mean to the layout of my own private adventure land. After a few minutes, Dad decided to select trees from the outer rows to better facilitate their removal from the tangled mess of branches. I remember the relief I felt at the realization that none of the inner hidden secrets of the forest would be revealed - that the inner mysteries of the Tree Patch would remain intact!

Selecting trees whose trunks were approximately 8 inches in diameter, Dad began cutting. I was captivated at the bright yellow saw dust that accumulated like fine golden snow all over dad’s feet and around the stump. My brothers and I played in the powdery snow while dad trimmed away the branches, adeptly leaving a roughhewn post of nearly 8 feet tall. Covered from head to toe in yellow sawdust, my brothers and I methodically dragged the debris of branches into a burn pile while dad moved on to the next tree.

As soon as dad had loaded all the yellow-centered fence posts onto the trailer, we drove the quarter-mile to the soon-to-be fence line. Dad then instructed me to get into the driver’s seat, explain to me the need to drive slowly along the side of the terrace in order for him to drag out the posts. Doing as I was told, I drove slowly along the side of the terrace while dad walked along behind the trailer. Every 8 feet or so, he would grab a fence post and pull it out, leaving a trail of posts in our wake. When the trailer had been emptied, it was back to the Tree Patch for another load. We repeated the process until enough posts had been laid along the entire fence row.

The next step required was the digging of the holes for the post. Dad used a post hole driller attachment - an auger - connected to the power take-off of the tractor to dig the holes. He also used a manual post hole digger to fine-tune any holes, depending upon the characteristic of an individual post. Since no two trees were alike, some were perfectly straight. Some had slight curves. Some had a gnarled bend. Not wasting a single post meant adapting the shape of the hole to best accommodate the shape of the tree, with the final result being the erect stance of the post in as level a line as possible.

After the posts were placed in the holes, my brothers and I pushed the dirt back in the hole while dad tamped the dirt into hole as tightly around the post as possible, securing it in place. After we were done, my brothers and I looked down the line of posts and imagined a line of soldiers standing at attention, awaiting the commands of their leader. Even in a fence row, the Tree Patch led us on never-ending adventures!

The next step in the process was the laying down of each strand of wire the entire length of the fence. Again, I drove the tractor while dad followed along behind the apparatus he had created for the purpose. The spool of wire was too heavy for one man and certainly two heavy for a boy, so dad ran a steel pole through the spool and attached each end of the pole to the draft arms - places to attach implements like plows and balers, etc. - and I drove the entire length of the fence line while dad made sure the wire unrolled properly. Once this task was completed, Dad used wire stretchers to make the wire taut enough to endure a cow leaning against it. Allowing me to wield a hammer, he taught me to measure the distance from the ground to the the placement of the wire and how to hammer in the galvanized fencing staple, securing the wire to the post. We repeated the process for each wire until the entire fence was completed.

The Tree Patch had served its intended purpose, requiring the felling of man trees, yet it had not seemed to even dent the forest or alter its sense of mystery. If anything, the loss of so many trees for that fence line had only added to the intrigue and mystique of the Tree Patch. My brothers and I continued to build forts until we were well into our early teens. And I still remember the day I went hunting with my trusty old Daisy BB gun.

I was probably around the age of ten when I set out to conquer the forest on this hunting expedition. Stealthily I stalked my prey. My prey? Whatever moved! I hoped for a rabbit but would have settled for a field mouse. Imagine my surprise when I heard a fluttering of wings somewhere above and just ahead of me…and the breathless anticipation and pounding of heart as the turtle dove sat on the branch well within range! Slowly and quietly, I aimed at the defenseless little bird. As the BB shot through the air, I remember thinking the world had gone into slow motion as I watched the small round missile fly through the air and then hearing the muffled thud and seeing the small explosion of feathers as the bird fell slowly from its perch to the ground below with a near-silent thud!

Imagining myself a great hunter, I proudly ran home with my prize. My parents were nowhere to be found, so I ran to Grandma Jernigan’s house and showed her my prize! She was so proud of me and offered to help me clean and cook my prize! After stripping the tiny carcass of feathers and after properly gutting the bird, Grandma fried him up and served him to me! Feeling as if I was in the court of a king and as if being served the finest feast I had ever been served, I ate that dove and pondered my next excursion while simultaneously reliving the victorious hunt over and over in my mind! Ah, the Tree Patch…

Although the Tree Patch was created in the first place with a very practical purpose in mind, my fondest memories and, to me, its greatest assets were the fun and adventures it afforded me and my brothers as we were growing up. After all, who can say they grew up with there very own private forest? I can!

The Tree Patch had proven to be so much more than a forest of would-be fence posts to me and my brothers. It was a haven and an adventure land and a place a boy could roam free for hours upon hours, playing and pretending and doing battle and hiding and seeking and riding and just dreaming. For years before we built the fence and for years afterward, the Tree Patch was a place to explore. I knew every pathway. I discovered hidden escape routes. I knew shortcuts. I knew the places I could squeeze through on horseback and places I could tether my horse from sight during mock battles with my cousins and brothers in order to carry out sneak attacks.

