Out of the Closet and Into the Light

Angels Among Us

2012-01-28T08:22:00.002-07:00

A friend sent me a beautiful image of an angel with the caption: An Angel to Watch Over You. It reminded me of another time I was given an angel.

I had not expected the removal of my late husband's name from our joint checking account to be as monumental as planning the memorial or arranging for the burial, but it was. This last task was the final erasure of our life together, only a few mementos and memories would remain. I barely managed to maintain my composure as I signed the last document.

The bank representative asked me, "Did you come alone?

"Yes."

"I can see how difficult this was, and I am concerned for you."

"I'm okay."

"Well, I don't think you should be alone. You need a companion, someone to watch over you, and be with you."

Turning, she pulled a small pin from her jacket and handed it to me. "Here, take this angel with you. It was given to me during a difficult moment in my life, and I would like to pass it on to you."

"Oh, no I can't accept that. I don't want to take your angel."

"Take it. It was meant to be passed onto others. Take it, you need it more at this moment than I do. When and if I need another angel, one will be provided, just as this one was."

I accepted her gift, and left the bank with my small treasure securely pinned to my coat lapel. Through the woman's kindness my entire day turned from one of unimaginable sorrow to one filled with hope. Every time I looked at the small pin, I thought of her and her kindness to a stranger, a reminder of God's promise to be with us, always.

Several years later my sister-in-law, my late husband's sister, was diagnosed with late stage breast cancer. I recounted the story of the angel, and gave Shari the pin. Shari passed away two years later, and I don't know where that pin is now. Hopefully it was passed on to someone who needed that little extra touch of kindness, the reminder we do not go through these sorrows alone.

After hearing my story about my treasured pin, my sweet daughter gave me another made from Black Hills gold. This little angel reminds me there are angels among us, disguised as co-workers, family members, daughters, friends, and bank representatives, ready to reach out and touch our lives with unexpected kindness, offering us hope and comfort when we need it the most. May God bless them as much as they have blessed us.

David and Goliath

2012-01-21T10:52:00.002-07:00

It has been a rough week. The last of the moving chores left me physically exhausted, and software training at work drained me mentally. Between the two I felt I was dangling above a precipice, clinging to the ledge with finger nails. Then, several hours of testing with the new software loosened my grip to just one small finger. I looked down. There was no bottom to the abyss.

In desperation, I spent the entire evening studying, taking notes and devising a Quick Guide to the new software, and fell into bed drained, too tired to pray or think. Before sleep finally claimed me, I made a vow I would not be defeated. Someway, somehow I would master that program, and all of the other new tasks, and I would be proficient with all of them.
In the early, pre-dawn hours, I lay for a moment, going through a litany of things yet to do, yet to learn, and my resolve and determination wavered. I prayed, begging God to once more rescue me.

I rose, made coffee, and contemplated whether to start studying first, or read my devotions. After a moment's thought, I realized studying, as important as it was, could not be put before God. It was the wise choice. The first Scriptural reading listed in my devotional, Living Faith, was from 1 Samuel: 17:32 - 51. Drum Roll. It is the story of David and Goliath. Yep. You read that right. David and Goliath.

I laughed, re-read the story, and accepted the answer to my prayer. David recounted past triumphs where God had aided him, and then armed with confidence and faith in his Almighty God, he stepped forward to meet his enemy. We all know the rest of that story.

Like David, I too can recount other times God assisted me in slaying my lions and bears, and He will help me with my Goliaths too.

My last reading from, Streams in the Desert, speaks about faith versus defeat, and quotes Daniel 2:27, 29 - the three young Hebrew men saved from King Nebuchadnezzar's furnace. If there is a great trial in your life today, do not acknowledge defeat. Instead, continue by faith to claim the victory through Him who is able to make you "more than conquerors" (Rom. 8:37), and a glorious victory will soon be apparent. May we learn that in all the difficult places God takes us, He is giving us opportunities to exercise our faith in Him that will bring about blessed results and greatly glorify His name."

I step out this day, armed with faith and courage to face my lions, bears, and Goliaths. I can taste victory.

Why Is It Sometimes So Dark?

2012-01-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

There have been times when I have been plunged into a soul piercing darkness. Every miss-deed, every wrongly spoken word, every good deed left undone, every bad choice, crushed me beneath a heavy weight of conviction. This darkness of the soul isn't rare, as many of you may attest to, and in fact, I have read of numerous holy men and women who have endured this agony, most recently Mother Teresa. However, knowing it isn't unusual doesn't lessen the pain.

I wonder if this is what Jesus felt on the cross? Except His experience was to the tenth power of my pitiful emotions. This isolation from the world, weighed down with the conviction of so much wrong doing is almost unbearable, and yet, this brief glimpse of despair gives me some insight to those who take extreme measures to stop the pain by taking their own life. Their pain must indeed be horrific. Knowing this much pain without the saving grace of faith is indeed dark despair from which there would be no rescue. If only they knew to reach out, to ask for help with the faith to believe it would be given.

I am blessed with faith, and faith tells me to hang on because after the night comes the dawn. This heavy burden will lift and I will once again dance in the sunlight, a joyful daughter of a compassionate God, and reason tells me this darkness has been prepped and stoked by fatigue from the rigors of moving, new training at the job, uncertainty regarding my financial future, and unsettling world events. These factors pounced the moment I was vulnerable, when I was too weak to offer a suitable defense. I cannot expel them on my own. I do not need to. I do not need to rely on my strength. I have a heavenly Father with more than enough strength and power to dispel the darkness.

Yet, this darkness does have a purpose, as my reading in Streams in the Desert points out. In order to be a Comforter, you must first endure great sorrow. "You will be wounded so that in the binding up of your wounds by the Great Physician, you may learn how to render first aid to the wounded everywhere." Without experiencing this darkness, I would never know how to offer the Light to others. After all, Jesus suffered first, and through His suffering He fully understands our suffering, as both man and God, and so, I accept my lesson, and I will wait patiently for my healing, which will come.

This morning, Good Morning, Lord, by Joseph T. Sullivan has this:

Good Morning, Lord.

Help me not to look back at my sins-

you know how many they are!

I know that once I recognize the error,

correct it and make amends,

I'm supposed to move on,

toward better and greater things.

Brooding, feeling sorry for myself, scolding myself

are unproductive and silly.

They fail to recognize your merciful forgiveness,

your unmistakable love for me.

Hey! What mistakes? This is a brand new day.

I'm on your side, Lord,

and you're on mine. Amen.

The blackness has lifted. The dawn exploding just beyond the window in our new home is as brilliant as a sunset. Hundreds of ducks and geese are flying overhead, silhouettes against a blue and gold sky. This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24. Amen!

Sunrise, Sunset

2012-01-06T06:20:00.002-07:00

I sometimes wonder if I am looking at the sunrise or sunset of a life event. Is it just the beginning of the circumstance, or am I looking at the end?

As with the above photo, only the one taking the picture knows the exact time of day. However as observers, we can look for clues. The lighter blue sky would denote a sunrise, although I have seen some sunsets with similar colors as well. I have also realized that my mood will often dictate my perception. When I am joyful, I would be inclined to declare it a sunrise full of hope and new expectations. If I am sorrowful, or stressed, I would choose sunset in hopes of being at the end of the event and looking forward to a time of rest. So much of life is in this in between stage, not quite sure if our circumstances are really beginning or ending.

As I have grown in my faith, I have chosen to just sit back and enjoy the scenery without trying to decipher it too much. The above photo is beautiful, regardless of the actual time of day. I can enjoy it for what it is, or over analyse it to death and miss the Giver's intention, a brief moment of unparalleled beauty, peace and tranquility.

The words sunrise/sunset also remind me of the song from the musical Fiddler on the Roof. As the lyrics imply, time moves quickly. One moment we are at the sunrise of our life, youth, and before we know it, we are in the midst of our sunset years. If I dare to reflect back, I see four separate lives evolving from major events.

I do not fully understand the reason behind these circumstances, but I have come to accept them, especially since these experiences drew me closer to God. Over and over He brought me through the flames, holding my hand, protecting me from the heat.

This year, I face only minor changes, a relatively new job (hopefully a long lasting one), and a new home. Interestingly, the new house is situated at an angle where I will be able to observe both the sunrise and the sunset, neither of which I could view from the previous home. Over all our lifestyle will be greatly improved with both the house and the job, so why this introspection tinged with melancholy?

Change. Change, even for betterment is stressful. It is hard to let go of the known for the unknown. And, in some regards, I am weary. Change requires great effort and I am tired, not just from the physical work of moving, but the emotional changes as well. After seeing so many dramatic changes in my life, now even the smaller ones are draining.

Yet, I know I do not need to rely on my own strength. God in his mercy has given me a companion to help shoulder life's responsibilities, and my husband has shouldered the large responsibilities in order to allow me to concentrate on my job, and I am so very thankful. Then, I also have God's promise:

But they that hope in the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall take wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah: 40:31

Amen. Alleluia.

Who Started All This New Year's Resolution Stuff?

2011-12-31T18:34:00.000-07:00

With New Year's upon us, everyone is reflecting on things past, hoping for things to come, and making resolutions to improve the things they can. Why? Who started this tradition at the first of every year? Curious, I did a little research.

The first to celebrate the beginning of a new year was the Babylonians on the Vernal Equinox, March 20th (or 21st in some years), at around 2000 B.C. Besides being the first day of spring, this date has astrological significance. At exactly 7:21 pm EDT the sun crosses over the Earth's equator. Both day and night are of equal length, thus the name, Equinox - equal night.

It wasn't until the adoption of the solar based Julian Calendar by Rome in 46 B.C. that January 1 was designated as the first day of the new year. It remained until the Council of Taurs abolished the practice in the year 567. The counsel claimed the celebration was pagan and unchristian, and they set the new year on either December 25th, Christmas, March 1, the Annunciation, or on March 25, Easter.

In 1582 the Catholic Church adopted the Gregorian calendar and January 1st was reinstated as the beginning of the new year. The Protestants were slower to adopt the calender, holding out until 1752 when the British finally accepted it. Prior to that, Brittan, and its American colonies, celebrated the New Year in March.

As far as New Year's resolutions, it is the Babylonians we can blame for that tradition, then later, Christians implemented the year end practice of reflection on past mistakes and new year vows to improve.

The song, Auld Lang Syne, was first published by Robert Burns in 1796 after Burns heard the song in his Scottish hometown. The song was popularized by band leader Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians in 1929 after playing it at midnight on New Year's Eve during a party at the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City.

The words, auld lang syne mean "old long since", or "times gone by." The song asks if old friends and times will be forgotten, and promises to remember people of the past with fondness. Very appropriate sentiments as the old year wanes and the new begins.

Following the ancient tradition of reflection, I think back this New Year's Eve to special moments with my friends and family, accept the hallmark changes, and look forward to things yet to come. Although there are still some unresolved issues (and there will always be), I feel I am at a far better position than at any other moment in my life. I have learned to have more faith and trust in God, my Father, and life is no longer one crises after another.

My only resolution this year: to continue to deepen my relationship with Him, and all the rest will magically fall in place.

Happy New Year!

The Unexpected Christmas Gift

2011-12-28T06:24:00.031-07:00

This Christmas my church offered only one Christmas Eve service, at eleven pm. I am not a night owl and any event, church or party, starting later than seven pm is a challenge for me. With an abundance of churches in our area, I began an on line search for a Christmas morning service. I found a church offering a 10:30 am service only six miles from the house. Not a bad commute. I used to drive much further than that to attend church. However, there was one little flaw in this plan. Attending services at a church other than mine meant sitting in an unfamiliar church, with an unfamiliar congregation and minister, alone, on Christmas.

My resolve to attend wavered. After a moment of prayer, I decided it was important I attend, regardless of how odd, or sad it would make me feel. I pulled on my coat of Courage and Trust, and went.

The church parking lot was almost empty. Was the web sight wrong and there wasn't a 10:30 service? Well, there were a few other cars..... I grabbed my purse, got out of the car and resolutely headed toward the front doors. As I passed a car parked in the handicapped spot, the occupant, and older woman, leaned out. "They are having a 10:30 service, aren't they?"

"As far as I know. At least the web site said there was. However, this is my first visit, and so I am not entirely sure, but thought I would try the door."

The woman smiled. "Well, I'm fairly new as well. I'll follow you, and if you would like, we could sit together."

"I would like that."

There was indeed a service. About ten other attendees were scattered about the small sanctuary. My companion led me to a pew much closer to the front than I am comfortable with. (I prefer the anonymity of the last row. ) Prior to the service, the minister moved from pew to pew, personally welcome every attendee, including me. His words of welcome touched my heart.

The celebration was simple, elegant and stirring, and with my companion beside me, I felt welcomed, and at home.

After the service, Carol gave me a huge hug and invited me back. The minister also extended a personal invitation to return next Sunday.

I thank God for my unexpected Christmas gift. Carol will never know what a difference her simple act of kindness made. I am taking this beautiful lesson to heart, and asking God to help me be a doer of small, yet mighty, things.

The Pessimist and the Optimist

2011-12-23T09:30:00.002-07:00

Yesterday an acquaintance received the anticipated announcement she was finally hired as a permanent employee. I was happy for her, yet felt depressed as my temp situation is unchanged, and even a little tenuous.

My husband, understanding my lack of holiday enthusiasm, encouraged me to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, believing the silly antics of the characters would at least make me laugh. They did that, and surprisingly a little more. I also received a deeper message, not at that moment, but later.

I spent the rest of the evening mulling over my employment situation and other personal issues, sarcastically telling myself, "Well Merry Christmas - not!"

Things changed this morning. With sleep, my first cup of coffee, and a beautiful dawn, the story of the Pessimist and the Optimist came to mind. Two boys were placed in separate rooms. One filled with every imaginable toy, the other with manure. After an hour observers went to each room to see the boys' reactions. Sure enough, the Pessimist could only complain. Nothing was right. Every toy had a flaw or defect. Noting this, the observers moved to the next room. To their amazement the Optimist was busy digging in the manure. They asked him what he was doing. His answer, "With this much manure, there has to be a horse in here somewhere!"

Well, I was the Pessimist, only looking at what was wrong, not at what was right, or could be. Instead of thinking how my acquaintance got a permanent job and I didn't, I could think positive. If she was lucky enough to be hired, I might very well be next. Who says it can't or won't happen?

With this thought, I opened my first devotional, Good Morning, Lord, by Joseph T. Sullivan. Today's prayer:

Good morning, Lord.

Words are just words until one day they may take on special meaning.

There are lines we have heard so often.

Then one day, their impact hits us:

"Your Heavenly Father knows all that you need."

Is this true? Is there really a divine providence?

Can we take these sacred words seriously?

What a big difference these words would make in the practical

events of life if we accept them.

We slow down and gain confidence;

life is no longer a series of uninterrupted crises.

Lord, help me to take your words to heart

and trust you to take care of me. Amen.

It was then I understood something else. We idolize the holidays, believing this special season changes the entire world and everything and everyone in it. Like Chuck Griswold, we become overly optimistic, believing in the ideal of the perfect family Christmas. Life is built on the imperfect, and we are usually greatly disappointed for one reason or another when our expectations are too high or unrealistic. Then we become pessimists at best and Scrooges at worst. I suggest something else - a true Optimist. An idealist who recognizes and acknowledges flaws, but chooses to focus on what is right, rather than what is wrong.

This holiday season will not be Courier and Ives perfect. It will be somewhere between A Christmas Story and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, and with a little effort some What A Wonderful Life mixed in, filled with more blessings than I can count.

I will go one step further. Those visiting the stable on the first Christmas could have chosen to see only a poor family and a cold, dirty stable. Instead, they chose to see the glory of God and the Salvation of Man, Emanuel - God With Us. That is my choice. Merry Christmas.

