A river runs through it

This summer I had the opportunity to spend some time on a river. While I enjoyed myself and the company I was in I couldn't help but notice how the flow of water had cut through this mountain as it flowed from its apex to its base. At times, as we rode this river, it seemed faster and rougher than others. Staying in the raft became a chore as the skilled guide led us on our journey. We were tossed and spun and, on the river, it was fun and yet sometimes terrifying. More skilled people than the six passengers have travelled these waters and not made it out to tell about it. At other times the water looked almost still as it flowed over areas where it met no resistance. 

After our journey ended where the water was calm and we removed ourselves from the raft I began to reflect on the day. In spite of the fears we may have faced along the way, we made it to our destination. Looking back on it, the memories were fond and not fearful. 

In our daily lives we can see the traces of the river. Sometimes the driving force of the water changes the very ground it touches. Digging new scars into the earth as it goes. On the soft earth the flowing water sculpts and shapes the land. On more firm soil it may take a bit longer but the river will eventually win. But, in some cases the river is what gets changed. A boulder here. A firmly rooted tree there. In those cases the river adjusts and goes over or around. But never through. 

My life has been changed by rivers. In softer areas I have broken. The river has left scars that will take a considerable amount of time to heal. If they ever do. Most likely those scars will remain for the duration. But other times the river had met a rock. The Rock. On those occasions the river has changed. Throughout its journey the river has never altered my faith. The more it has flowed the stronger my resolve has been. Yes, the river has changed me quite a bit. But I have had an effect on the river as well. 

The forces will undoubtedly leave scars. But the impact of that which remains firm in your life will forever alter the course of those forces. The river I saw was beautiful. It was majestic. In both the scars and the boulders. People came for miles to see it. And many of them left changed because of their encounter. When people see how the river has affected you, what will they see?

Life is a choice. Faith is a choice. Forces will come that will alter both. The question is, how will you let it alter you?

The Life of a Perpetual Overcomer: The journey starts anew

I owe you, dear readers, an apology. I have not been posting at all of late. I have not copied my articles and pasted them here for you to read. I let life, and death get in the way. It's not that I haven't been writing, I just haven't been writing here. Previous blog posts have simply been about life in general and have not been focused on one particular thing. After the loss of my daughter several years ago I thought I would start writing about that and then start simply writing about simple musings of my mind.And that worked well. It kept the few of you who read the posts mildly entertained. But then it never really spoke of what the title of my blog site indicated that it should. So, please accept my heartfelt apologies. Beginning now I want to keep you all better informed of what the life of a perpetual overcomer is like.

I will begin this new journey by, one last time, posting a copy of the article I wrote for my local paper. This will be the last time I copy and paste an article. Instead I will write what my Facebook friends and followers have been reading over the last three months. This will keep me from continually boring them with stuff they probably don't want to read every day, and will give them a chance to read my thoughts if they are truly interested.

A little over seven years ago I was asked by the Hattiesburg American to join the stable of writers from the community. When I was first approached I thought I was a sympathy selection. My daughter had just passed away and I reasoned that I my submission was selected among the many offered because the editor at the time felt sorry for me. When I went to the office to meet the editor I was told that he had not realized I was THAT Kevin Harrison. It was only then that I felt that I was selected on the merits of my writing rather than sympathy. And so I wrote. I wrote what was on my heart.
The first few articles were all about my daughter. Lessons she had taught me. Things I had learned about grief. About life without her. As time progressed I began to find other topics to write about. Some entertaining. Some humorous. And, hopefully, some enlightening. My daughter was still at the front of my mind, but I found I could still write about life in general without always bringing her into the story. But even then I would include her by occasionally starting each sentence with a letter that, if lined up, would spell out that I loved My Beth.

For the last few months though, my articles have not been found on the pages of the American. Not because the editors didn’t want to print them, but because I had not submitted them.

When your life gets turned upside down you do what you can to cope. My daughter was my hero. All those years I thought I was teaching her when she was teaching me. She taught me to be a better dad. A better communicator. To have more patience. To stand for what I believe in. All these lessons I have learned about being a parent I did not get to put into practice again. Four miscarriages can keep you from testing these skills out on a new child. So I took what I learned and put it into practice with the children in my church nursery. Each week I would let these children fill my bucket for the next week. Four hours a week and I was good.
Until June. That’s when my world got flipped again. Now I’ve learned new lessons and I get to put old ones into practice. I’m learning again how to deal with the injustices of life. And I am remembering that I can only get through it with the faith that I have in God and the friends and family He has put in my life. So, after 26 years I find myself in a position I have never been in before. I am living alone. My Wanda won the race to her daughter’s side. One day I too will get to join them but until then I will still run this race to the best of my ability. And I WILL make it. For I am “pressed but not crushed; persecuted, not abandoned; struck down, but I AM NOT DESTROYED.”

I am writing again. I am journaling every day. Sometimes several times a day. And I am posting many of those journal entries on my Facebook page. It helps me and I am hoping it helps others. My place in this human race is to help others along. I hope that when this race is completed I will be able to cross the finish line in front of a multitude of believers. I do know at least two that will be there and I can hardly wait to see them.