So well did we know the layout of the Tree Patch, my brothers and I could navigate its hidden twists and turns even through the dark of night. In the places where branches blocked the path, we knew when to duck. In the places where the turns were particularly treacherous, we knew how to nimbly and deftly wiggle through without a scratch, often leaving our pursuers trapped in a tangled mire of torturous brambles, making our escape all the more glorious.

Whenever I would feel sad or melancholy, I could find solace in the Tree Patch. Whenever I was filled with wanderlust and the need for adventure, I would head to the Tree Patch. Whenever I felt angry or whenever I felt betrayed or emotionally wounded, I would hide in the Tree Patch and somehow find release and healing for my boy-soul. Whenever I needed to explore the reason for my existence, I could find a measure of meaning in the Tree Patch. Whenever I needed to ask God the ‘why’ questions, I could go to the Tree Patch and cry without anyone but God hearing my sorrow. Whenever I needed to get away from the other voices vying for my attention, I could find the quiet place of life and silence enough to hear my heart cry in the Tree Patch.

The wonder of a boyhood memory leads me to ponder that, somewhere in my granddad's mind and vision beyond a mere windbreak for livestock and beyond the utilitarian purpose of a fence post, my grandfather had his grandchildren in mind. I like to believe he saw the many hours of exploration and adventure would be afforded to me and my brothers in the years to come. Even though I was the only one of his grandchildren my grandfather ever met on this earth, my dad made sure his legacy was passed on. How do I know this?

As of this writing, I am about to be a grandfather for the tenth time and my greatest desire is for my grandchildren to discover who and Whose they are; to have hours and hours of grand adventure; to be filled with a sense of exploration and wonder; to dream and to imagine and to know they are loved…merely and simply because they exist! Since that is my heart as a grandfather, I like to believe that was my grandfather's heart as well.

This is the reason I have created the Forest of Bren. This is the reason I keep the cedar tree in the campground in the middle of the forest decorated all year ‘round, making it Christmas in grandpa’s forest all year ‘round. This is the reason I have carved out 2 miles of trails and named them after my own grandchildren. This is the reason…that generation after generation would never doubt they are loved beyond imagination and that they have a sense of purpose. I want each of my children and each of my grandchildren to know…

This sign is going up just past the entrance to the Forest of Bren - the generational Tree Patch of my clan - inviting each generation into the grand adventure of life:

Stop.

Lay down your logic.

Put on your imagination and…

Proceed.

The old Tree Patch has long been gone, the trees dying off and the area having been cleared away for pasture…but its dear sweet memory lingers in me, deep in un-damageable places where things like fear and betrayal and old age and harsh words and the fickle, selfish ways and wisdom of man cannot reach. I can go there anytime I want or need. Now I am old…and I still find solace in my own private tree patch where I meet with God often…and explore with my grandchildren…and create memories for them and the generations to come. I did not plant the trees or carve those trails for me. I did all that for them…just as was done for me. It is joy and life to my soul…and I cannot help but think it was the same for my grandfather planting those trees back in his day - for me.

Dennis Jernigan

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/01/19/17/04/orchard-1149536_1280.jpg

Winter

This is an excerpt from a new memoir I began writing after my dad passed away in 2017. I thought it would be appropriate to share with you;

In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.

Albert Camus

People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.

Anton Chekhov

I love the four seasons we enjoy here in Oklahoma - especially the sense of anticipation I feel when seasons are about to change. Springtime means being able to watch the world come alive again, turning green as grass fades from winter brown and trees burst out in green explosions seemingly overnight. And the flowers…and the red buds.

As spring gives way to the heat of summer, I look forward to early mornings on the front porch and lazy midday dips into the pool and afternoon naps and evenings spent, again, on the front porch.

When fall draws near, I especially love the colors bursting from the dying leaves like splashes of orange and red and yellow and every color in between. I imagine this being like God’s palette and Him sweeping across the landscape by night leaving a surprise of exquisite hues for us to enjoy in the morning as the mist rises from the ponds.

Dad went to be with the Lord at the end of August, right when the summer began to fade into the autumn. This turn of events I was not quite prepared for, yet I have all confidence I will see him again when I go to be with the Lord. Still, even after several weeks and time to mourn, I realize things will never be the same…and a sweet kind of melancholy wraps me up in a blanket that smells nostalgic and comfortable, the aroma of memory wafting from somewhere deep in me. I sense winter is coming.

I love winter. I love the cold crisp air. I love the need to build a fire in the fireplace and snuggling with Melinda. I love the bonfires I build for my grandchildren. I love building a fire in the chiminea and just sitting there in the cold. I love the way fire means warmth yet we wouldn’t need the warmth had we not felt cold. Funny the thoughts one thinks when thinking about winter, How we often associate winter with death, yet we would not appreciate life so much were it not for death. Nothing brings this to mind like the facing of the winter holidays and thinking about the reality of the first Thanksgiving without dad. The first Christmas in 58 years he won’t be here. Yet, the sweetness of the memories of times long past buoy my spirit back to the warming fires of memories yet to be made. I will thank God for what I have and look forward to that grand heavenly reunion with those who have gone on before.