Oil

2011-12-17T07:53:00.000-07:00

Having lived over half of my expected life span, I find myself spending more time wondering about the purpose of my life. Have I discovered it? Have I fulfilled it? So many of my dreams and aspirations were never brought to fruition, partly due to the choices I made, partly due to circumstances beyond my control.

I did not become the famous ballerina I aspired to be. I had the necessary grace and talent, studied the art with private lessons from the age of five through twelve, but when I gained my full height my teacher informed me five foot five was too tall to be a ballerina.

My parents offered private art lessons as an alternative. It was love at first brush stroke. I had talent and potential. I studied, practiced and actually dabbled with a few pieces of commissioned work, but the dream of an art career never materialized.

Before I could explore that option, osteoarthritis developed in the lower thumb joints on both of my hands from overuse. My job as an Optician had destroyed my hands. I could no longer hold a paint brush, or much of anything else for that matter. Doctors told me I was too young for joint replacement and would have to live with the pain and disability until I was older. Thirteen years passed before I became a candidate for joint replacement.

Through this experience, and other life altering events, I began sharing stories of faith, miracles and God's compassion. Friends and family encouraged me to write them down. I could type without pain, and I poured myself into this new craft. However, God put the brakes on the dream of a New York Times best seller. (Described on my page Lions, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My! (Why I Write). )

A few years ago a brilliant surgeon replaced my damaged thumb joints and after a year of therapy and recovery, I could once again hold a paint brush. Not on a full time basis as required to go pro, but at least I long enough to pursue the passion as a hobby. Although it has been fourteen years since I painted, and I may be a little rusty at first, I have confidence it will all come back and I can once again adorn our home, and others, with original art.

Yet, my original question remained. Why would God give me talent without the means to perfect it and use it successfully in a career?

The answer: oil. In Streams in the Desert, L.B. Coleman tells a story about an eccentric old man who carried an oil can with him wherever he went. He lubricated every squeaky gate and door he encountered. When asked why he did this, he replied, "To make the way easier for those who come after me."

The cloud lifted. My talents weren't meant to make me famous, or rich. That wasn't how God marked success, and neither should I. They were meant to be used as oil to enrich and smooth the lives of others. My talents were meant to be shared, not sold.

My devotions this week included Isaiah 61:3: To appoint the mourners of Sion, and to give them a crown for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, a garment of praise for the spirit of grief: and they shall be called in it the mighty ones of justice, the planting of the Lord to glorify Him.

Oil of joy for those that mourn. I can't think of a better use of my talents.

A Few of My Favorite Things

2011-12-10T08:10:00.003-07:00

Last week's post touched on treasures and priorities. I have reflected a great deal about the things I treasure and came to realize there are treasures and there are favorites. Things should be favorites while God, faith, and family are treasures.

So, it is alright to have favorite things such as antiques, books, vases and mementos. The picture on the right shows a few of my favorite things.

The book is the one I've mentioned in previous posts, the one my sister gave me after my third husband died. It contains Maxfield Parrish prints with the words to the song Somewhere Over the Rainbow. It has brought much peace and comfort during the hard moments of my life, and so it is on my list of favorites.

The vase was given to me by my husband. He knows the story behind my affinity for lilies, particularly Calla Lilies, and that was the reason behind the gift. ( See post: Lilies). It is now among my favorite things as well.

The antique dolls are only two among a large collection, all gifts from husbands, my sister and girlfriends. The givers are among my treasures and thus the gifts are among my favorites.

The sea shell came from the shore of a lake in Zimbabwe, Africa where my husband and I were married. I treasure that moment in time, the symbol behind the object: our love and commitment to each other. And so it is among my list of favorite things.

There are more, many more as our home is filled with mementos from our African travels, our years of collecting fine art prints, my own original art, and precious books and family photos.

As I reflected on these things, I recalled other treasures, Divine gifts I will always keep close to my heart.

First time I held my daughter

Hugging my daughter on her wedding day

My grandson, my daughter's first child

My husband and I on our wedding day

My daughter and her husband

My oldest son

My Neice

My parents 20th Wedding Anniversary

My Sister

My Niece

My younger son

My grandson

My Granddaughter

My parent's 60th Wedding Anniversary

Treasures and Priorities

2011-12-04T07:25:00.000-07:00

The crash, followed by silence meant trouble. I rushed into the kitchen and immediately saw the shattered plate on the counter. My eyes then flew to my husband. He stood by the sink running water over the fingers on his right hand.

"Are you hurt?"

"Burned my hand pretty good."

"Oh, Honey. Are you alright?"

"I'll know in a minute."

"What happened?"

"I didn't realize I'd turned the burner on under the plate and when I touched the plate, it of course burned me. I pushed the plate off the burner, but it shattered when it touched the counter."

"Were you cut?"

"No. Just burned."

I looked at the shattered plate. It was a piece of Franciscan China given to me forty years ago as a wedding present. Although that wedding ended in divorce, it had been given to me by my family and I treasured it. Since marrying Bill, pieces, mostly dinner plates, had been gradually disappearing. The set was now down to only five dinner plates out of the original eight. I had not heard the story behind the other disappearances, and could only wonder at how they met their demise.

I pushed those thoughts aside and turned back to my husband. Large blisters emerged on all five of his finger tips.

"Honey, you really should put some burn cream on those and then bandage them."

"I'll think about it."

"And,if you go to the doctor, he will give you this amazing antibiotic cream that will immediately reduce the pain as well as protect your burns from infection. I really think you should go."

"I'll give it a little longer and then see."

I knew it was useless push any further, and with misgivings dressed and headed to work. As I drove, I thought of the plate, and could hear my mother cautioning me to be careful with my things. As a result of her advice I have many things I have kept safe for years, until I met Bill. He isn't purposely hard on things, but he is like the proverbial bull in my china shop.

The silverware set I had received along with the china was now gone. Spoons kept disappearing until there were only four left out of a set of sixteen. Bill eventually confessed to accidentally grinding them in the garbage disposal. He has a habit of putting all the dirty dishes in the same side of the sink with the disposal and the teaspoons are short enough to disappear into the opening. Lying unseen, they become victims to the steel blades.

After his confession about the silverware, I stated, "Honey, I've had that set for forty years!"

His response indicated how different our thought patterns and priorities were. "Well, I guess it was about time you got a new set."

This comment left me speechless, and acutely aware my priorities are not always in the right order. I sometimes laid up the very treasures Jesus had warned against. Certainly I should be a good steward and not be careless with the things I am given, but they are not to be treasured above family - or God. And, Bill was right. All my priceless treasures can be replaced. Maybe not with anything identical, but definitely replaced with something able to provide the same function. That isn't true of God, or my family. They are irreplaceable treasures far more important than a piece of china, or a picture or any other keepsake.

I will admit, it wasn't any easy lesson. I was very tempted to mourn over the demise of that beautiful plate, the symbol of a treasured gift, and it took some effort to treasure the giver over the gift. One final thought settled the matter.

When God calls me home to Him, I don't want to be remembered as the woman who had an entire set of unbroken china in her cupboard. I'd rather be remembered as the woman who loved God and her family.

Now when I look at that china set (and at our new silverware), I think of priorities and where mine need to be.

Post Holiday Reflections

2011-11-29T07:21:00.001-07:00

The turkey is nothing but bones. Only crumbs remain from the pies. The suitcases, the air beds, and the general clutter are gone. The floors are once again open spaces where the hostess can walk unimpeded. Gone also are the giggles and screeches of grand kids, and the constant hum of a dozen different conversations. Everyone is back home, back to work and school, back to life.

However for one brief weekend we re-lived what once was, a time when family was around for every occasion, happy or sad. When only days passed between visits instead of years.

I will hold the memories of this special holiday in my heart, pulling them out during future holidays when we cannot be physically together.

This Thanksgiving held something even more miraculous than being all together, the celebration of my parents 60th Wedding Anniversary. They were married on Thanksgiving Day, 1951.

The Turkey - A Re-Post in Honor of Thanksgiving

2011-11-20T09:08:00.001-07:00

We were flat broke with several more days to payday. With three kids to feed and a pantry nearly bare, things looked pretty grim. I mentioned my concern to a close friend at work.

"Remember when God paid your insurance? If He will do that, he will surely fee your family as well. Trust Him."

She then told me this story. A flood ravaged a small community, forcing many residents onto their roofs to await rescue. One man, looked at the water already lapping against his ankles, realized he couldn't wait too much longer to be rescued. Unable to swim through the raging water, he faced certain death if he wasn't found very soon. Desperate, he cried out to God to rescue him. God promised He would.

A rescue helicopter noticed the man on the roof, flew over and lowered a rope. The man waved them off. God was going to rescue him and he didn’t need the helicopter. The crew shook their heads at the man’s foolishness and moved off in search of other victims.
Two men came by in a row boat and offered to take him with them. He refused their help also, again stating God was going to rescue him.

A surge of water swept the man off the roof and he drowned. Standing before God he asked why He hadn’t saved him as He had promised.

God replied, “I sent you a helicopter and a row boat, what more did you want?” Author Unknown

I thought about the story as I drove home that afternoon. Okay, whatever God sent my way, by whatever means, I would not decline the offer. I would look for and accept the helicopter or a row boat. I didn't expect God to send me a turkey.

When I walked into my kitchen, I discovered a twenty pound turkey, thawed and ready to cook, was sitting in my sink. Thinking of the story, I knew it hadn't simply materialized. Someone had put it there. Only one person, besides the family, had a key to the house, my mother.

I called her, and listened to a story almost as amazing as if the bird had suddenly materialized out of thin air.

Several days prior, the freezer belonging to a woman neither of us knew malfunctioned and everything in started to thaw. Most of the food the woman was able to either cook or transfer to the freezer in her refrigerator, but the twenty pound turkey wouldn't fit and it was too much for her family to eat without re-freezing the left overs. She offered it to a neighbor. The neighbor accepted it, then decided she didn't want it. She passed it to a friend. That friend accepted it, then decided she didn't want it either. She in turn passed it on to someone else.

This was repeated over and over until the bird was passed from home to home all the way accross town to my mother. Mother accepted it on my behalf and brought it down to the house just before I arrived. By that time the bird was completely thawed and ready to cook. Dinner would be late, but there certainly would be plenty.

And now, every Thanksgiving when I look at the turkey and see images helicopters, rowboats and my kitchen sink, I bow my head and say, "Thank you."

Needs

2011-11-12T07:49:00.001-07:00

I've spent a great deal of my life clinging to a job, a home, financial security, husband, children, parents - things, and in the process expending a great amount of emotional and physical energy. I am not saying we should not care about people or things, we should. We need relationships, we need things in order to survive, but we need God more.

One of my devotions mentioned a popular chain e-mail. It asked, "Suppose you're house was burning, with all of your family already safe, you have just enough time to take one item with you, what would you chose?"

As I went through a mental list of things I treasured, a new thought emerged. What if God came to the door and simply said, "Come." Would I need to say goodbye to family first? Would I tell Him, just a minute I want to grab a few things, or would I have enough faith and trust in Him to simply step out the door? I decided I could just walk away. After all if God were personally beckoning me, why would I not?

Another image formed. With nothing but the clothes I was wearing, I embarked on a journey with Him. We walked side by side down the street, out of the neighborhood and gradually out of the city. For a woman who carries a large purse everywhere, and always has multiple suite cases when traveling, this was an intoxicating concept. He even made keeping up with Him easy, matching His pace to mine, and carrying me when I became too tired to walk.

We were deep into a wooded area, far from any town when night descended. A thunderstorm hit, and within seconds I was soaked. I could no longer see God or feel His touch. As I considered my desperate situation, a large lightening flash revealed a small cave only a few steps in front of me. The floor of the cave was sandy and dry, but I still shivered in the night chill. I wondered why God had brought me there and then just left, leaving me to die of exposure and hunger.

Lightening hit the tree, just outside the mouth of the cave and ignited one of the large limbs. It fell a within arms reach, and with minimal effort I drug it further into the cave. My clothes were soon dry, and the blaze held off most of the night chill, but I was still hungry, tired and seemingly alone.

Then I realized God would do two things. He would either provide food, warmer shelter and everything else I needed to continue the journey - at one point or another - or He would take me Home where all my needs, even those beyond my imagination would be filled. Short term hunger and a little cold could be endured.

At that moment God came into the cave and sat down next to me. He entertained me with stories and amazing natural wonders. He assured me that although I missed dinner, breakfast would be indescribable. He told me how much He loved me.

I eventually fell asleep, curled next to the fire, covered with a blanket of God's love and peace. No worries, no concerns. I didn't make any do list's or minute by minute plans for the next morning. I didn't check off a list of all the things I failed to accomplish that day, nor did I recite any list of transgressions. I had followed God, and that was all I was required to do.

Now, I can truthfully say, if the house were on fire, or if God knocked and said, "Come", I would walk away, leaving everything. I would be selfish (according to the world's point of view), but by choosing God above everything else, life becomes simpler, and far less stressful. My burden's are much lighter, especially when I let him carry most of the load.

Two Masters

2011-11-05T11:48:00.000-06:00

No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or he will hold to the one, and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon. Luke 16:13.

I understood the above passage on an intellectual level, dispassionately, objectively, yet never personally, until yesterday.

My temp position requires a staggering amount of training, and after three months I do not feel any more competent than I did after three weeks in my last position. The result, I am still making mistakes like a new-hire. To a Perfectionist/Over Achiever this is frustrating, humbling and sometimes humiliating.

Yesterday, I made an error, important, but not grievous. With constant interruptions from the phones, I was distracted, lost focus and confused two gentlemen's names. Both names were similar: same first name and close last name. As a consequence, I sent an important, (thank goodness not a confidential) package to the wrong address.

My supervisors were kind about the error, especially after I owned up to being responsible and explained how it occurred. However for a perfectionist, seeing the disappointment in management's eyes was enough to send me on a spiral of self-chastisement. In answer, God sent me another dream.

I was in a large compound filled with people from many social and economic levels. The general crowd was engaged in rather disgusting behavior. Desiring some privacy and a place to escape from the ethical onslaught, I found a small room with a locked door. Ignoring the lock, people came in and violated what I felt was my private space. They not only invaded, they continued their abhorrent behavior. I was angry and in admonishing them let slip a cuss phrase using the Lord's name. Regardless of their horrendous behavior, I knew my error would be severely punished.

When the general manager approached, I told him, "Stop right there. I never cuss or use the Lord's name. I slipped and this is why."

I then listed the atrocities going on around me and how I resented the disrespectful behavior toward me. He apologized, and offered to send one of the resident pastors to speak to the group. He joked they would either stop their abhorrent behavior or clear the room. The dream ended there.

After my readings this morning I understand the symbolism. I ranked my error as serious as taking the Lord's name in vain, in essence putting their approval above, or on the same level as God's, making them my second master. That is a far greater error.

Putting God first, pleasing only Him, takes away the burden of relying on my accomplishments to affirm my worth. God knows my heart. He knows my intent is not to be slovenly in my tasks. Being imperfect, I will make mistakes, but these do not define who I am.

I am a child of God, and I refuse to have two masters.

Last Night, I Died

2011-10-29T06:43:00.001-06:00

I have had many unusual dreams, some were premonitions foretelling future events. Others have given instruction. Last night's was one of these last.

In the office where I am employed as a temp, there is a backroom used for shipping. I spend a great deal of time there preparing domestic and international literature shipments. In the dream I was in this room when I collapsed.

My soul separated from the flesh, and stood looking down at the crumpled shape. "Well. I guess I'm dead. And that's okay. No more worry, or pain. I certainly don't need to be concerned about finding another job." I felt a twinge in my conscious. My family. They would be hurt.

God spoke to me. "You are not dead. I am going to send you back."

I looked down at my body. "You know, if someone finds me and calls 911. That's going to cost money. I don't have insurance, and Bill and I are barely hanging on now. This will tip us over the financial edge."

"No one will find you before you revive."

"Oh. Then why did this happen?"

"I needed to get your attention."

"Well, you have indeed gotten it."

"Marie, you have become more and more like my Martha. You fuss about a lot of things, and in spite of your resolve, you still miss the point. First, in answer to your question of what you are to do, be patient. Your time of waiting serves a purpose. I have taken many things from you: husbands, family, friends, jobs and financial security. I have done this to prove to you, not Me, that you can live without these things. It is Me you cannot live without."

My feelings were deeply hurt. "But, Lord, I have always tried to put you first!"

"Not as I want you too."

"I am confused."

"That is why I have brought you here. You have yet to let go of worry over what will happen tomorrow, next month or next year. You have many unknowns in your life at this moment and have suffered great disappointments. They are My means to grow your faith and trust in Me. Let it go. Let it all go. Be My child. Go out each day and do your best. Enjoy My gifts you posses at this moment, and do not worry about what you will have or not have tomorrow."

I woke with the image of myself standing over my body, still worrying about how inconvenienced I would be if I was found before I revived. Even after His admonishment, my alter ego, Martha was very much present. To eradicate her personality from mine will take extreme effort and almost minute by minute vigilance with my thoughts.

I must confess, I came by this nature through the example of my father. He worries constantly. In fact at one point I coined a phrase describing him. He not only believes his glass is half full, he also believes what remains is toxic. He has gotten better over the last few years.

Although I have always been more positive than that, I have always worried. It is my chief nemesis. Now, after last night's dream, I understand how offensive it is to God, and it is time I really worked on changing. I know it is okay to make plans, but I am not to live just for their fruition. Today is a most precious gift that should not be spoiled by yearnings, or worry about something too far in the future to be addressed today.

But, I am weak. I can't do this on my own. Happily, I don't have to. God performs miracles wherever He finds faith, and He will find it in me.

The Time of Waiting

2011-10-22T06:48:00.001-06:00

The word, no, is a hard one to accept, especially after pouring your heart and soul into an endeavor with the belief that honesty, loyalty, skill, and patience would matter. After being pursued, and yet still rejected - with the promise you would be kept in mind - the knife cuts even deeper.

When the tears and initial pain finally subsided, accusation settled in. I simply wasn't good enough. My hard hard work and diligence was not good enough. The words cut deep, leaving seeds of hatred and bitterness in the wound.

I plucked out most of these seeds through prayer, but could not completely eradicate hurt, discouragement, doubt and anxiety. These remained, winding long tendrils through my heart and mind. More prayer, and the Master Gardner began pruning away the unwanted growth. I writhed with pain under the sheers, but knowing the pruning was necessary, I did not run.

When at last the pruning was finished, and the pain subsided, I picked my self up and continued moving forward. Again I received a series of rejections and faltered, but remained on my feet. He too was rejected, over and over to the point of death on the Cross, and is still rejected. This added some salve to the wound, but it still throbbed.

This morning, God applied another kind of salve through two different devotions. Both reiterated when waiting for something we want, or desperately need, our patience is severely tested, but if we remain open to the lesson we are to learn, we will grow, and a delay is only that, usually followed by a greater blessing than we expect. "...be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him. Psalm 37:7. We are not to rush into anything. We are to remain patient, trusting even when we do not understand.

Fortified with trust, patience and hope, I continue to seek His answer, His solution and I believe it will be nothing short of miraculous.

Bread Crumbs

2011-10-15T08:15:00.000-06:00

My life changed dramatically after my first vision, described in an earlier post, The Divine Embrace. God told me I would walk through an inferno, not as a punishment for my sins, but through the natural course of my life. I would endure great pain.

Following this revelation came horrendous, life altering events. However, He offered encouragement, consolation and guidance through dreams, premonitions and scriptural promises.

This week I have faced yet another momentous life course change, and I am unsure of which direction to take. The variables are too numerous to fathom. As before, God has provided some clues to what is His will in the matter.

Like bread crumbs, or sometimes even the more prominent rock piles hikers use, He has marked the trail.

Luke 12: 6-7

Are there not Five sparrows sold for two small coins? Yet no one of them has escaped the notice of God....Do not be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows.

Philippians 4:6

Do not be anxious over anything.

Luke 12: 22-28

Therefore I say to you, do not be solicitous for your life, what you shall eat; nor for your body, what you shall put on...Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they labor not, neither do they spin.

But I say to you not even Solomon in all his glory was clothed as one of these.

This verse has particular meaning as one of the first miracles I received after the vision. (See Lilies)

Another devotion offered this: Good Morning, Lord by Father Joseph T. Sullivan: ...After rainstorms, puddles reflect sunrises, or mountains, or rainbows, or blossoms. Rainbows also have a previous correlation to serious trials and corresponding miracles. (See Somewhere Over the Rainbow)

Besides the scriptural reminders, there were also several coincidences. I have handled hundreds of shipments at my current place of employment (the temp position due to end in a few months) yet, yesterday was the first time I came across another individual with my name (on an address for a literature shipment I was sending out to another state.) No big deal, right? Not really, when taken alone. However, a few minutes later I answered the phone. It was a random solicitation call from the company involved in my current circumstances. The first time that has ever happened as well. The meaning? None, other than it is just His way of getting my attention, as He has done in the past when I think none of the above is really meant for me personally.

Last night, the personal call I had been so anxiously awaiting came. The company is delaying the decision in my regard yet again. This issue has been going on almost two years and I now must wait for another three days, until Monday, the 17th. With so much at stake, it is very hard to simply sit by and wait for an outcome I cannot control.

Yet, the delay has an interesting significance. The number 7 in varying forms: 7, 17, 27, 37 and so on, has also provided trail markers in the past, alluding to the Divine symbolism of the number 7 in the Bible. Besides the beautiful messages in both Psalms 27 and 37, the number 7 means several things. A great number and completion being two of them. Both appropriate for my situation. These numbers are not miraculous, or magical. They serve only to remind me of His Word, past promises and miracles. (See Signs.)

If I will only trust Him and follow His signs, I will avoid most of the deep holes, ruts, and boulders hidden in the mists of my doubt and worry. I may skin a knee, or obtain a bruise, but I won't fall, and although I still have no clue where this path will eventually lead, at least I know I am on the right one.

Someone Else

2011-10-08T09:58:00.000-06:00

At times life seems to be one disappointment after another, and I blame it all on Someone Else.

Someone Else got the house my husband and I fell in love with.

Someone Else got the job I applied for and really wanted.

Someone Else is driving the car I've always wanted.

Someone Else is celebrating a mile stone wedding anniversary that I will never have.

Someone Else is thinner, younger and more attractive.

Someone Else’s list of blessings far out weigh mine.

This morning God shook his finger at me and said, “Shame on you!”

Through my devotional, Streams in the Desert, by L.B. Cowman, God reminded me not to be anxious over anything. Do not worry over what I am to eat, wear or drink. He knows I have need of these things. In other words, don’t worry about Someone Else.

I could hear His voice. “Haven’t I given you everything you really needed? Haven’t you always had a warm house, food, clothing, friends, and a loving spouse? Does it matter that I chose to give you those things in a manner you didn’t expect, or necessarily choose, as long as I provided them? And if you will only admit it, haven’t my choices been far better than yours? Have I not exceeded your expectations?”

I bowed my head and mumbled, “Yes, Lord, you have."

"And?"

"You have sent many gifts and blessings. You paid my car insurance when it was impossible to do on my own. You paid off debt in ways normally considered impossible.” I giggled. “I will never forget the time you put the turkey in my sink just in time for dinner."

"And?"

"I remember the rainbows you sent during the storms to remind me of your love and promises. And, the lilies you sent to remind me not to worry or fret over my well being. I do remember, Lord, but I am weak and sometimes give into doubt.”

"Continue."

"Well, now as I reflect, I realize what I do have.”

"I do have a comfortable house filled with treasures accumulated throughout my life.I have always had jobs, and each one has given me the opportunity to increase my knowledge and skill..I have a car, maybe not the one I dreamed of, but it is certainly serviceable – and paid for. I have celebrated wedding anniversaries, maybe not the milestones Someone Else has, but each one was indeed a celebration of time spent in wedded bliss with a man I truly love. I have a healthy body showing only a few ravages from my many ears upon this earth. It may not be as thin, or young as Someone Else’s, but I’ll take the few aches and pains over Someone Else’s devastating health issues.

"I must admit, I have as many blessings as Someone Else, and in many cases, more. And Lord, I must admit one more thing, none of the above matters as much as my relationship with you. It is through You that I exist, and will continue to exist here on earth and in eternity. You will never forget or abandon me. Even during the darkest moments, you shower me with encouragement, compassion – and hope.

"So, Lord, I lay all of my worries and concerns at your feet. I choose to float on wings of faith rather than sink into the depths of worry and despair. But, there is just one more thing, Lord, when I leave this room I am going to see Someone Else with all the before mentioned blessings, and I’ll need your help not to forget mine.”

Guest Blogger, Lydia Harris, a.k.a. Grandma Tea

2011-10-05T06:29:00.000-06:00

Lydia is gracing us today with a glimpse of her newly released book, Preparing My Heart for Grandparenting, and recounts some of her journey to becoming a published author.

Lydia Harris

Thanks for inviting me to guest blog on your site, Ceci. I’m glad to share a bit of my writing story with your readers.

Writing and Grandparenting

In Preparing My Heart for Grandparenting, I’ve combined my passion for grandparenting and my calling to write. My book is a Bible study for new and experienced grandparents, but it’s not your typical study. Although full of scripture, it also contains practical and creative ideas to share fun and faith with grandkids. I interviewed dozens of grandparents, so the book includes their stories and quotes as well as my twelve years of hands-on grandparenting.

The study affirms grandparents in their important role, provides tools to become FANtastic grandparents, and helps them to pass on a legacy of faith. One grandmother wrote, “Your book has challenged me to think intentionally and to live purposefully in this new role.” The book makes a great gift for grandparents.

I’m thankful my husband and I live near our five grandkids, aged one to twelve, and can enjoy time with them. Even so, it takes planning to make it happen. I try to schedule time twice a month with my eight-year-old granddaughter for spiritual mentoring. And whenever possible, we attend our grandkids’ events or invite them to our home.

This school year we had a first as we watched our middle-school-aged grandson play football with his school team. Go Jaguars! Another day, our kindergarten-aged grandson spent the afternoon. Since he has a vivid imagination, we looked for dinosaur footprints as we walked to the park. When we took him home, I told him when he turned sixteen and had a license I hoped he would drive over to visit me. “I will,” he promised.

Family Matters

I’m the youngest of eight children, and family has always been important to me. All my siblings are Christians, and we spoke German in our home when growing up. At the end of each day, we gathered for “Schluss” as a family to sing hymns, read the Bible, and kneel to pray—all in German.

After raising two children, God nudged me to write. I’ve written hundreds of book reviews, articles, columns, devotionals, recipes, and stories. I enjoy writing about tea, hospitality, prayer, family, and grandparenting. Together with my grandchildren, I create and test recipes, which are published in Focus on the Family’s children’s magazines.

Prayer as a Priority

Prayer is an important part of my life. I joined a Moms In Touch prayer group over twenty years ago and still pray weekly with mothers, now grandmothers. I also organize family prayer times for our extended family. We regularly share prayer requests by e-mail. Family members who live in the greater Seattle area meet about six times a year for family prayer times. In Preparing My Heart for Grandparenting, I’ve included several lessons on prayer along with exciting prayer tools.

Now with a published book, I also have speaking opportunities. I’m grateful that during these retirement years God still has plans for my life and continues to pour out his blessings. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.” (Psalm 23:6 KJV)

Please stop by my blog (www.PreparingMyHeart.net) and say hello. And if you or someone you know is a grandparent, consider my book as a gift. To God be the glory!

Blessings,

Grandma Tea

Thank you, Lydia for sharing your insights into the joys and responsibilities of grandparenting. I know God will bless your work abundantly.

Disposable

2011-09-30T07:01:00.000-06:00

We are a nation of disposable products, touted as modern.conveniences, and yes, they are convenient. Who can argue that paper plates, plastic silverware, water bottles, diapers, carryout containers are so much easier than what our parents and grandparents dealt with. Yet, what price have we paid for this convenience? I am not talking about just the trash problem all this disposable conveniences have created. There is something deeper, and more troubling in our society.

Corporate numbers have always dictated companies' decisions, and to some degree, justifiable. The corporations, or business, toss out the unwanted numbers like disposable conveniences, regardless of what they represent: product or people.

Now, don't misunderstand me. I owned my own business and I know the value of those numbers. If a business can't make a profit, then it can't pay its bills, including payroll. What I do have a problem with is the deception and ruthlessness some corporations and business owners use to balance their numbers. Remember the old phrase, "It isn't personal, it is just business"? Well, it is personal, and they use the phrase as a cop out for their responsibility in ruthlessly effecting others' lives.

The news is filled with stories of financially struggling companies deceptively keeping it a secret from their investors, creditors and employees. At the last moment the executives announce bankruptcy and closure, then walk away with their pockets lined with green down.

Once in a great while you hear about a company who acts with compassion and honesty when forced to deal with lay offs, benefit changes and bankruptcy. They can't give what they don't have. In these cases the executives suffer right along with the employees. They are the Daniels of this world, acting with honesty and integrity, even when tempted to look out for their personal interests first.

In all fairness, there is the other side of the coin as well, the employee who takes whatever they can get, without thought to the company or their co-workers. Their motto, "As long as I get mine", is just as destructive as "It's only business."

An applicant explained to his interviewer all the benefits he had at his last position. "I had fully paid medical insurance, numerous paid holidays, a very generous sick leave and bereavement policy, flexible hours, a benevolent expense account, a luxury car and over a month in paid vacation. And, I received the very handsome salary you see on my resume."

The interviewer was astonished. "Why would you leave a job like that?"

Applicant. "I didn't. The company went bankrupt."

This type of greed started with Cain and Able and will continue until the end of the world. So, what do we do when faced with deception as an employer or an employee? Let's look at the life of Daniel.

Daniel was a captive, yet through his integrity, honesty and talents, he rose to prominence in not one, but several kingly courts. Of course, others were jealous and sought to destroy him and as a result Daniel was thrown to the lions, not once, but twice. (One would think once would have been enough.)

In the first case, Daniel spent the night in den, remaining unharmed through God's direct intervention. The second time he was in the den for six days. God not only protected him from the lions, He fed him as well, through the miraculous transportation of the prophet, Habakkuk. God thought of everything.

I take courage from Daniel's story, not just because God saved him from the wicked. Daniel retained his integrity and continued to do his very best regardless of his circumstances. He held to his faith and trusted God with his life. Now, we know that Greed too often wins while the Good suffer, but we must remember this is only temporary. The world doesn't get the final word. God does.

Perfection

2011-09-23T07:05:00.003-06:00

Our culture seeks perfection in everything. The perfect job, friend, boyfriend, spouse, car, weight, teeth, hair. The list goes on and on. The ads in magazines and TV tout products and services guaranteed to help us achieve this state of perfection.

I know better than to swallow this lie. My teeth will never be perfectly white or straight. My hair will always have that little wave right in the middle of my otherwise perfectly straight coiffure, and as I age, I fall shorter and shorter of our culture's model of perfection. I am okay with that. I am also okay with imperfection in other areas as well. My husband is no longer the physical Adonis I married,burr I still love him. I forgive my friends's shortcomings, and never think of, or mention, family slights or miss-communications. None of it matters, not really, except in my church.

After leaving my hometown and the church I attended for most of my life, I have been searching for another church community and have yet to find one where I felt as comfortable. This last Sunday I was again reviewing local churches and rejecting first this one and then that one. There was always some imperfection, some flaw. Not necessarily in dogma, but in practice.