Seasons change. Winter will always give way to springtime. It is this knowledge that sends me right back to the wonderful memories of winters of my childhood. As winters go, winters in northeastern Oklahoma aren’t all that particularly difficult, but long stretches of below freezing temperatures and cold, cloudy weather would often freeze the ponds and cause the bar ditches to freeze over. Just as my grandchildren now long for, hope for, and dream of snow days, so I did as a boy. Though few and far between, we got our fair share of snow.

Being in the middle of America and at the southern end of the great plains, the line from the song Oklahoma rings true ‘as the wind comes sweeping down the plain!’ More than the occasional blizzard of snow, our more frequent form of winter precipitation came in the form of ice…freezing rain. Many times we went to bed knowing a winter storm front was headed our way only to wake and find the ground - and everything else - covered with a layer of ice. Looking out the window next to my bed on such mornings was like looking into a winter wonderland. Better than any Hollywood special effects could produce, the world seemed to have been frozen in time. Trees appeared to be coated in crystal, the weight of the ice causing them to bend as if in some choreographed dance, frozen in mid-step.

Even the grasses in the pastures appeared like waves of shimmering crystal frozen in mid-crest, curling perfectly as they bowed over in a curtsy, twinkling in even in the dim light of a cloudy day. The feeling of walking through frozen grass is the feeling, I suppose, one might feel should they have the opportunity to walk through a field of fragile crystal! Of course, everything was fun and games until one stepped onto a solid ice-glazed piece of ground with no grass for traction and one fell crashing onto their backside!

And the high-lines - the phone lines and electric lines suspended between telephone poles - would become so laden with ice the wires would bend close to the ground causing the poles to follow suit. The stillness of a frozen world can be quite eerie as everything seems muffled by the coating of ice, that stillness broken only by the occasional twinkling sound of an icicle breaking free from a branch and coursing its way through the limbs below. And I can never forget the sound of a frozen tree or frozen telephone pole bursting from the expansion of the frozen water within, the explosion sounding like the firing of a rifle. Ice storms always meant school would be cancelled!

Ice had its beauty, but so did snow. More often than not, we get snow in the form of a dusting, generally only 2 or three inches in depth, but I recall one snowy evening when I was in high school. Having just played a basketball game in Weleetka, Oklahoma, two of my cousins and I had ridden the school bus back home while our parents had driven on home. Our parents had beaten the storm home. We had not, meaning that by the time we arrived at the gym - the old Boynton armory - the snow had already fallen to the tune of 12 inches. Danny, Donna, and I made it as far as the edge of town where we realized we would need to seek shelter with aunt Annie who lived on that side of town. By the time we made our way to her home, the snow was already almost 2 feet deep! Our house was 3 miles to he north and Danny and Donna lived one mile further north from there! After calling our parents, we were instructed to just spend the night at aunt Annie’s…and I am so glad we obeyed!

As night gave way to morning, the glare from the sunlight being reflected from the snow outside seemed to pierce through the curtained windows. As we threw open one the curtains, we had to shield our eyes from the glaring brightness of the light being reflected back at us. Once our eyes had adjusted, we were met by the most amazing display. Daylight revealed not only the beauty of the snow but the treachery as well. As I gazed at the piles and piles of drifting snow I realized we would have never made it the three miles home. We would not have made it three more feet! The highway that ran directly in front of aunt Annie’s house was no longer visible. So deep was the snow that one who was less familiar with the location would never have known a highway was even there!

We were blown away by the magnitude of the snowfall, anticipating how long we could survive if no one were able to get to us. And just as we were beginning to plan our strategy for surviving the adventure into the great blizzard of ’75, we heard the faint sound of an engine. Even though the sound was muffled due to the blanket of snow, we definitely could hear something coming closer and closer. After a few moments and much to our amazement, we saw a jeep coming through the snow, making a path where we suspected the highway must be! And then, much to our astonishment, the jeep pulled off of the highway and into the driveway of aunt Annie’s house! We had been rescued!

Even though our grand plans for survival had been stymied, our disappointment gave way to the realization of our dilemma. Power was out, meaning heat was gone. The water supply lines had frozen, meaning nothing to drink. Aunt Annie had only food enough for a couple of days, meaning the three extra teenagers had already eaten her out of house and home. Even though no other vehicles were on the road, my dad had called Glen Bowles and told him of our predicament, knowing Glen had a four-wheel-drive Jeep that could make it through with ease. As Glen drove us home, I imagined what might have been ala Jack London’s Call of the Wild…all the way home.

Mom and dad were constantly warning us to stay off the frozen ponds. This was quite difficult to do since one of our daily winter chores was to break holes in the ice at pond’s edge, opening a place where the cattle could drink. Cattle are not smart enough to do this themselves, though I have witnessed the smart horses using their hooves to break through the ice on their own in order to quench their thirst. What’s a boy to do when the frozen expanse before them seems to call - to beg - them onto its fun-filled surface?

At the ice’s own enticement - that’s my story and I’m sticking to it - we discovered that if we ran fast enough…got a good running start…we could slide swiftly and easily across a narrow area between the pond’s banks and glide completely to the other side without causing a single crack in the ice! On more than one occasion, though, we ventured out a bit further than we should have only to find we did not have quite enough momentum to carry us all the way across! As we slid to a standstill, invariably the ice would begin to develop small fissures beneath our feet, running like spider webs cracks the expanse with the speed of lightning, inducing panic and dread in whomever happened to find themselves in such a predicament.

Sometimes, the cracking ice sounded like a slow creaking as we felt it giving way beneath us. At other times, it sounded like a gun going off somewhere below! More than once did the brothers on dry land search of a fallen willow branch with which to extend aid to a brother in need! This was all fun and games to us until the day one of the cows went into labor and fell through the ice. Discovering her too late for intervention, both she and her calf had perished. From that day forward we were a bit more careful. A bit more…

The small creek that ran through our property- the creek we called ‘the ditch’ - provided some of my favorite winter-time memories. Running almost the entire length of the 90 acres we called home, the shallow waters of the ditch always froze completely solid for weeks at a time. Joy upon joy the day we discovered this! Even though we did not have actual ice skates, we would ‘skate’ along the length of the frozen waterway on the most epic skate-marathons ever! We would enter the ditch at the crawdad hole near the western edge of the property and head eastward across the farm. Laughing and pushing and skating our way along the ditch, one would have seen 4 heads in line slipping and sliding their way in stair-step height, as we made our epic way down the ditch as far as it would take us.

Although none of us knew a thing about hockey other than the evening sports reports on the evening newscast, we would play hockey the entire length of the ditch. Skates? Cowboy boots would suffice any day thanks to the slick smooth soles. Stick? Any willow branch would do. Puck? A frozen cow patty! Rules? Don’t draw blood. And off we would race, vying for control of the ‘puck’. For hour upon hour, we could be heard across the pasture as we traversed back and forth, laughing our way to the house as suppertime drew near.

Even though farm work was not always easy, it was good for me. regardless of the season, the cattle need to be tended to…especially in winter. the cows needed to be milked daily. This was my chore. By the time I turned six, milking was my daily chore. How I dreaded the morning-time wake up calls of my dad. On cold, crisp winter mornings when it felt I had just gotten the pillow and blanket arrangement just right, my dad would call out to me from the stairwell below our attic room, “Dennis! Time to get up! The cows ain’t gonna milk themselves!”

While this rankled me to no end, I found humor in the possibility of a cow somehow managing to milk herself and led me to wonder to no end how I might be able to train her to milk herself! Rising and dressing for the cold, I would shudder each time my warm just-awakened face was met by the bitter contrast of the freezing outside air as I made my way to the pasture to wrangle the 2 cows for milking. My cold frozen fingers were always made warm by the engorged teats as I methodically puled down to start the flow of milk. While this made me feel warm, I am sure the cow never appreciated the icicle-like fingers my touch must have reminded her of!

Breaking the ice was not a one-time task each day. We broke the ice once each morning and again each evening. Since there was no green grass to be had during the dormancy of the winter months, we needed to feed and hay the cattle each day, just as we needed to break the ice, twice each day. My brothers and I would load several bales of hay onto the hay trailer we kept attached to the tractor for that purpose during winter months. Along with the hay, we would load a bag of cattle feed, nutrient-rich grain compacted into what we called cattle cubes. Driving the tractor to a certain area of land, one of us would open the feed bag and slowly pour it out on the ground as another brother drove the tractor slowly across the pasture.

While the cattle went for the cattle cubes, we would then begin dispensing the hay. Again, while one of us drove the tractor across the field, the other brothers would begin cutting the two wires that bound the bales. Once the wires had been cut, the hay would then be dispersed as we tossed or pushed the compacted sections of dried grass to the pasture below. As the last bale was released, we could look behind us and see a trail of cattle, heads down, looking like statues frozen in the pasture. This kind of work was so good for us, instilling the very stark reality that if the work was not done the cattle would die. Dad and mom were teaching us the most basic reality of hard work. To work is to serve. To work is to give life. To work is good.

Winter meant Thanksgiving and Christmas to me. Whenever the first cool crisp days of autumn made their way to our neck of the woods, my heart began to long for pumpkin pie and turkey and dressing and the time when Grandpa Herman and Grandma Lela - my mom’s folks - would drive down from Sapulpa and drive me and my brothers to see the lights in Tulsa. Even now, I can see the lines of cars as we drove up the Bee-line through Glenpool and then over toward Bixby and up Memorial Drive. From my vantage point lying in the back space where the window met the car seat, I felt as if I was flying, imagining the car an airplane - or better yet - Santa’s sleigh transporting me through the magic of Christmas!

Winter time draws me to a sense of wonder, taking me back to innocent days before I was so self-focused. The wonder of a home-made sled dad built for us and the lack of a hill big enough to actually use it on. The wonder of dad flipping a discarded car hood and dragging it behind the tractor, me and my brothers giggling around the farm in glee. The wonder of my mom singing me to sleep in the cold mid-winter nights beneath handmade quilts she had quilted herself. The wonder of the one-of-a-kind designs left on my bedroom window each frosty freezing morning. the wonder of the sound of ice pellets pummeling the roof above me or the wonder of the silence of the world after a heavy snow. The wonder of sitting on a chair feet dangling above the floor furnace after having come in from doing the winter chores. The wonder of how good it feels to be nestled in a warm blanket and to wake up feeling cared for through a cold winter’s night.