After much prayer, I felt the Spirit guiding me toward one particular community, but I balked. Some of the clergy in the hierarchical offices had acted scandalously in a very public manner, and I couldn't abide by their hypocrisy. Although the local church was not directly involved, I associated any attendance with support and approval of those ministers. I rejected the church without ever attending a service and continued my search, only to be drawn toward it again and again.

Frustrated and confused, I fell to my knees and asked God what He wanted me to do. He sorted it all out by pointing out the beam in my eye. I sought perfection from imperfect men and women. Just because the group was labeled a church did not mean it magically became a place of perfection. There would always be flaws, not in the basic dogma or beliefs, but in the clergy and other members. Nothing on this earth will ever be perfect and I had to accept the flaws in the church the same way I accepted them in my family and myself. As I have stated several times in other posts, what matters is the effort and the intention, what is in our hearts, not how many times we fail.

Don't misunderstand me. Anyone in a position of authority, and indeed we ourselves, should be held accountable for their/our actions, particularly when acting on behalf of the Christian community, and cannot be allowed to purposely mislead or in anyway ignore the tenets of our faith. St. Paul vigilantly held the churches in account for scriptural and behavioral deviations - but did not throw up his hands and walk away from the faith - or Church - because of imperfection. He continued to implore them to change their behavior and mold themselves after Christ.

I cannot use imperfection as an excuse not to attend services or join a faith community. So, this Sunday, it is off to Church I go, right along with the rest of the imperfect.

Me? A Hypocrite?

2011-09-16T06:34:00.000-06:00

“My name is_______and I am a hypocrite.” Many nonbelievers think every Sunday service should start out with this announcement. They don't realize most attendees are there concentrating on their own transgressions, but they aren’t as vocal as the ones that cry out “Do this and don’t do that” and then turn around and don’t do that and do this. Shall we say Bad Press?

I counted myself as among the repentant until one of my devotions cut through my pat perceptions and sent a dagger right into my heart. It accused me of being a hypocrite.

I wanted to shout, "No, not me! Surely you don't mean me!" But, I couldn't.

The devotion that so cruelly pierced my heart was titled 9/ll and Learning to Forgive by Msgr. Stephen J. Rosetti in Living Faith. Forgive? I had on numerous occasions and I felt smug. I forgave my cranky neighbor, my annoying coworker, and the abusive spouse, but when Msgr. Rosetti pointed out I needed to include the terrorists of 9/ll, my heart stopped. My patriotism cries for vengeance, but God says, “No.” How many times must I forgive? Seventy time seven. Ouch.

Just forgive and forget? Pretend it never happened? Surely not. After some prayer and reflection I realized my error. There is a difference between self defense, protecting others, and vengeance. The key is motivation. Is the act carried out from righteous indignation against the perpetrator solely to return hurt for hurt, or does it derive from compassion for the victim and the desire to protect?

In a vision several years ago, Jesus appeared on the cross. Standing behind Him was the person who had nearly taken my life. As I watched, Jesus transposed His face over his. In that moment I forgave completely. I didn’t forget the hurt – or the danger - but I let go of the anger, hatred and the need for retribution. However, I had not applied this truth to the horrors of 9/ll, or other global atrocities. I didn’t know if I could.

Terrified of not complying with His directive to forgive, and not have my own transgressions forgiven, I dropped to my knees. His gentle voice reminded me of another vision. As He held me in a tight embrace, He whispered how much He loved me - just as I was, imperfect and sinful. It didn't matter how many times I failed - only how hard I tried. Again, it was what was in my heart that mattered.

And so, I will pray for the conversion of the Muslim nations, pray for God’s solution to the terrorist threat, and pray for our conversion, especially my own, from hate and the desire for vengeance. I will stay vigilant, and careful for the safety of my nation and my family, and will not knowingly allow someone to be hurt, but I will not harbor the desire for revenge, at least I will try.

I can see His arms, wide open, inviting me and everyone else, into His embrace. This hypocrite is not going to stroll over, or take any side trips. I am going to run straight at Him, dragging anyone else along who is willing. How about you?

Special Post: Interview with My Friend, Sylvia Stewart, Author of the Newly Released Novel, Kondi's Quest

2011-09-14T05:45:00.000-06:00

Hello. I’m happy to be with you today. Do you have your coffee or tea cup at hand?

My name is Sylvia Stewart. I’ve served as a missionary in Africa for almost 32 years. We loved the 21 years we spent in Malawi, East Africa. Malawians became dear to our hearts, and Malawian children are as sweet as kids from any other country. They had a special place in my heart.

We went on to spend another 11 years in Ethiopia. I felt drawn by the children there as easily as I was toward Malawian children. Long before I left Africa to retire, I wanted to leave a written legacy for Africa’s children. Later, my grandchildren came into the picture and my book is dedicated to them and the children of Africa.

My pre-teens’ novel, Kondi’s Quest, has just released. The main character is a composite of many girls I knew in Malawi. Kondi’s Quest will introduce you to Malawi, the Warm Heart of Africa. It will also give you a glimpse into an African culture as well as provide a fascinating story of Kondi’s quest to find her father’s love.

Kondi’s Quest is my first book, although I’ve been a published writer for some years. A sequel is in the works, as well as a pre-teens’ novel set in Ethiopia. I’m also developing two adult novels and a book of devotionals for women in ministry.

My reason for writing is to share God’s love with my readers. Many people know about God and Jesus’ saving grace, but not everyone knows Him as personal Savior and friend. In her story, Kondi becomes better acquainted with both her father and her Heavenly Father.

Kondi’s Quest gives you a peek into a very special girl’s daily life, her joys and her sorrow. It portrays the Malawian way of life as heart-warmingly as I found it when I lived there. Ncheneka is a real village. I lived there. However, I’ve taken a few liberties for the purposes of the novel. None of the characters are real – but they are composites of many of my Malawian friends and associates in ministry. I tried to stay as true to the culture as I knew how. I know a lot has changed in the 20 years since I lived there. I hope my readers will close the book when they’ve finished reading it, with a sigh of regret at having to leave the cozy aura of Kondi’s Quest, and a longing to “go back to Malawi” in another story. I also hope it will give hope to children of every culture, who live in unhappy situations, and give them a longing to know their Heavenly Father, who loves them deeply.

My favorite character in the story is Kondi herself. She’s artistic and smart. She recognizes beauty and love when she finds it. She loves her family and has learned to accept changes in her life, even though they are different from what she expected or wanted.

My favorite scene is the funny pinching ant scene. I’ve experienced the squealing and jumping around just the way Kondi did. The view of the valley, like a giant sleeping under a patchwork quilt, is one I saw from my living room. The cloud on top of Dedza Mountain came nearly every day.

Since I was involved in ministry in Malawi, writing Kondi’s Quest had to take an as-time-permits slot. Kondi has been a constant companion during the 24 years it took for her story to reach publication. She still is on my heart as her sequel develops. (The working title is Kondi’s Secret.) I’d be happy if you’d look me up at: http://www.sylvia-stewart.com.

Also you can follow my blog at: http://sylviastewart1.blogspot.com/ where you can find out more about my books as they develop. I’m set up with PayPal, so you can purchase signed copies with a bit of a price break.

Thank you for taking time with me today. I hope you enjoyed hearing more about Kondi’s Quest and Malawi.

Me: Here is the link to the book trailer Sylvia's daughter, Lynette Bonner created for her mother. She did a fantastic job. It is really worth checking out. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SPtgTLa7q8

Author Bio: Sylvia grew up in the (then) Belgian Congo and spent 21 years as an Assemblies of God missionary in Malawi, East Africa, with her husband, Duane. In 1992 they were asked to go to Ethiopia to found a Bible College. They spent 11 years in Ethiopia doing mostly Bible College ministry. She taught college-level English to students who had never taken a grammar class before.

Sylvia has been published in Assemblies of God denominational magazines: The Pentecostal Evangel (now Today’s Pentecostal Evangel); Advance (now Enrichment); Woman’s Touch, and their missions magazine, Mountain Movers, which is no longer in print. She has also been published in WASI Writer, a writer’s magazine published under the auspices of the University of Malawi.

Sylvia is a freelance writer under contract with Network211.com, a Christian website. She also writes devotionals on assignment for them.

Me: I also want to thank Sylvia for sharing her personal story and this wonderful glimpse into her novel with us, and, I hope all of you consider her book for that young reader in your family. Blessings!

I Get It

2011-09-09T06:45:00.000-06:00

The epiphany occurred at a red light. My thoughts were whirling around several concerns, my temporary job and pressure from family to put my needs above my conscious. A month had passed since I began my temporary position, and I was still training. Two more months and the assignment would end and I'd be back job hunting. It seemed like a waste of time and energy for both the company and myself.

My family pointed out the company would not hesitate to make any adjustments necessary to ensure greater profits - at my expense. Why shouldn't I consider my needs first? I was not under contract, and could leave with only the customary two week notice. Sounds like a simple choice, except two weeks would not be enough to train a replacement. Would that be ethical? I oscillated between the desire to ensure my future employment, and doing what my conscious told me to.

The epiphany occurred when I realized I didn't have to make that decision. I could let God decide. I know that sounds pat and trite, but I meant it in a way far different than before. Wayne Jacobsen in his book He Loves Me! put it well. Will I pray "Save Me!" or Glorify Your Name!"? In other words, who's interest would best be served by my decision, mine or His?

When I reflected on my previous experiences, I could honestly say I was happier walking through the flames with Him than I was skipping through the Valley of Perpetual Sunshine alone. There was an emptiness in the valley I didn't experience in the flames.

In confirmation, a gentle voice reminded me I had yet to do without the basics for survival. This last period between jobs I received a pay check every single week from one source or another. It wasn't always very much, but it took care of our most important needs. And this job, I didn't even apply for it. The agency called and I agreed to interview. When the job was offered, I was given a dollar an hour more than what the job originally posted for. Granted it was not as much as I was earning in my last position, yet it was enough to keep most of the financial wolves at bay.

When I am honest with myself, I understand God will not allow me to glide through life like a spoiled child getting everything I ask for. As a parent I know that isn't healthy, and time and again, what looked like the worst possible outcome, turned out to be far better than I imagined.

St. Paul, always a good example of unerring faith, understood this basic principle. If God intended for something to happen, God would make it so. He knew God intended for him to go to Rome, and when the big storm hit, he had enough confidence in God's promises to comfort others.The ship was wrecked, but Paul made it to Rome. Granted he didn't float in on a grand ship. He and his fellow passengers had to swim for shore, clinging to wreckage, but he got there, and fulfilled God's purpose.

The same applies to my life. If God intends for me to stay on this earth a while longer, He will provide the means for me to do so. That means food, clothing and shelter. In the past He has paid my car insurance and taxes, even paid off large debts - and He used some very unconventional methods, ways I would never have conceived likely or plausible. In every instance, after much struggle and worry, and after I finally relinquished my opinion on how He should resolve the issue, the solution came. Sometimes the benefit wasn't readily apparent. I still struggle to understand some of the outcomes. These I must relinquish to His will.

My conclusion: even if my path - His path - appears choked with thorns, I can trust He will show me the way through the brambles, and throw in a few roses, a sunny path or two, and some restful water along the way.

And we know that to them that love God, all things work together unto good, to such as according to his purpose, are called to be his saints. Romans 8:28 I finally get it.

In Honor of the Men and Women of Law Enforcement

2011-09-03T11:41:00.002-06:00

My husband, now retired, served as a peace officer for thirty-five years. We have often talked about his career and the perception the general public has of officers. In summation, he gave me this poem. I think it says it all. I dedicate this post to all the men and women, past and present, who have, and are, serving in law enforcement:

The Final Inspection

The policeman stood and faced his God

which must always come to pass,

he hoped his boots were shinning

just as brightly as his badge.

"Step forward now policeman,

how shall I deal with you?

Have you always turned the other cheek,

to my Church have you been true?

The policeman squared his shoulders,

and said, "No, Lord. I guess I ain't,

because those who carry badges

can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays

and at times my talk was rough

and sometimes I've been violent

because the streets are awful rough.

But I never took a penny

that was not mine to keep,

Though I worked a lot of overtime

when the bills just got too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,

though at time I shook with fear,

and sometimes, God, forgive me,

I wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place,

among the gentle people here.

They never wanted me around

except to calm their fear.

If You have a place for me,

it doesn't have to be grand,

I never expected or had too much,

so if You don't I'll understand."

There was silence all around the throne

where the Saints had often trod,

And the policeman waited quietly

for the judgement of his God.

"Step forward now, Policeman,

you've borne your burdens well.

Come walk a beat on Heaven's streets

....you've done your time in hell."

Author Unknown

The Spiral Staircase

2011-09-02T06:54:00.000-06:00

This time it is worry over my new employers' opinion of my job performance, especially the young woman charged with training me. I know she thinks I stood in the DUMB line and asked for seconds. Don't get me wrong, she is not unprofessional or rude, just a bit curt and quick to point out, that whatever my question is, it is in the training manual, or "I already explained that." I walk away believing I am as dumb as she thinks I am - and yet, I know better.

Thrown into this is the holiday. Although I am looking forward to having an extra day to re-charge, I do so without pay. As a temp, I do not qualify for paid holidays - or any benefits, which is another worry.

With these unhappy thoughts spiraling around in my mind, sleep would be a struggle. I picked up my newest library book, Standing in the Rainbow, by Fannie Flagg. This heartwarming story, filled with faith in God's providence, was just the right bedtime story. One character described what it felt like to stand inside a rainbow, and another character then sang, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. (Don't gag. It fit the story perfectly - really). It was the exact message and promise I needed.

My morning devotional, Good Morning, Lord by Fr. Joseph Sullivan, pointed how uptight and anxious we become over issues which actually have a very short shelf life. Most are forgotten within a week or two, soon replaced by another, and we forget to stop and simply smell the roses. God is all around us. His beauty is everywhere, when we chose to stop and notice. We know we can rely on Him. We know He understands our situation, and yet in spite of our faith, we regress back into the pit of Fear and Worry with the first hint of dark clouds or thunder. We wring our hands and start pacing, digging a deeper and deeper trench. God reaches out, offers to bring us into His light, but we too often choose to stay in the dark through lack of faith and trust.

Father Sullivan ends his prayer with, "Then I recall the lines about the lilies of the field, how they are under your loving care.It will be a good day".

Psalm 27: 1,4, 13-14 was quoted in Living Faith:

The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?

The lord is the protector of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?

One thing I have asked of the lord, this will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.

That I might see the delight of the Lord, and may visit his temple.

I believe to see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living.

Expect the Lord, do manfully, and let thy heart take courage, and wait thou for the Lord.

Rainbows, lilies and Psalm 27. These symbols have heralded miracles in the past, unexpected solutions to my problems and issues. Patiently, over and over, God teaches me the same lessons - with a difference. I might spiral around and around the same difficulties and failings, but each experience builds on the fruits of the one before it. In spite of my short falls, my faith and trust become stronger and I climb a step or two higher on the staircase. Today, I think I will follow Father Sullivan's advice and believe it will be a good day, and I bet most of my troubles will melt like lemon drops.

That Was Stupid

2011-08-26T07:07:00.000-06:00

I know we are not really supposed to use that word, but sometimes we do things that are, well, just that, stupid. Why? We know better. We know the outcome will not be good, but we do it anyway. And, in our hearts we know we have no one else to blame.

Several years ago my doctor told me to limit my fat intake as well as my carbohydrates. One for my gallbladder that isn't functioning as well as it should (common in women after the age of forty - wonderful), the other for blood surgar issues. What do I do? Crave the foods I know I shouldn't have. So, why am I tempted to indulge in what I know will make me violently ill? I tell myself a lie. If I limit the frequency and the amount, I might just get away with it - this time. The problem is, when I get away with it once, I believe I can do it again, and again. Pretty soon I'm doing it all the time, and then suffer the dire consequences of doing what I know I shouldn't, wondering why I am having trouble. It's a game of Russian Roulette I can't seem to resist.