Were it not for winter, how could I appreciate the coming of spring…or the freedom of summer…or the nostalgia of fall…or the coming of another winter? I suppose wonder comes when faced with the bleak coldness of death that one becomes more grateful for the disparity of the seasons. Simply put, how can one know the joy of summer without the cold of winter? How can one prepare for the winter without the warmth of summer. The seasons go hand in hand. Even though one might associate winter with death and bleakness, one’s point of view can mean the difference between despair and joy. Might as well choose joy, right?

Joy is what I choose as winter nears. I choose to remember skiing with my children. I choose to remember the good times my mother and father created for us while I was growing up. I choose to remember the igloo we built when my children were growing up. I choose to remember pulling my children across the pasture, rope attached to the plastic sled, plastic sled attached to the horse. I choose to remember daring the twins to swim in the snow while I watched from the warm waters of the hot tub. I choose to remember the myriad snowball fights.

I choose joy…even as we approach the first holiday season without dad. His memory will linger as long as I am here…and that is enough for me. I love the winter…

Dennis Jernigan

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/08/02/14/26/winter-landscape-2571788_1280.jpg

How I Renew My Mind

“You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” Marcus Aurelius

         I feel so loved and so blessed and so encouraged to have so many people asking me how I am doing concerning my battle with Parkinson’s. Part of my daily personal act of intentionally renewing my mind in a spiritual sense is in being intentional on the physical level, actively challenging my physical brain.

The main battleground of my spiritual life is the battleground of my mind. The enemy vies for my thoughts. That is why I make a point of renewing my mind each and every day in a spiritual sense. But the battleground of my mind has taken on a physical aspect which has basically doubled the efforts I personally make every day to bolster right thinking rather than stinkin’ thinkin’.

         The obvious case in point? I struggle with Parkinson’s Disease. I know it is a degenerative disease that is slowly attacking my mind, so in addition to the spiritual battle I wage for my thoughts…for my faith…for my identity…for my sanity…I now have to wage a literal physical war for my brain. Just as with the spiritual warfare I face with my mind, I must utilize physical ways to renew my mind.

         In addition to mentally putting off the lies of the enemy and replacing them with the thoughts of God and His Word through meditation on that Word, I must push back against the physical attacks on my brain by intentionally exercising my physical body, by keeping my mind sharp.

         The way I do this is by keeping a daily list of creative things I want to accomplish, whether writing music or writing books, by working the New York Times Crossword each and every day, by challenging my children to defeat me at Wordle each day, by taking dopamine 4 times a day to replace this chemical neurotransmitter my brain is not making enough of anymore, and by watching Jeopardy. TMI?

I have a plan for challenging my physical body as much as possible. I do a cardio workout at least 5 days a week. In addition, I lift small weights to strengthen my arms which seems to help keep the tremors in my right arm from progressing and have recently incorporated a simple boxing routine to help me with cognitive awareness and physical balance. After each workout, regardless of how long or short it may be, I am left with a positive state of mind…and that is a healing balm to my soul.

         Melinda is amazing at helping me stay positive even when the physical symptoms of Parkinson’s seem to have the upper hand. She helps keep me focused on God’s point of view rather than on my own point of view and that is priceless.

Following are some quotes that have proven helpful in keeping my mind focused on right thinking. I pray they encourage you to be very intentional in the practice of renewing your mind.

Dennis Jernigan

“You cannot have a positive life and a negative mind.” Joyce Meyer

“What do you hang on the walls of your mind?” Eve Arnold

“Change your thoughts and you change your world.” Norman Vincent Peale

“It takes but one positive thought when given a chance to survive and thrive to overpower an entire army of negative thoughts.” Robert H. Schuller

Photograph courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/10/09/04/20/eye-1725108_1280.jpg

Gratitude

Well, here we are at that time of the year once again, when minds go to thoughts of pumpkin pie and turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie…where, right around the corner, we’ll be breaking out the decorations and singing carols and wrapping gifts and spending time with our loved ones. With the onset of the holiday season, it goes without saying that thoughts often turn sentimental and we long for the nostalgia of the good old days. We tend to be drawn toward the very attitude for which the coming holiday is named. Thankfulness. Gratitude.

Since we, as followers of Christ, endeavor to operate and live our lives according to His economy - His way of doing things - thankfulness - gratitude - should be one of the underlying foundational attitudes that we walk in…always…regardless of our circumstances.

1 Timothy 5:16-18 NASB says, “Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.”

The opposite of gratitude is is ingratitude. A heart that has an ungrateful attitude tends to be a self-focused heart. Have you ever spent any time in conversation with someone who has a whiny, ungrateful attitude? Nothing is ever good enough for them, or everyone seems to be against them, or they talk about having to do everything themselves, or there’s a constant drawing of the conversation back to all things ‘me, me, me’? Do you enjoy being with such a person? I don’t!

A grateful heart is a heart that realizes the investments others have made in their lives; a heart that acknowledges it did not achieve success solely in its own strength; a heart that gives credit where credit is due; a grateful heart is the heart that deflects praise from itself and points to God as the ultimate reason for their success…the ultimate bestower of any blessings they have received.