I do this with all kinds of rules or commandments, not just my health. The story of Adam and Eve is a classic example. Many interpretations focus on their broken relationship with God, but I found an additional gem. For years I condemned Eve for causing us all to live with the results of sin. After all she is the one who first gave into temptation and then led Adam into it as well, yet I can't even refuse small amounts of foods that I know will make me miserable, so how can I can point my finger at her without pointing it at myself?

True, ice cream (for example) is not an apple from the Tree of Good and Evil. It doesn't cause the death of another (although I sometimes wish I would just die), it is a symbol of something deeper. It signifies how far I will sacrifice my comfort to taste the forbidden, to indulge in my desires, even those I know are harmful to me. So far I have been lucky, my indulgences have not taken any one's life, not even my own - as yet, but if you fail in small things, the chances are greater you will also fail in bigger ones.

I don't have any answer or secret other than to trust God to help me through my failures and to give me strength to avoid the next pitfall, big or small. He has promised no sin is too grievous to be forgiven - as long as I repent and ask for forgiveness. Believe me, I am repenting now while I am uncomfortable.

Adding to this, I'd like to blame it all on my partner in crime, just like Adam tried to do. My husband has horrible sweet tooth and can't pass the ice cream or desert section in the grocery store without coming home with something. Just having these foods in the house is a tremendous temptation, much like the Tree of Good and Evil was to Eve. You could lay bets she hovered around it on several occasions, not touching, but certainly flirting. She did tempt Adam, but she didn't hold his nose and force the forbidden fruit down his throat, and neither did my husband. I succumbed to the temptation on my own.

I think about the heroic men and women of Scripture who willing fasted for days, faced horrific deaths, and never denied their faith. I can't even pass up the ice cream let alone die a martyr's death. But, you know what? God still loves me in spite of my flaws and He will give me the strength I need to face anything, yes, anything as long as I can trust Him, and not myself.

Are You Happy?

2011-08-19T06:57:00.000-06:00

There are very few times I could actually say I have been ecstatically happy, except perhaps when I was a child. As most of my life has been spent as an adult, that leaves a lot of my life in the unhappy category. Even the happier moments lacked something, usually tinged with some anxiety or sorrow.

Then of course, there are those circumstances where nothing we do or say is going to make it better. How can we be joyful when loved ones suffer? How can we be happy when we aren't sure whether we can feed, clothe or shelter our families?

Jesus had moments of grief. He wept over Jerusalem. He was saddened when his disciples rejected Him and He certainly wept while in the Garden of Gethsemane. He felt greater despair on the Cross than any of us can comprehend. Yet scripture doesn't describe His life as one on going story of despair and hopelessness. I know I am missing something, but I can't quite grasp what it is.

My devotions gave me one answer, and it came from the mind of a child. In Living Faith, Aileen O'Donnoghue recounts the story of a friend's grandson. After a string of several disappointments, his grandmother asked him what she could do to help make him feel better. He replied, "Well, I could change my mind."

Change my mind? Could it really be that simple? What about all the situations I mentioned above? Perhaps those may not be included, but certainly other less devastating circumstances, which actually make up most of my life, could be. Maybe I could change my mind and stop thinking I would be happy except for: insert whatever. Instead, I could say I am happy because of: insert any number of things.

It is just a little twist of thought, but what a tremendous impact it could have on my day to day life. Change my mind. What a thought. Change my mind about what it is I really want from this life, what would truly make me happy, and voila! I could be happy in most circumstances, which equals the greater portion of my life. That adds up to a whole lot of happy. But, what is it that would truly make me happy? So much of our joy is fleeting, gone within minutes, hours or just a few days. Nothing lasts, nothing stays.

Wayne Jacobsen emphasizes in his book, He Loves Me!, that being loved, especially by God, transforms life from the unhappy to the happy. He uses the story of the Prodigal son to illustrate his point. Neither son realized how much their father loved them, and their actions reflected this perception. The younger one tried to run away, believing if he could only pursue his selfish desires he would be truly happy. The older brother stayed, but did so out of duty, not out of love, and resented every chore and task his father asked of him - and both sons missed the point: real happiness stemmed from a loving relationship with their father, and each other.

After nearly starving to death, the Prodigal Son returned. The moment his father met him on the road, this son understood the true depth of his father's love. The only thing that had changed was the son's mind. He realized being a servant in his father's house was better than starving at the hands of a stranger. In other words, he changed his priorities, and was surprised to find he was instantly restored to his status of beloved son.

The eldest son was not happy with his brother's return. The story leaves him standing outside pouting over what he perceives as an unfair, unjust action by his father. His brother squandered all of his inheritance after wrongly asking for it. He, the older, more responsible son was never met on the road with such jubilation. He worked hard without so much as a "Why thank you, son. Here have a party with your friends." Of course he could have done that, but he never asked. Instead he drudged along, building resentment. What if he changed his mind? What if he changed his priorities - his point of view - and looked at things from a different perspective? Would the story have a different ending?

Would changing our minds, our priorities, lead to a more balanced perspective, and consequently more joy? Not much to lose in trying, except unhappiness.

So, I think I'll change my mind about a few things. Do a little prioritizing. A wise man once said that most crises have a very short shelf life. If it won't matter in a couple of weeks, then it probably isn't that important.

At first I'll need to focus on one moment, one hour, one day at a time until I get the hang of it, and I'll stumble, I'll fail, and I'll revert to old habits often, but with practice it will become easier. However, I do have one very important advantage - God. With Him all things are possible. If I align my desires with His will, well then, I will be happy, truly happy, without any of the except-for nonsense because I will no longer be looking for that perfect moment. There never will be one on this earth, but there certainly will be joy, if I change my mind about a few things and decide to find contentment when and where I can. How about you? Are you happy?

Humbled, Yet Encouraged

2011-08-12T06:39:00.009-06:00

After completing my first week at my new job I have only one word: humbled. At my previous position, I felt competent. Certainly I made mistakes, but for the most part I did a good job. Learning a new job, even though experienced in many ways, is a steep learning curve. My reading in Streams in the Desert L.B. Cowman, touched on this. God throws in curves to keep our attitudes balanced. Coming into a new position, with a new industry, is definitely unbalancing, as well humbling and frightening.

Adding to this is the desire to do well, which in turn adds even more pressure. Every mistake becomes a character flaw in my own opinion. I chastise myself and try harder. The end result: I can't relax and this is good fertilizer for even more mistakes.

After some reflection, I realized it all stemmed from fear. Fear of being let go because of a poor job performance. I really, really need this job and do not want to jeopardize it in anyway, especially for failing to perform my duties as expected - or preferably, above expectation. By week's end I just wanted to curl into a tight ball and well, bawl.

Then God stepped in and stopped this unhealthy cycle. My devotions in the booklet, Living Faith, included Matthew 17: 1-9, the Transfiguration of Jesus. Father Paul J. Rassano pointed out Peter was impetuous, excitable, quick to anger and often selfish, and yet God chose him to become head of His Church. God saw past all of his flaws to the man he would become. As I am too often just like Peter, his story gives me hope.

In the book, He Loves Me! by Wayne Jacobsen, the author states something I had not considered. The Apostles didn't know who Jesus was when they first met Him. He was a stranger to them, and as in our own experience with new people, it takes time to become comfortable. At first everyone is on guard, careful what they say and how they act. At some point the relationship became comfortable, safe, and the Apostles let down their guard, no longer worried about being judged by what they said or did. And, that was the answer to my own dilemma. My new bosses obviously saw potential when they hired me, and they know it takes time for a new employee to adjust to a new position. I need to let go of my fear and relax. The number of mistakes will plummet.

As if to emphasize this, Daniel 7:9-14, Daniel's vision of God, was also included in my listed devotions. This scripture (the book of Daniel) has been a personal messenger to me many times in the past, especially in regards to my career. As a captive in a foreign land, Daniel rose to prominence not because of his faith, but through hard work, and he became widely known as a man of high integrity, not just competency. That was a light- bulb- moment for me. Daniel's success didn't happen overnight. It took time. Daniel did not try to impress anyone. He went about his job, doing what he knew to be right, following God's will.

I feel comforted, encouraged, and ready for Monday. Like Peter, I may not always respond as I should, but with the right intention, it will all work out according to God's plan for my life. The secret of this success? Not giving up, not giving in to fear or despair. I can trust God to give me the grace, strength, and wisdom I need. I doubt I will become a great Apostle or a prodigious prophet, but I can certainly be a good wife, mother, and employee - His representative right here, right now, right where He has placed me, and I take great comfort in that.

Trust the Man Who Died For You

2011-08-01T06:14:00.064-06:00

Dear friend, you can trust the Man who died for you. You can trust Him to thwart each plan that should be stopped and to complete each one that results in His greatest glory and your highest good. You can trust him to lead you down the path that is the very best in this world for you. J.H.M. from Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman.

The quote was in my devotionals the morning of my first day in a new position with a new company. It seemed an answer to the question I had been asking since losing what I believed was the best job I had ever held, with the best supervisor and the best co-workers. Why was that taken away? Other than the obvious reason of being laid off, why did God want me to move on somewhere else? As the quote stated, I had to trust the Man Who Died for Me. He gave His all in order for me to gain eternal life, wouldn't He do what was best for me? Even those things disguised as trials and challenges?

I was a little apprehensive that first morning, not sure what the new job would be like, how my new supervisor would treat me, and wondering how well my interaction with new co-workers would go. In the past I had worked in a very difficult position that ultimately challenged me not just emotionally, but financially and physically as well, and that memory surfaced whenever I faced major changes in my career. Coupled with this was the fear I wouldn't be able to perform the job.

As I meditated on the quote, all His past miracles paraded through my mind. Through each hardship He was there with encouragement and guidance, peppered with compassion. When I fall into fear and doubt, He lifts me up, dusts off my faith and sets me back on the right path. I just need to remember, if He loved me enough to die for me, He loves me enough to handle this situation, using these circumstances to enrich my life and deepen my faith.

Signs

2011-07-29T10:37:00.002-06:00

And God desires that we grow in our ability to see Him in everything and to realize the importance of seemingly insignificant circumstances if they are used to deliver a message from Him....The world says that "seeing is believing," but God wants us to believe in order to see. The psalmist said, "I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Streams in the Desert, L.B. Cowman.

This quote from Psalm 27 reminded me of the many signs God has used to convey His messages to me, messages of love encouragement, hope, and comfort. Lilies, alluding to Luke 12: 27, Consider the lilies of the field, and Psalm 27:13-14 were the among the first of the repetitive signs. Gradually this list expanded to include Psalm 37, especially verses 3-5: Trust in the Lord and do good, and dwell in the land, and thou shall be fed with its riches. Delight in the Lord, and he will give thee the requests of your heart. Commit thy way to the Lord, an trust in him, and he will do it, and the song, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, along with rainbows themselves. Over a span of years, just the numbers representing the Psalms, pictures or references to lilies, and any form of rainbows symbolized and reminded me of His promises and past miracles.

On one occasion, my husband and I were desperately house hunting in a new town in a new state. We had a U-Haul filled with furniture and only three days left before we were to return the truck or face additional fees. A mistake appeared on our credit report, damaging our credit score, which in turn impacted the decision of the property managers we contacted. The time restraint would not allow us to rectify the error before qualifying for a home. I prayed, or should I say, begged God for a miracle.

We followed up an ad for yet another house, actually the better of all the others in the same price range. However this time, when I looked at the address, 2837, I knew we would be approved. We received the keys two hours after filling out the application.

I have already mentioned in other posts how lilies and the song, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, have announced upcoming miracles, solutions to other issues, or sometimes, as it has been recently, reminders not to lose hope when circumstance seem to be going in the opposite direction of His promise.

The appearances of these signs are always unexpected, and from an unusual source, such as my alarm suddenly playing Somewhere Over the Rainbow instead of its pre-programmed sound, or the post master giving me stamps with lilies instead of the Statue of Liberty at the last moment, or the number 37 appearing on a billboard entirely by its self just before an unexpected financial windfall.

I am not alluding to superstition, or indicating magic in these symbols. They are only signs, reminders of God's promises and compassion, sent to a struggling Believer when she needs that little extra encouragement. I never look for them, but remain vigilant in case one should appear. The Bible is full of stories where God sent affirmations through signs, from Noah through the New Testament, and so it is nothing new or unusual.

Has God sent you repetitive signs, signifying and reminding you of His promises?

Unlike Abraham

2011-07-22T07:21:00.057-06:00

Unlike Abraham, when my daughter was born prematurely, and it appeared we would lose her, I waged a desperate fight for her survival. I argued with the doctors when they refused to stop my labor, repeatedly emphasizing it was too early. They just as vehemently disagreed, stating the baby was too big to be premature and my dates had to be wrong.

My dates were right, and my daughter was born with underdeveloped lungs, unable to breathe on her own, and was whisked away to an incubator before I could see or touch her. A pediatrician was called in to access her condition. He determined she was at least five week premature, and her weight (5 lbs 3 oz) was due to excessive water. Within hours Danielle's weight dropped to 4 lbs 3 oz.

The hospital was not equipped to handle a preemie in that much distress and an ambulance was requested from the closest neo-natal center, seventy miles away. The specialized van was equipped with a huge metal incubator and was staffed with a respiratory specialist and a neo-natal nurse. Acutely aware I had yet to touch or hold her, I watched the team place Danielle inside the incubator, hook up all the tubes and wires, close the lid and wheel her away. I wanted to follow the ambulance, but the doctors insisted I remain in the hospital until the next morning.

It was one of the longest, hardest nights of my life. Fearing my grief would upset the other mothers, I was placed in a private room. I slept sporadically, spending most of the time turned toward the wall, crying.

Ron picked me up early the next morning and we drove the hour and a half through the mountains to the neo-natal center. The doctors wanted a consultation before we could see Danielle and we were ushered into one of the small offices. While waiting for the doctor, Ron and I held hands and prayed.

The news was grim. "Your daughter has a fifty-fifty chance of survival. I wouldn't even give that much if she were a boy. For some reason, girls fight harder to survive than boys. However, as she is already on 100% oxygen, there is no place to go if her body cannot absorb enough oxygen, and in addition, we only have a seventy-two hour window before we risk irreversible brain damage."

Ron and I were too stunned to respond.

Intuitively the doctor did not press us. "Now, if you will follow me, I will take you to your daughter."

Studies had proved babies fought harder when aware of their parents' presence, and the nurse encouraged us to touch her and speak to her. I didn't need much encouragement, and I gently picked up her tiny hand. In response to my voice and touch, Danielle grasped my finger with amazing strength. I looked up at the nurse.

She smiled, "Of course she knows your voice."

Ron and I stayed at her bedside until the nurses insisted we leave. It was another long, agonizing night, sleepless and filled with worry.

At first light, I crawled from bed and fell to my knees. I begged and pleaded with God to spare Danielle's life, finally letting go and placing her in His hands, after realizing I really had no other choice.

Three days lataer, the nurses greeted us with the announcement Danielle had been removed from 100% oxygen levels down to only 20% - and she had incurred no brain damage. She continued to improve daily and a week later, when the oxygen hood was not needed as much, we were allowed to hold her for the first time.

She continued to improve until finally, after a total of fourteen days, we brought her home. Danielle weighed 4 lbs 11 oz and was eighteen inches long. She still had a few residual physical problems, normal for preemies, but she gradually grew out of them and by three months of age Danielle was a healthy, growing little girl.

This experience only deepened the mystery of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac. I could not fathom how Abraham could concede his son's life so easily. It was St. Paul who finally gave me an answer to Abraham's great faith in Hebrews 11:17-19:

By faith Abraham, when he was tried, offered Isaac: and he that had received the promises, offered up his only begotten son; To whom it was said: In Isaac shall thy seed be called. Accounting that God is able to raise up even the dead.