Expressing gratitude and appreciation to others for the ways they have blessed our lives is one of the quickest ways to overcome the liar and his subtle lies that try to get us self-focused. In fact, when I am feeling unappreciated, you know what I do? This is the truth…I ask the Lord to show me people who are feeling unappreciated…and I write them a short note expressing my gratitude for their place in my life. Before I am even through putting pen to paper, my feeling of being unappreciated is gone! Why? Because I took my eyes off of ME!

In my own life, I had to take this to the lowest common denominator in a sense. I reasoned that if God’s Word tells me I am to give thanks in everything, that means everything. This was difficult for me at first simply because I had gone through so many battles for my mind and identity through the years…through circumstances where I could not find anything to be thankful for…

Like the time when I was 5 years old and that man exposed himself to me and tried to coerce me to sexual things. How could I give thanks in that?

I give thanks that God to me through that and has brought healing to my mind since that time. He was there, going through every ordeal with me.

Like the time my grandmother - a source of deep encouragement and refuge - suddenly died. How could I express gratitude in that loss?

I give thanks that I have many precious memories in the bank of my mind to draw on reminding me of the encouragement she gave me. And I give thanks because I will see her again.

A mentor in college - someone I believed, at the time, was sent of God - made a sexual advance on me when I went to him for help. How could thankfulness emanate from such an episode?

I give thanks to Father God for going through that very damaging time in my life with me and for using even what the enemy meant for evil for my own good and for His glory.

Through the years, I have received pressure to stop telling my story from well-meaning believers…even some telling me my music would sell better if I lost the story. And then on the other hand, through the years I have had those in the world tell me I fabricated the story to sell music. Where does a grateful heart find its way through such a dilemma?

I give thanks based on Psalm 107:1-2 NASB, which says:

Oh give thanks to the LORD, for He is good,

For His lovingkindness is everlasting.

Let the redeemed of the LORD say so,

Whom He has redeemed from the hand of the adversary

In other words, if we who have been redeemed do not express what we have been redeemed from, how in the world are those trapped in the same bondage ever going to know there is hope? In this sense, gratitude - giving thanks - is like a sword against the lies of the enemy. As I express gratitude to God for redeeming me from even moments when I was a victim, I go from being a victim to being a victor OVER those circumstances, regardless of how harsh they may have been.

I give thanks that the Lord has seen fit to get my music and message of hope out to the world in spite of the detractors and naysayers.

As a dad, when one of my children expresses gratitude to me, I tend to lean in to that child, feeling drawn to a deeper intimacy. It can be as simple as a glance across the table after passing the salt. It can be as simple as a hug after a kind word I’ve said. It can be as simple as a short note of thanks for a gift. I am a sucker for a grateful heart…and I am an earthly father…so how much more does our heavenly Father lean in toward us whenever we express thanks to Him? Something to think about.

One more picture of a thankful heart I want to share with you. From my point of view, I think the quickest way to a deep awareness of God’s presence is to express thanks to Him. I see God’s presence like a massively deep refreshing pool of water. Since I do not want to walk in a shallow relationship with Him and since the deeper places are out in the center of Who He is, I see gratitude as a diving board that can launch me out into the deeper places of Who He is…so I take a great big jump on the end of that board by expressing gratitude to God and the next thing I know, I am plunged into a deep awareness of HIs presence with and in me.

Do you want to walk in an attitude of gratitude? Do you want to experience the presence of God like never before? Do you want to take your eyes off of yourself? Are you tired of being a victim? Would you like to walk with a victorious attitude? Then begin by expressing gratitude to God for all He has done…and while you’re at it, thank someone today for their place in your life. Life is too short to allow ingratitude to rule the way we think. The attitude of gratitude is one of the most revolutionary things God has done for me…and I thank Him for it!

Dennis Jernigan

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2019/02/01/01/36/gratitude-3968280_1280.jpg

Little One

LORD, You have searched me and known [me.]

Psalm 139:1 NASB

Asa Robert Jernigan came 9 weeks early to this world, along with his brother, Ezra, on July 15, 1994. Asa weighed in at 2 pounds, seven ounces and Ezra weighed in at 3 pounds, ten ounces. They were in the hospital for seven weeks. For a great deal of that time, we were unable to hold them because of their frail condition. This was super frustrating because Melinda and I needed to touch our boys and to be touched by them.

Since we could not physically hold them for several days after their birth, God inspired me to do something practical - to do the next best thing. As I had learned to listen for my Father to sing over me, I realized that the next best thing for me to do was to make a recording of me singing over their little lives.

The nurses gladly played the tape constantly there in the ICU and we believe God used it greatly to minister life and healing power to their little bodies and spirits.

When you almost lose a child, you understand a little better the great value God places on each and every individual – no matter how fragile or small that individual may seem to us. In Asa I saw a little boy who wanted to know his father even though he had to fight for his life. I believe it was the desire to know that intimacy and communion with me and his Mom that put the fight in him.

With me, the need to know my God has been the fire behind the passion in my fight for freedom. When I hear Him singing over me, I hear acceptance and fulfillment and receive strength for the next breath of life! Life is priceless – and to know God is worth the fight for life! For Asa Robert Jernigan. We almost lost you…and had to go a long time without holding you…so we sang over you. Now I know God’s heart toward me a little better…

More than that, I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them [mere] rubbish, so that I may gain Christ… Philippians 3:8 NASB

The greatest human need - this is just my perspective - is to know and to be known. And the only way to truly find that depth of relationship is to know and to be known by the One Who created us in the first place. Sin left an empty place in every human soul…and that empty place can only be filled by the One Who made us.

Jesus wanted to know us so deeply…and wanted us to know Him so deeply…that He felt such knowledge was worth His own life. Let us be free from the cares of the world by enjoying getting to know our Father God and by honestly letting Him know us. This kind of relationship transcends all human circumstances and is, I believe, vital for human life to thrive. Let’s not settle for just getting by in life. Let’s settle for nothing less than thriving. Let’s get to know our Father and let’s open our hearts in honesty to Him.

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this blog and to hear the song called Little One, go to http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/little-one/

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/05/17/21/11/newborn-1399155_1280.jpg

You Are My Glory

When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,

The moon and the stars, which You have set in place;

What is man that You think of him,

And a son of man that You are concerned about him?

Yet You have made him a little lower than God,

And You crown him with glory and majesty!

Psalm 8:3-5 NASB

God’s word tells me that Jesus gave up the glory of heaven to come to earth and make a way for me to be redeemed from my sin…and regain fellowship and intimacy with the Father. His Word says, “Behold, what manner of love the Father has given unto us…that we should be called sons and daughters of God!”

When my daughter, Glory Bethel, was born, we felt impressed to give her this very special name. Glory (the weight of God’s presence) Bethel (the house of God – the dwelling place of His glory) is a constant reminder of the truth of who we are in Christ.

In Christ, I have become the temple of the Living God…the very Creator of the universe lives in me! Christ in me is the hope of glory! His glory is ever-present with me and in me by virtue of the blood of Jesus and my salvation! I am His workmanship, therefore I am a reflection of who He is, created in His very image!

When He thinks of joy, I come on His mind. And He enjoys being with me…and desires my presence more than I desire His! I was the pearl of great price (even though my sin made me unworthy, He found worth in me: yet another example of the mystery of the unsearchable great depths of His massive love!)

He thought I was worth the glory of heaven to purchase…with His own blood. How can my heart contain the richness or the vastness or the weight of that truth? It cannot! It can only overflow with the very glory His life is in me!

Keep me as the apple of the eye;

Hide me in the shadow of Your wings

Psalm 17:8 NASB

Just as an earthly parent wants nothing but what is best for their children, our Father God wants what is best for us and He desires that we succeed at life and that we have our every need met and that we be vessels of His glory. If we want all these things for our children, how much MORE does our heavenly Father desire them for us?!

"Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither labor nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass in the field, which is [alive] today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, how much more [will He clothe] you? You of little faith! And do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For all these things [are what] the nations of the world eagerly seek; and your Father knows that you need these things. But seek His kingdom, and these things will be provided to you.” Luke 12:27-31 NASB

Let’s keep life simple. Follow Jesus. Believe and receive His love for us and enjoy the great adventure of life as we attempt to unravel the great mystery of His great love for us. You are the apple of His eye. You are His glory.

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this teaching and to hear the song, You Are My Glory, go to http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/you-are-my-glory/

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2020/05/07/12/19/kid-5141328_1280.jpg

Precious Child of My Love

"I have loved you with an everlasting love;

Therefore I have drawn you out with kindness.”

Jeremiah 31:3b NASB

When I first laid eyes on our 6th child, our daughter, Galen Marie, I was overcome by the sweetness of her presence. She instantly had my heart from the moment I first saw her. And nothing has changed in the time since then!

The feeling I had (and still do) is that I have always loved her – even before I ever knew she would exist! I know this doesn’t make earthly sense, but when compared to the way in which God loves us, it makes perfect sense. He loved us even before the world was created. He loved us even knowing we would betray Him in our sin.

He loved us with an everlasting love even before we knew we needed that kind of love to survive! With me, there are not enough words or descriptions to convey how much I love my daughter, yet God speaks His love without a loss for words or without one little bit of wavering. His love for us is ceaseless and constant, powerful and peaceful, jealous and passionate – all at the same time…and so much more! We are each God’s favorite child…because He is God and He is able to love like that.

Blessed [be] the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly [places] in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons [and daughters] through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, with which He favored us in the Beloved. Ephesians 1:3-6 NASB

Isn’t that astounding to think about…that God was thinking of us…had us in mind…before He ever even created the world?! I don’t know about you, but that makes me want to love Him all the more.

I think it’s worth reminding that God not only loves us, but He likes us…and He loves being with us! How do I know this? How do I believe it so absolutely? I have 9 children and sons-and-daughters-in-law and will soon have 13 grandchildren…and I love them all…and I like them all… and I absolutely love being with them…and I am an earthly father, so how much more does our heavenly Father love us and like us and love being with us? We have great reason to walk in joy today in spite of our circumstances. We are so very loved. Let’s live and think like we believe it!