So, the root of Abraham's faith was his trust in an all powerful God who would never fail to fulfill a promise, even if it meant raising the dead. No wonder Abraham is called the Father of all Nations.

Coming to my present situation, I don't think it was coincidental that Genesis 22: 16-18, the story of Abraham and Isaac, was in my morning devotions. God wanted me to remember Abraham's example of faith, and remind me of how He has rewarded my faith during my own difficult trials. I am not to live in fear, worried and miserable. Instead, I am to step back and watch with wide eyed wonder as He directly intercedes on my behalf, and I know for certain it will be nothing short of miraculous.

When the Brook Dries Up....

2011-07-15T07:14:00.002-06:00

Elijah waited beside the brook, watching the gushing water slowly dwindle to a tiny sliver and then disappear entirely. The birds flew away and the animals left, seeking water elsewhere. Elijah stayed, following God's instructions to wait until He was told to move on. He did not grow impatient, make His own plans and then rush off in search of other streams. He left only when God told him to.

It is hard to wait, even harder to do so patiently, especially when your brook , your resources, are diminishing. Our culture demands action. "When the going gets tough, the tough gets going." In reality, the super strong exercise wisdom, prudence and trust. They wait until a full plan is developed and a clear path is visible. It takes more self-control and strength to wait, than it does to run.

In the movie We Were Soldiers, Lieutenant Hal Moore, played by Mel Gibson, refused to panic and run when faced with overwhelming enemy numbers. He ordered his soldiers to hold their ground while he formulated a course of action. His men trusted him, and obeyed. According to the movie version, Lieutenant Moore stood still, perfectly still, ignoring the raging battle until his plan was fully developed, a plan that not only saved the platoon, but defeated the entire enemy force as well. That greatly impressed me.

I have yet to develop that amount of will power. My first inclination is to run, or at the very least pace in near panic, unable to think clearly. This time around I am trying a little harder to remain focused, patiently waiting for the next step to present its self.

I am not inactive during this waiting period. I search the job ads twice a day and send out my resume to every one I feel I am qualified for, and I pray - a lot. However, I am striving not to worry and ruin every moment of everyday, missing out on the blessings God sends: beautiful sunrises and sunsets, morning coffee and conversation with my husband, warm summer afternoons on the patio, and visits with friends - to mention only a few. I do my best, then wait with expectant hope it will be enough. With God, it will be.

Of course, God isn't sitting by idle either. He is working behind the scenes and sending me comfort and encouragement through signs, particularly scripture. This week my bible fell open to Jeremiah 42:10-12 as I was paging from one listed reading to another. The words seemed to float off the page.

If you will be quiet and remain in this land, I will build you up, and not pull you down: I will plant you, and not pluck you up: for now I am appeased for the evil that I have done to you. Fear not because of the king of Babylon, of whom you are greatly afraid; fear him not said the Lord: for I am with you, to save you, and to deliver you from his hand. And I will show mercies to you, and take pity on you, and will cause you to dwell in your own land.

The next morning my bible fell open to Daniel 3 in the same manner. The story of Sidrach, Misach and Abendago in King Nebuchadnezzar's furnace has always given me comfort and encouragement. Interesting how the two scriptures are related in meaning.

I don't know what the future holds. All I can see is today, an hour at a time - stepping stones leading me toward the fulfillment of God's plan for my life. Regardless of where the path leads, what sorrows I will endure, I can be sure the path will also be filled with great joy.

Under His Wings

2011-07-08T07:41:00.003-06:00

There are millions effected by the economy, struggling without jobs, worrying how they will provide for their families. Why should I be any different? Why should God bother to help me?

I asked this question once before, during another financial crises. After eighteen years with one company, my late husband was laid off when the timber industry in the Northwest collapsed. His only hope of employment was to train in a new field. Nearing fifty, this was not going to be easy, and in spite of the anti-discrimination laws, an older worker faced more challenges.

I fretted and worried, much like I am doing now, and the question why should God bother with us turned in a turbulent spiral around and around in my thoughts, like buzzards waiting for their opportunity to descend and feed. I sought distraction, mainly through reading. The book of choice at that moment was Fried Green Tomatoes by Fanny Flagg. About the middle of the story, one character tells another to read Psalm 91 everyday.

I was not familiar with the Psalm and went immediately to my bible. I was stunned. The beautiful words were exactly what I needed, especially verse 7: A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand: but it shall not come nigh thee. And verse 10: There shall no evil come to thee: nor shall the scourge come near thy dwelling.

And, it didn't. When my husband could not find employment with another company, we opened our own business. Things were tight at times, but we maintained our home, raised our children and upheld our financial responsibilities - God provided.

Now, once again I am thrown into a financial fire storm, and the same questions beat against my sense of worth and peace. Again, God sends His messages of hope and encouragement. My readings at the beginning of the week included Psalm 91, with an emphasis on verse four: He will overshadow thee with his shoulders: and under his wings thou shalt trust. Streams in the Desert had this: O you of little faith, God has not failed you yet!

This morning my readings included Psalm 37: 3-4,18-19,39-40. Trust in the Lord and do good, and dwell in the land and thou will be fed with its riches. Delight in the lord, and he will give thee the requests of thy heart. The Lord knoweth the days of the undefiled; and their inheritance shall be forever. They shall not be confounded in the evil time; and in the days of famine they shall be filled. But the salvation of the just is from the Lord, and he is their protector in the time of trouble. And the Lord will help them and deliver them: and he will rescue them from the wicked, and save them, because they have hoped in him.

Isaiah 40:31 is also among my morning devotions: But they that hope in the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall take wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

I still I squirm and fret in spite of my best intentions, letting go only when I don't have the strength to worry. When I finally concede and stand still, God pulls me unscathed from the fire. It will be the same this time.

And yet, it is hard to ignore the fire when all you see are flames. Perhaps I should close my eyes, or look away and search for something else to focus on. I may be feeling some heat, but the fire has not consumed me, and the temperature is much cooler underneath His wings - as long as I stay in His shadow (trust) and not run in panic right into the fire.

A Sour lemon - Do I Have Enough Sugar To Make Lemonade?

2011-07-02T07:26:00.003-06:00

Our poor economy handed me a pretty sour lemon this week. I joined the ranks of millions in the storm tossed boat named The Unemployed. Reacting to the effects of a slow economy, the company I worked for downsized. But, as Saint Paul said, I fought the good fight (worked hard), ran the race (remained faithful to my superiors and job until all options to obtain the necessary budgeting for my position was exhausted) and have kept the faith (trying to remain hopeful I will find other employment).

The day after my notification, my morning devotions included Matthew 8:26: Why are you fearful, O ye of little faith? Well, I am terrified I won't be able to find another job in this economy. My supervisors, co-workers and friends are encouraging, but there are no guarantees in this life. The only things we can be certain of are death, taxes and change. With the tough employment market, the competition for the few available jobs is rough. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat.

However, not being one to just sit down and give up, I rolled up my sleeves and immediately set to work. I updated my resume, resurrected my cover letter templates, asked for current references, and re-loaded all of my job search engines. I am sending off my resume and an application for a position today. My fingers are crossed, hoping this will be a good fit for me and my employer. As I poured over the on-line classifieds, a pop up blocked the center of my page. I couldn't help but laugh. God does have a way to get His message across. The pop up said:

God Has Big Plans for You.

Be Encouraged.

Genesis 18:14 was listed in my next morning's devotions: Is there anything too hard for God? Well, no.

I have to be honest though. I am still reeling and feeling overwhelmed, but working hard at being optimistic and hopeful. This little test will prove whether I really have enough sugar (faith) to make a sweet tasting lemonade out of this bitter lemon. I think I do.

This morning's Gospel reading was from Matthew 11:25-30. Verse 28 -29: Come to me, all you that labor and are burdened, and I will refresh you. Take up my yoke upon you, and learn of me, because I am meek, and humble of heart: and you shall find rest to your souls.

And that is exactly what I need to do, rest. Rest in God's promises, rest in His comfort and encouragement, and rest in the literal sense - letting go of all my worry, anxiety and fear. An anxious heart won't find a job any quicker than a heart filled with peace and trust in God's providence. It will only make me miserable, along with everyone around me. So, I raise my glass of sweet lemonade with a toast to God, our Heavenly Father. I thank Him for sending encouraging words and vow to trust Him through this ordeal. I will follow Mary's example when the Angel Gabriel announced she would become the Mother of God, "Thy will be done." And of course, my little problem will be easier to solve than the redemption of mankind through a virgin birth.

Squirrels, Bacon, God and the Devil

2011-06-24T08:38:00.000-06:00

One of the things I remember most about my grandmother was her sense of humor and her stories. Even as a young girl I repeated them to any willing audience.

My mother cautioned me. “Marie, just because your Grandmother told you that joke, doesn’t mean you should repeat it.”

Now, my grandmother did not cuss. She was a woman of tremendous faith and to my knowledge never spoke or acted improperly, but my mother followed Emily Post to the letter. Bodily functions were never mentioned. That particular joke was a satire on Gone With the Wind, regarding a family of beans…

“Mama, what happened to Daddy?”

“Well, son he is Gone With the Wind…”

My mother was horrified.

Other stories described everyday experiences, told with a humorous twist, such as the two hunters determined to live off the land. After several days with no success, except one small squirrel, they argued over who would eat it.

“Tell ya, what.” Frank said. “Let’s go to sleep, and the one who has the best dream gets the squirrel.”

Howard agreed.

Both men lay down, wrapped in old, tattered blankets against the chill night air, and dreamed.

Early the next morning they compared their dreams while sitting around a small fire, bellies growling with anticipation.

Harold said, “I had the best dream by far. I dreamed I went to heaven on a sofa.”

Frank shook his head, “Naw. I had the best dream. I saw you going and I got up and et the squirrel.”

Another described a Russian and a German hunting in the high country. They had poor luck and their provisions were running low. Down to one slab of bacon, not quite big enough for both men, the Russian suggested a tug of war.

“You bite one end, I’ll bite the other. The first to let go looses and the other gets to eat the bacon.”

“Agreed.” The German replied.

The two men bit their respective ends of the slab.

Through clinched teeth the Russian asked, “Is you ready?”

The German replied, “Yah.”

(Are you still with me? Or are you shaking your head and hitting the close button? Wait, the best is yet to come…I promise.)

My favorite was the story of the two young boys picking walnuts on a very hot August afternoon. After an hour or so they managed to fill a brown paper sack full of the nuts. They left the orchard, walking toward home along a narrow, dusty road. The sun was hot, they were thirsty and the overloaded sack was tearing. They passed a cemetery with huge shade trees and thigh high green grass.

The older boy said. “This bag isn’t going to hold all the way home. Let’s go in, sit in the shade and divide these walnuts.”

The younger boy nodded. “I could sure sit in the cool shade for a while.”

They crossed over the fence using the stile (steps built over the fence to facilitate crossing from one side to the other). At the top two walnuts fell from the bottom of the bag.

The older boy said. “Let’s leave those and pick them up on our way back.”

“Fine with me. I just want to sit down in that cool grass.”

The boys walked several yards into the cemetery and collapsed beneath a huge willow.

Tearing the sack open the older boy divided the walnuts. “One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me.”

A pair of Winos came down the road. They stopped beside the stile, leaning against its worn wood and passed a bottle hidden in a brown paper back and forth.

From inside the graveyard they heard a voice. “One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me.”

One Wino elbowed the other. “Hey, hear that? That’s God and the Devil in there dividin’ up those poor souls.”

The other man’s eyes widened as he listened. “One for you. One for me. One for you. One for me.”

Finished, the older boy said, “Well, that about does it for the ones in here. Let’s get the two out by the stile.”

The boys reached the fence and collected the last two walnuts. The older boy noticed the Winos. “Hey, look at those two. They’re running as if the devil was chasin' ‘em.”

If you aren’t giggling - or at least smiling - you have no sense of humor (for old, maybe somewhat corny, jokes). God bless you, anyway.

The Spice of Life

2011-06-17T06:13:00.004-06:00

My palms were sweating, my breathing was rapid and shallow, my imagination was running amok. The warning had been explicit: Do not walk around the compound at night without an armed guard. I looked ahead. Twenty more yards to the chalet.

Granted, my husband did have certain skills ( he was a police officer and big game hunter), but those skills didn't mean much since he wasn’t carrying a gun. The man with the gun was back at the lighted (safe) enclave with the rest of our group, enjoying his glass of sherry. Bill had drained his in one gulp, and hurried me with mine. He wanted to go back to the chalet to “wash up” before dinner and did not want to wait for the rest.

Five more yards.

The reason behind the warning was valid. Two weeks prior to our stay, two people were mauled and killed by lions - inside the electrified, fifteen foot fence. The older gentleman was attacked just a few feet from his chalet (probably just about where we were), and his wife was killed when she came searching for him.

With no moon or outdoor lights it was dark, really dark. I could see only a few feet in front of me and almost nothing behind. What was that? I distinctly heard something behind me. I turned and squinted. Couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean something wasn't there...

At last we reached our chalet. I looked at the inky black space behind the staircase. Anything could be hiding there. I envisioned huge, clawed paws reaching out and grabbing my ankles.

Ten steps. Five steps. The deck. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Bill made a beeline for the restroom. Then I understood his urgent retreat from the group. All the rich food had finally tipped the sensitive balance of his digestive system, poor guy.

Our room was opulent, and it wasn't even one of the Presidential suites. The bed was huge, draped in mosquito netting, and piled high with comforters and pillows. The rest of the room glowed with rich wood, elegant drapery and cushions. We had our own mini-bar stocked with assorted cold drinks - and something new, a basket.

Tied to the handle by a tiny, blue ribbon was a card. It announced the basket was a wedding gift from the lodge staff. Nestled inside amid colorful tissue were two bananas, a couple packages of nuts, some individually wrapped chocolates and two bottles of sparkling water.

Bill exited the restroom. “Okay, let’s go eat.”

I looked at him, and then the door. The dinning room was across the compound, through another vortex of heart pounding, palm sweating, dark.

"Sweetheart, it'll be fine. No lion is going to eat us."

"Right. You heard what the manager said."

"They've reinforced the fencing since then. We'll be fine."

"Yeah, just like all those people in that book you gave me to read before we came."

"Death in the Long Grass is a hunting classic."

"Uh huh. All about man-eating lions."

"A little fear adds spice to life."

"I don't need any spice, thank you."

Bill held the door open. "No lion is going to eat us on the way to the dinning room."

Against my better judgement, I stepped out the door and into The Gauntlet.

We we made it to the dinning room without sight, and thank you, Lord, no sound of any lions. Even the pride milling around at the entrance gate were silent. Had one roared I am not sure if I would have become the fastest woman alive (alive being the key word here), or if I would have remained frozen, rooted to the ground, unable to move, and become a statistic.

Our brave dash across the dark compound was for nothing. The dinning room was locked and dark. It seemed everything was dark that night, especially my mood.

Bill peered through huge window. “I know dinner is usually served earlier, but I was sure they'd offer something to us after the game drive."

I agreed. "At least sandwhiches."

As usual Bill handled the situation with grace and immaculate aplomb. “Oh well, one missed meal won’t ruin our trip. I’ll be okay until breakfast, how about you, Sweetheart?”

“Well,” I replied, “There is a gift basket with snacks in the chalet....”

I looked back toward the chalet. It lay past a long, long stretch of black, inky compound. I prayed the old adage “three times is a charm” didn't include lions.

Five heart pounding minutes later we were back inside the chalet, sitting opposite each other in the plush wicker chairs, staring down at our evening repast. We each had a banana, a small package of nuts and a few chocolates pieces. Oh, and a bottle of sparkling water.

I offered Bill a bit of sage advice. “If you chew slowly it fills you up quicker.”

Bill stared at his portion, entirely cupped in one hand. “Right.”

We crawled into bed, tired, cold, and hungry, but I am sure I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The dinning room was packed during breakfast. We were greeted with smiles and nods.

I whispered to Bill, “What's going on?”

He shrugged and headed for the buffet table. I followed, still wondering why we seemed to be the center of every one's attention.

The lodge manager walked over. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Pulliam.”

“Good morning.”

“How are you?”

“Fine.” Bill replied.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

He hovered, obviously something on his mind. “We missed you at dinner last night.”

“Well,” Bill answered, “we came down to the dinning room, but the doors were locked, all the lights were off and we didn’t see anyone around. Figuring we somehow missed dinner we went back to our chalet.”

The manager sighed. “We waited for a half hour and then realized you had left the group before I announced dinner was to be served in the Boma, not the dinning room.”

Boma was an African word meaning eating place. It was an open space surrounded by a fence, filled with dinning tables, an open fire and a long buffet table. My mouth watered as I pictured a whole lamb, pig or half a cow roasting on a huge spit - sizzling, savory; the buffet, covered with salads, breads, soups, potato dishes, pasta dishes, vegetables, and deserts.

The manger continued. “We sent a tracker to escort you to the Boma, but when he arrived at your chalet he couldn’t see any lights, and well, knowing you are newlyweds, he was unsure whether to knock or not.”

I could see the poor man shuffling his feet outside the door, debating on whether to disturb us or not, while Bill and I were busily inhaling our snacks.

Bill laughed. "Please don't worry about it. It was just an unfortunate misunderstanding. If missing one meal is the worse thing we encounter on this trip, we will be very lucky.”

Obviously relieved, the manager wished us a good day and moved on to other guests.

I elbowed Bill. “I told you to turn on more lights.”

“Well Sweetheart, I didn’t see any need to burn every light in the place in order to eat a handful of snacks.” With a wink he added, “And, it was sort of romantic, wasn’t it?”

Romantic? Standing in a darkened room, shivering from cold and shattered nerves, starving, and so tired my bones ached, was not my definition of the word.

I looked down at my ring. Now that was romantic. We bought the ring at a South African diamond emporium in Johannesburg. It was simple, elegant - perfect. Seven diamonds sparkling in a white-gold, scalloped band. Back to our room at the Bed and Breakfast, bill slipped it on my finger, re-vowing to honor and cherish me for the rest of his life…

****

Bill raised his glass of sparkling wine. “Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart.”

“Happy Anniversary, Honey.”

“I can’t believe nine years ago today we were in Africa.”

“I know. The years have just flown by.”

“Nine of the happiest years of my life.”

I nodded and cuddled closer. “Mine too.”

“Sweetheart, I think it’s time we went back.”

“I’ll go in a heart beat, on one condition. Don't spice it up too much.” I put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. I don’t care what Winston Churchill said. I’m not an adrenalin junkie like you. I don’t want to feel the thrill of being shot at and missed – or stalked, but not eaten.”

Bill's eyes twinkled. “I have just the book for you to read.”

“What? Another Death in the Long Grass? Thanks, but no thanks.”

“This one is really good. I know you'll enjoy it.”

“Really? Where does this one take place? Zimbabwe, Botswana, Kenya? Is it a pride of man-eaters or just a single lion stalking and devouring anyone it comes across?”

“South Africa. Kruger National Park. Several prides...."

*****

All storytelling aside, today is our ninth wedding anniversary. There was a card standing on the top of the coffee maker this morning, addressed to me from Bill. The card states he wishes he could write a book with separate chapters for every reason why his life is warmer, brighter, better and a thousand times more fun because of me. Well, ditto, Honey. In truth, I will follow you anywhere. My home is wherever you are, whether it is in Argentina, South Africa, or Boise, Idaho. I love you with all of my heart. Happy Anniversary, Honey.

And Another Thing

2011-06-10T08:11:00.000-06:00

It wasn’t fair. How could they do this? (Fill in any situation – most would fit.) I was so angry I could barely wait to tell my bus mates and co-workers. I vented, I raved and I justified – until the next morning. At five am Jimmy Cricket extolled the virtues of Wishing Upon A Star. I wasn't in the mood for a Pollyanna wake up call and wished I’d changed my alarm to something more like I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.

I rolled out of bed, shuffled out to the kitchen and made coffee. While it brewed I stared out the window. Light was just showing in the eastern horizon. Clear sky, maybe we’d finally have a sunny, warm day.

The scene faded, receding behind a thin veil. I saw Jesus on the cross. As I watched, He transposed His face over my perceived enemy, for the second time. The first being right after my divorce. I was being reminded, once again, of God’s opinion of anger - even justified anger.

Justified. That was exactly what I had done - justified my action, my decisions, at the expense of another’s reputation. It didn’t matter that I had told the truth. It was wrong to broadcast the negative situation. My face reddened when I remembered a story I had recently told someone else.

A Christian missionary in China discovered a thief had stolen all of the mission’s blankets. The woman said nothing, demonstrated no outward anger, and went about her daily routine as if nothing had happened.

A Chinese solider staying with the missionaries questioned her behavior. “Why are you not angry with this thief?”

The woman replied, “First, God provided those blankets, and He will provide more when we need them. And secondly, the thief obviously needed them more than we did.”

Her words and behavior so impressed the solider he converted to Christianity, becoming a priest.

I sank to my knees, asking God to forgive my un-Christian-like behavior. I vowed to ask forgiveness from every person I had ranted to. Granted it would be hard to swallow my pride and admit I had been wrong, yet I had to somehow set the record straight.

My morning devotions confirmed my guilt. The Greatest Commandment was quoted in my first reading. “Love one another as I have loved you.” Remorse pounded my heart, crushing me into a black hole of shame.

The meditation continued with the gentle reminder that repentance, true repentance - coupled with the desire to change and not repeat the offense - wipes away our sin. There was no need to hang my head in shame or plot horrific punishments.

He has not dealt with us according to our sins,
Nor punished us according to our iniquities.
For as the heavens are high above the earth,
So great is His mercy toward those who fear Him;
As far as the east is from the west,
So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
Psalm 103: 10-12

Halleluiah. Amen.

Life’s Embellishments

2011-06-03T11:43:00.000-06:00

My devotion, God’s Little Lessons on Life for Women quoted Sherlock Holmes. Holmes said flowers were not necessary to life. They were an embellishment given to us from a compassionate God (from The Adventure of the Naval Treaty by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle).

After owning and managing a flower shop for ten years, flowers were not an embellishment to my life. They were a means to an end and represented the stress that accompanies small business ownership. I did not see beautiful blooms or notice their sweet fragrance. They represented hours of standing ankle deep in floral debris creating Something Spectacular while answering phones, taking orders, organizing deliveries and assisting walk in customers. When the holidays ended, I did not want to celebrate anything except the chance to shower and go to bed.

The last Valentine’s Day I owned the shop began in the usual way with aching back and feet, allergies running amok from too much exposure to all the pollen, and panic over cash flow. My bank balance was still short of enough funds to cover the rose shipment. Too tired to expend the extra energy to worry, I gave the issue to God.

At ten am the FedEx truck pulled up to the door and the driver pulled out box after box of flowers. My only recourse was to write a check and pray the receipts came in before the check made it to the bank.

I greeted the delivery man with what I hoped was a smile. “So, how much do you need from me today?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, it’s really odd. The box with the invoice got bumped because of excessive weight in the cargo hold. Usually that is the first box they load. Anyway, without the invoice I can’t take payment.”

“Well, how long before the other box shows up?”

“It was bumped only one flight, so I’d say tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

Well within the parameters of a fresh, saleable product. I hummed songs of praise all day long, and ironically, my feet didn’t hurt as much, my back ached less and we had one of our best holidays.

The next morning the other box showed up, right along with enough deposits to cover the C.O.D - and the most pressing bills. I glowed all the way to the bank.

I have been out of the floral business for six years, and now have the benefit of hind sight. While working in the shop I was surrounded with beauty, but I saw mostly thorns. I failed to understand that the blossoms are much larger than the thorns, and if we stand in the right position – in faith and trust in Him – we won't see the thorns at all.

Don't Cry For Me, Argentina

2011-05-27T05:50:00.005-06:00

Iguazu Falls, Argentina

Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina played softly in the background. It seemed like every time I turned on the radio the song was playing. It must have been a warning I didn't pay close enough attention to. I took a deep breath, swallowed my initial response to my husband's announcement and replied with a lot less emotion than I felt.

“Argentina? It’s only been a year since we moved to Arizona.”

“I know, but I’ve been doing some research, and a lot of retirees are moving out of the country for economic reasons. Countries, like Argentina, are less expensive to live in than the US, and right now the peso is running three to one – US dollars. We would have three times the income down there.”

“But, what about the government, the cultural differences, the language?”

“Sweetheart, they have a very stable government, the country is breathtaking and the people are very friendly. I know because Joan’s mother just retired there and she is living very well on only her Social Security. Not only is it a beautiful place to live, and inexpensive, but enough people speak English she hasn’t had any trouble communicating with the locals.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to go back home to visit my family since we moved here, and it’s only twelve hundred miles away. Argentina will be much farther.”

“Yes, but we’ll be saving so much money we’ll be able to do a lot more traveling. We could use Argentina as a spring-board to Europe, Africa - and back home.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s just explore it, okay?”

I agreed to look into the possibility of relocating, praying fervently that God didn’t really intend for me to leave home, family and country.

After a sleepless night, I slipped out of bed before daybreak, made coffee, and went directly to my reading room. I desperately needed the assurance and guidance I always found in my devotions. That morning the Gospel reading was from Genesis 12: 1: And the Lord said to Abram: Go forth out of your country, and from your kindred, and out of your father's house, and come into the land which I shall show you.

No. Oh, please no. I didn’t want to be like Abraham. I did not want to leave my country, all of my possessions, and especially my family. How could I leave my kids? Granted they were all grown, but my grandbabies? How could I leave them?

Bill, completely oblivious to my anxiety (helped along with the brave act I was putting on), enthusiastically made the necessary inquires about life as an expatriate. When it came time to actually solidify plans, I dropped to my knees and indulged in some shameful begging.

In answer, my devotions included Matthew 19:29: And every one that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands for my name's sake, shall receive a hundredfold, and shall possess life everlasting.

I thought my heart would break.

That night I had a dream. I was in a long hallway lined with locked doors. It ended abruptly, the floor falling away into open space - a star-filled expanse stretching away into infinity.

Rather than being afraid, confident God would bear me up and not let me fall, I raised my arms and leapt.

With the dream’s message fortifying my spirit, I set my face toward Argentina.

Less than one month before our scheduled departure, our vet announced our fifteen year old Brittany spaniel was unfit for air travel. The seventeen and a half hour flight, with lay-overs, would kill him. Undaunted, my husband checked into a cruise ship. Many have kennels and allow guests to bring their pets. It was July, winter in Argentina, and there were no cruises.

We then had a problem. We couldn’t leave Rusty, nor could we bear to put him down, the lease on the house was expired, and we had reserved storage units and movers. Our solution? We bought a large RV and set out on a five month travelling adventure. I had been snatched out of the fire and delivered right into heaven.

It was then I understood Argentina was my test, just as the sacrifice of Isaac was Abraham’s test. God is to be placed above everything - and He means everything. He has priority above country, family, children, grandchildren and especially self.

Now, whenever I hear the song, Don’t Cry for Me,

Argentina

, I think of Abraham and Isaac, of relinquishing my will to His. Oddly the song seems to be playing a lot on the radio these days…..

Haunted

2011-05-20T06:17:00.001-06:00

My tormentors strike when I am most vulnerable, early in the morning while I am still hovering between sleep and wakefulness. They go after the old wounds that have never completely healed, re-writing the original story, embellishing the worst moments, digging deeper into the tender flesh. These demons have many names: Heartbreak and Betrayal, Fear and Anxiety, Should Have / Could Have, If Only and What If.

On this particular morning, Heartbreak and Betrayal slunk into my room. Scene after scene played out of past, present and future anguish. Through a senseless misunderstanding my close friend, Deidre*, and I argued, then stopped speaking. I wanted to reach out, to somehow mend the rift, but she would not return my calls. If we accidentally met on the street or in a store, she turned her back and walked away.

It was then the Great Accuser entered, followed immediately by Guilt. This Judge and Jury accused me of allowing Jealousy, Pride and Selfishness to thwart my efforts at reconciliation. I turned my back against Apology and Forgiveness and fell into step with Stubbornness and Fear.

Staggering from these blows, I rose, went to my reading room and snatched up my devotional, God’s Little Lessons on Life for Women. I flipped through the pages to Forgiveness.

Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: Though our sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool. Isaiah 1:18

Once our sins are forgiven, we must not pick at the scars. Forgiven sins stay forgiven.

Reflecting on the power of this truth, I laid the book aside. A white veil dropped in front of my eyes and I was transported to a large space filled with hundreds of other Believers. Before me stood the Gates of Heaven.

Filled with jubilation I turned to the woman standing next to me, arms outstretched, ready to embrace. It was Deidre. My arms dropped to my side.

It was then The Holy Spirit spoke. He reminded us we had been washed clean by the Blood of the Lamb and none of the pettiness and imperfections of our previous lives mattered. Rejoicing, we let go of all of the heartache, resentment and fear. We embraced, joined hands and walked together into Paradise.

The veil dissolved and I was back in my room.

One by one Guilt, Fear, Heartache and Betrayal backed away. They lingered in the periphery, hopeful, waiting, searching for another opening, another chance to attack, but my faith held them at bay.

The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the protector of my life, of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1

Are you haunted? If so, what lifts your spirit and sends your tormentors away?

*Name has been changed

Love Is….

2011-05-14T19:15:00.006-06:00

The instruction book said it would only take five minutes. I looked up at the darkening sky, the freshening wind and repeated, “Only five minutes.....”

After a full day of moving, I really wanted a hot shower and to climb into a clean bed, but my husband decided winterizing the RV at the same time we pulled it into storage would save a trip.

I took a deep breath. Okay, I can do this.

Bill leaned closer to the valves. “Now which way do the switches go?”

I repeated what the book said, then added. “To pump the antifreeze through the lines all the water taps must be opened. When the antifreeze begins to come out of the tap, there is enough in the lines to prevent freezing.”

“Okay, I’ll get the hose hooked up to the valves. You go open the faucets.”

Tucking the instruction manual under my arm, I bent into the wind and raced around the trailer to the back door. Inside, I opened the kitchen faucet – and groaned. Water poured out, a lot of water, which of course ran down the drain and into the holding tank. The bathroom faucet was the same, as was the toilet. We had forgotten to drain the lines before dumping the tanks.

I retraced my steps back to my husband. “Honey, guess what we forgot to do? When I opened the taps, a lot of water went down into all of three of the holding tanks. At least a gallon, if not more.”

“That is too much water to leave in. It'll have to be drained.” Bill slumped against the trailer. “I’ve already taken off the hitch and put it in the storage compartment.”

Yup. He did, and it would take at least twenty minutes to get it out and hook the trailer back to the truck. Then it would be at least another ten minutes to pull the trailer over to the storage facility’s dump station. And then roughly another half hour to flush the tank, move the trailer back to the parking spot, unhitch and put everything away. Not to mention getting the antifreeze into the water lines.

"Let's come back tomorrow."

"No. I want to get it done. We've got enough to do with painting and unpacking. I don't want to stop and come back over here. And, it's getting too cold to put it off for very long."

"Okay." I looked at the instruction manual. Obviously it takes five minutes if you first follow the suggested winterizing check list.

“Well,” The Love of My Life said, “It’s clear water. We can just run it all into a bucket and walk it over to the dump station. It’d be much easier and faster than re-hitching the trailer.”

“We don’t have a bucket. You took all of them into the house.”

My One and Only sighed and then winked. “I told you we should keep one bucket in the trailer.”