Dennis Jernigan

Hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this teaching along with the song, Precious Child of My Love, at http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/precious-child-of-my-love/

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/03/17/19/21/dad-2152447_1280.jpg

Child of My Heart

Blessed is one who considers the helpless;

The LORD will save him on a day of trouble.

The LORD will protect him and keep him alive,

And he will be called blessed upon the earth;

And do not turn him over to the desire of his enemies.

The LORD will sustain him upon his sickbed;

In his illness, You restore him to health.

Psalm 41:1-3 NASB

Upon the occasion of my eldest son’s 8th birthday (He is almost 40 now), I was reminded of how far God went to rescue me…and it made me wonder if I would be willing to do the same for my son if he was lost.

When I was lost on the mountain of despair, Jesus climbed to my point of need. When I was lost in the desert of hopelessness in need of a Savior, Jesus came bringing the Living Water. When I was caught in the fiery snare of sin, Jesus dispelled the flames with redemption and forgiveness. When I was dying in the coldness of loneliness, Jesus came with the overwhelming warmth of His ever-abiding presence upon my life. My Father did all that for me – and more.

This all makes more sense to me than ever when faced with the realization that I would do whatever was necessary to save or go after one of my own children. If I, being what I hope to be - a good father - want to give good gifts to my son, how much more does my heavenly Father want to bless me? I thank God for giving me my son and for teaching me about His love for me through my love for my son.

"I am the good shepherd, and I know My own, and My own know Me, just as the Father knows Me and I know the Father; and I lay down My life for the sheep.” John 10:14-15 NASB

Our Father loves us so much more than we can humanly comprehend. The most basic truth of that reality is that He saw fit to create us in the first place. He wanted us. He wants us to know Him. He wants what is best for us. He gave His own Son to make us His own - to save us from our sin. You were birthed in His heart and mind. You truly are a child of His heart. Walk in the power and peace of that reality today. You are a child of the Most High God!

Dennis Jernigan

To hear The Dennis Jernigan Podcast version of this teaching and to hear the song, Child of My Heart, go to http://podcast.dennisjernigan.com/e/child-of-my-heart/

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/06/15/15/03/family-810297_1280.jpg

A Thought For Today

October 19, 2022

“…Less of me and more of You, Lord…”

Do you ever have days when you basically get on your own nerves? I do! What usually brings me to this point is when I try to control my circumstances and put wrong expectations on others. God is in control. I am not! My expectation should be to expect people to respond like people and expect God to be there to give me grace whenever those expectations are unmet. Basically, I need less of me and more of Father God!

But as for me, I will wait continually,
And will praise You yet more and more.
Psalm 71:14 NASB

I Will Hold You

According to Psalm 32:7, the Lord surrounds us with songs of deliverance. We find that He rejoices over us with singing in Zephaniah 3:17. The picture these verses bring to my mind is of me singing my children to sleep when they were little and of me singing my grandchildren to sleep when they spend the night.

The other picture that these passages of Scripture bring to my mind is of the many times when I was emotionally wounded and the way my Heavenly Father would hold my heart close to His and He would sing songs of deliverance to me and sing songs expressing His massive love for me. All I had to do was call out to Him.

The LORD is righteous in all His ways,

And kind in all His works.

The LORD is near to all who call on Him,

To all who call on Him in truth.

He will fulfill the desire of those who fear Him;

He will also hear their cry for help and save them.

The LORD watches over all who love Him,

But He will destroy all the wicked.

My mouth will speak the praise of the LORD,

And all flesh will bless His holy name forever and ever.

Psalm 145:17-21 NASB

How much of the Lord do we want? How near to us do we want Him to be? How much intimacy can we attain with Him in this life? As with any relationship, we can hold God at a distance. Even though He sees through any walls or smokescreens we throw up, He desires that we desire Him and trust Him enough to let Him inside our woundedness.

God uses my children and grandchildren to help me hear songs of deliverance and love and intimacy in my own life. One such song is called “I Will Hold You”. This is a song of brokenness, for it takes an honest and broken heart to say, “Father, I cannot help myself. I cannot overcome my own sinful desires…But I know You can. Will You be my Strength through the long, hard night?”

God is faithful and able to meet us at our deepest point of hurt and bring healing. He is able to take us in the state of lostness and bring hope and salvation. He will not leave us, nor will He forsake us.

Come close to God and He will come close to you…Humble yourselves in the presence of the Lord, and He will exalt you. James 4:4a, 10a NASB

I shared this last week, but it is vital to remember this truth. Our children are precious to us. We want them to be happy…to be successful…to experience more joy and happiness in their lives than we experienced in ours. That is just part of our spiritual DNA. If we love our children like that, how much more does our heavenly Father love us? To Him, there is no one more precious than you. Think about it…and listen for the songs of rejoicing He sings over you. Just be listening!

Dennis Jernigan

To hear the song “I Will Hold You”, listen to The Dennis Jernigan Podcast at https://www.patreon.com/posts/i-will-hold-you-73119723

Photo courtesy of https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/06/03/22/04/grandfather-1434575_1280.jpg