It was an old joke between us, his way of admitting I had been right and he was wrong. I didn't laugh. I kept my mouth tightly closed. What was that scripture? Love is patient, love is kind...I was trying.

The chain link fence rattled and swirls of dust raced through the lot and around the RVs. A cloud of leaves, papers and several ducks blew past, just above the tree tops. I hunkered deeper into my coat, wishing I had spent the extra money and gotten the one that reached to my ankles with an attached hood.

I looked at Bill. "So what are we going to do?"

“I don’t know let me think a moment.”

Another cold gust of wind blew across the open lot, and amazingly an old bucket rolled out from behind the RV parked beside us. It was neither cracked or broken.

Bill placed the bucket under the discharge valve and opened the first gray tank. Clear water trickled out, filling only half the bucket. The second tank was also clear and held less than the first. With the bucket only three quarters full of clear water it was easy for the two of us to carry over to the dump station. After pouring it into the dump tank, we carried it back to the trailer and placed it under the drain valve. Bill opened the Black Tank. Thick, odorous black sludge oozed into the bucket.

Bill stated the obvious. “We forgot to flush the tank after dumping it.”

I said nothing. My mother told me if I couldn’t say anything nice, not to say anything. And what was that scripture verse again? Love is what?

Next came the Really Big Mistake. “Well, there can’t be that much left. We’ll just drain it into the bucket.”

"I am not sure about this."

I watched the sludge pass the halfway mark, then the three-quarters mark. Bill caped the valve when it came to within one inch of the rim. We both stared at the bucket.

“It’s too heavy to carry. We’ll have to haul it over to the dump station in the truck.”

My stomach rolled. The truck bed was fully carpeted and the storage lot was unpaved and filled with potholes and bumps.

I swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“It'll be fine. You sit in the back seat and watch. If it starts to slosh too much, holler.”

Oh, I’d holler alright. .

Carefully we loaded the bucket in the back of the truck, leaving the tailgate down and the hatch open. Bill inched the truck across the lot to the dump station. My Darling did a fantastic job. Only once did the goop sway close to the edge.

After dumping and rinsing the bucket, we went back to the trailer and stood for a few moments eyeing the Black Water valve. How much was really left in there?

Bill slowly shook his head. “I don’t really want to try that again, do you?”

I did not need to reply - verbally.

“Okay. We’ll hitch up the trailer.”

The sun was now low on the horizon, casting deep shadows over the storage lot. The temperature had dropped another twenty degrees and I was certain I had frostbite on my hands and feet.

It seemed like another century passed before we finally pulled the trailer to the dump station. At that point frostbitten toes and fingers were forgotten with the emergence of a new problem. The coupling on the dump station hose didn’t fit our flush valve. The hose would have to be pulled through the trailer to the bathroom. I pictured the dirty hose dragging across my beige carpet and clean tile to the back of the trailer.

I wanted to cry, but was certain the tears would freeze to my face and I'd have worse problems. I said nothing, and help Bill drag the hose to the front door and fed him the slack as he moved down the hallway to the back. It wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. The hose was only slightly dusty and Bill was very careful not to get water anywhere but in the toilet. Within forty minutes the trailer was back in its storage spot, the hitch and other towing equipment were put away and we were once again reading the instruction manual on how to pump in the antifreeze.

Simple, except the antifreeze jug had too narrow a neck for the water hose to slip through, and there was no other way to get the antifreeze into the water lines except to pump it through - using a hose.

“Sweetheart, would you go see if there is anything clean in the trailer we can pour the antifreeze in?”

“We took all the pots and pans, as well as the buckets into the house.”

“Well, please go look and see if there isn’t something we can use.”

I went back into the trailer and dug around for anything that was more than a couple inches deep. I found a foil casserole pan. It was just deep enough to submerge the end of the hose in the antifreeze.

By the time we pulled out of the storage area, the sun was behind dark clouds and the street lights were coming on. I really wanted that hot shower and clean bed.

Bill made a suggestion. “It's too late to cook. Let’s get a burrito at that little place I saw just up the street.”

I gritted my teeth. For the last two months Bill failed to recognize any other fast food choice. I was certain if I ate one more burrito, not only would I look like one, I’d be one.

The small deli had hard chairs and grease, lots of grease. I left half of my chicken burrito on the tray. The other half sat in one, large heavy lump in the pit of my stomach. I didn't think it would ever digest. It'd just sit there, forever.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Bill commented. “We are out of ice. Guess we’d better stop on the way home.”

I didn't say a word. I just looked at him.

“On second thought, let’s just go home.”

Good man.

I know love is: patient, is kind. It is not jealous, love is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians: 13: 4-8)

Love is all of these things. Forgive me, Lord. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is- TIRED!

We drove west. The clouds parted along the horizon, revealing a bright red glow, the last breath of sunlight bathing the world in ethereal light. Bill took my hand, raised it to his lips.

"Sweetheart, I love you with all of my heart."

"I love you too, Honey."

Love is...wonderful.

Come Into the Light

2011-05-10T11:58:00.000-06:00

In the dream golden light filled the church sanctuary and moved slowly down the center aisle. Responding to a gentle urging, I stepped into the soft glow and was joined by two close friends.

An infinite crowd stretched beyond our sight into absolute darkness, an eternity of yearning, terrified faces, afraid of being judged unworthy and rejected.

I spoke. “Don’t be afraid. This isn’t meant for only a few. This is for everyone. You are invited, regardless of your past. Remember, because of Him you are forgiven. Join us. Come into the Light.”

The radiance faded. The dream ended.

I slipped from bed to my knees. “Dear Father in heaven bring those sad, scared faces to You. Offer them encouragement, give them strength. Help me to help them. Make me your instrument.”

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.
The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Although we were from different churches and different denominations, we stood united in our faith, bathed in His Divinity. We joined hands and faced outward, away from the light.

Mother

2011-05-06T06:21:00.004-06:00

Mother’s Day. As with everyone else I have been thinking of my mother , reminiscing of all the times she stood beside me, encouraged me and comforted me, especially during the crises of divorce and widowhood. However, one event stands out from all others.

November 1, 2001 Mother collapsed with a brain aneurysm. My dad rushed her to the hospital. Doctors did not have good news. Mother had only a twenty-five percent chance of survival. A Medic-Vac flight was called. Neurosurgeons were altered and waiting in another town a hundred miles away. We were told not to get our hopes up. Mother might not live through the flight.

During the two and half hour drive to the other hospital, my dad planned Mother's funeral. He told us which dress he wanted her to wear and which scriptures he wanted read. He talked about what he’d do afterward, whether he would stay in the house or move. I prayed –begged- God not to take my mother. I held out for a miracle.

My sister lived near the hospital and met the Medic Vac flight. After conferring with the doctors, she greeted us at the door with good news. Mother had survived the flight and was in critical, but stable condition in ICU.

For three weeks Mother was unresponsive, finally rallying slightly on Thursday, November 22, Thanksgiving Day - Mother and Father's 50th wedding anniversary, exactly to the day. My sister cajoled a local minister into coming to the hospital to bless my parents' reaffirmation of their wedding vows.

It wasn’t what we had originally planned. Mother was to wear her gown, Daddy his suit, and they were to stand before the church congregation, followed by a dinner cruise on the local steam boat with family and friends. The hospital room was a little more drab, but we were overjoyed she was still with us.

Her improvement was steady, and after forty-five days and brain surgery, Mother was released from the hospital. She was home for Christmas.

Now, ten years later, she has fully recovered. Even her eyes have returned to their normal color. Right after the aneurysm struck, Mother’s eyes turned from hazel to dark blue. Now they are hazel again. And Mother is running, as she always has, to the mail box, to the shop in back of the house where my dad tinkers on his projects, and everywhere else she needs to go. She never walks. She is sewing and knitting, and has taken over the cooking, cleaning and bill paying to my dad’s unending delight. She is also back to grabbing her broom and chasing my father out of the house and back to the shop when his teasing wears her patience thin.

Family will gather this Sunday either in person, or on the phone, and reminisce about her “wreck”, as she calls it, and give thanks to a merciful God who has given us a few more precious years with this faith-filled rock we call Wife and Mother. This November Mother and Father will celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary.

O'Dark-Thirty

2011-04-29T06:11:00.000-06:00

Saturday morning I woke at four am. No way, not on a weekend. I rolled over, cuddled further into the blankets and closed my eyes. No use. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I gave up and crawled out from under my warm blankets. As I slipped into my robe, I noticed my husband still snuggled in and obviously sound asleep. Must be nice. I grumbled all the way out to the kitchen.

While the coffee brewed, I let the dog out and stood in the doorway. No birds, not even a moon, just lots of stars. Everything and everyone was asleep - but me. Even the dog went back to bed.

I took my coffee to my sitting room. My first sip of the hot liquid started that darn tooth to throbbing again. Well, maybe more of an ache. Since my dentist visit, my mouth felt tender, especially an old crown. It had not bothered me until he poked and prodded. Unfortunately, I also had a cracked tooth. It needed immediate attention and without dental insurance, I could only afford one crown at a time. Obviously the broken tooth had priority. The old crown would just have to wait, but when it became sensitive, I worried about an abcess.

My first reading that morning: Hosea 6: 1: In their affliction they will rise early to me…I laughed in spite of still feeling incensed at getting up at O’Dark-Thirty on a Saturday morning.

I paged to my next listed reading. My Bible fell open to Judith 10: 3.
And she washed her body, and anointed herself with the best ointment, plaited her hair, and put a bonnet on her head, and clothed herself with the garments of her gladness, and put sandals on her feet, and took her bracelets, and lilies, and earrings and rings, and adorned herself with all her ornaments.

Lilies – God’s personal promise of financial rescue...Consider the lilies of the field....Luke 12:27.

My next reading, Psalm 103 went a step further. Verse 3: Who forgives all your inequities: who heals all your diseases. Coincidence or promise?

The Gospel reading quoted Luke 18: 27: All things are possible with God.

I wanted to believe.

Later that day another interesting coincidence occurred. In a crime novel by one of my favorite suspense authors, one character tells another if you have only a little money, buy bread and then lilies. Really?

The next morning my devotions included Mark 9:23: Everything is possible for him who believes.

That evening my tooth felt less sensitive and sometime during the night it quit aching. When I awoke the next morning before the alarm - at O’Dark-Thirty - again, I didn’t complain. I hoped out of bed and hurried into my sitting room. The meditation in Streams in the Desert for that day: See how the lilies of the field grow… Matthew 6: 28.

Now, weeks later, I am still out of pain and I know the money will be there when I really need it. I have His promise.

Lion

2011-04-24T11:05:00.002-06:00

Original photo

Easter Sunday. I've struggled with a story idea. Couldn't get it quite right. In fact, there were a lot of things I couldn't get quite right. At one time I had it all, so I thought. I was surrounded by loving family, long term marriage, slim figure, opportunities to explore and developed my talents. Then God pulled the rug out.

First, my husband passed away, family members scattered, children grew, work interfered with utilizing my talents, my health deteriorated, my weight increased. I clung to my faith, I got through it all, but I still didn't really understand. God sent messengers: rainbows, lilies, lions. I still didn't quite get it right. He sent visions. I got a little closer.

While listening to the sermon today, the picture of the Lion kept floating in front of me. This last week there have again been lions everywhere. A fellow blogger showed the picture of a carousel - a lion right in front. Recently I went to the zoo, lions were roaring. Disney has a new movie out this week featuring - Lions. Last night History International had a documentary on the Anti-Christ - parts taken from the book of Daniel. (Daniel and lions). Ironically, I chose to paint - a Lion. (This photo is the study for my painting.)

Then I knew. As clear as if He had spoken, I knew. My book, the one I had struggled with. The title, not Satan's Harlot, but Lion. The premise: A secret cult is kidnapping victims at random (based on a true story), horribly mutilating them to appease their god - (demons). Lily, a woman with supernatural gifts, is called to use these gifts and expose the cult - saving countless lives. Lions permeate her life in various forms. It isn't until she is face to face with The Godfather, the cult's leader, does she understand the symbolism of the Lion and what it means to her, personally. Faced with horrible death as the cult's next sacrifice, she comes face to face with both Lions - Satan's raging lion and the Lion of Judah. Question is - which one wins this particular fight?

I didn't know myself, until this morning, at church. Lion. The Lion. My protector. He has been trying to tell me it isn't about me. It's about Him. Always has been. I just could not see it or understand. I kept getting in the way. My life isn't about what I accomplish, or about how many people read this, or how many people admire my art, or read my stories. It is about what He asks me to do. What He accomplishes through me.

When my painting is done, it will have far more meaning - it will be a symbol, a reminder. When things get scary, I have a Lion, gentle as a lamb, but capable of great power - fighting on my behalf.

He is risen. He reigns. I am free!

The Divine Embrace

2011-04-22T05:46:00.000-06:00

In honor of this holy day, I have re-edited and re-posted this.

The Passion. I've read it every year, over and over since I was a small child. That Palm Sunday it was different. The familiar words became personal. Jesus died in my place - for me - so I might live. Overwhelmed, I bowed my head, tears streaming down my face.

One moment I was listening to the sermon, the next I was standing in a white void. To my right stood a figure in white. He opened His arms and beckoned me. Without hesitation I ran to Him and was enfolded into a tight embrace. I snuggled deeper, pressing my cheek against His chest. The material was coarse, like burlap, not the soft linen I had expected.

The thought was fleeting, overpowered by a joy unlike anything I had ever experienced. I wanted nothing, needed nothing. There was no sorrow. No tears. No pain or anguish. The World didn't exist. Only Him.

Sadly, unbidden and unwelcomed, my past transgressions- sins - paraded against my closed eyelids. I stepped back, my head hanging in shame. I wasn't worthy to look at Him let alone touch Him.

Gently He urged me to look up. His eyes held no accusations, only unconditional love. He loved me just as I was, flawed and imperfect. It didn't matter how many times I failed, only how hard I tried. It was the effort that counted.

I reached for Him, but was stopped. The Man of Sorrows directed my gaze to my left. A huge pit of white-hot flames roared beneath black, roiling smoke. I could feel the intense heat from where I stood. I had to walk through the flames, not as a punishment for my sins, but as a natural part of my life. I would endure great pain.

"I can't. The pain will be too great."

"You must."

Obedient, I stepped into the inferno and braced for a horrific blast of heat. Instead, I felt His hand reach through the flames and grasp mine. As long as I held onto Him - my faith - the flames would never burn me and He would be waiting on the other side.

I was back in my pew. The impression of His garment remained on my skin. The aura of peace, ecstasy, still lingered.

From that moment, He was with me in ways I had never experienced before. He was everywhere - in the smallest details of my life as well as the crises, the trials, the infernos. Granted, I felt a little heat now and then, but I was never burned. I set my eyes toward the other side, where He was waiting - for me.

All Things Have Their Season...

2011-04-15T06:08:00.008-06:00

All things have their season, and in their times all things pass under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. Ecclesiastes 3:1-2.

After twenty-six years I was leaving my home, the place where I raised my children and where I had spent nearly half of my adult life. The choice was not only voluntary, but necessary. Bill and I needed a fresh start, a home without ghosts of the past.

Sometimes late at night, when the ghosts and demons were likely to prowl through my imagination, I would see my ex-husband standing in the bedroom doorway and memories of that awful night re-played. Other times I saw Ron lying on the living room floor while the paramedics worked over him in a desperate effort to revive him. When I stood on the front deck I glimpsed images of Shannon and I sitting together in the swing. Too many memories, too many emotional triggers.

I moved slowly from one empty room to the next, recalling all the memories, the joyful as well as the sad. Finally, with a sigh, I laid the keys on the counter, took one last look and quietly shut the door.

Outside, I walked the perimeter of the yard, staying longest beneath the Quaking Aspens. Ron and I had planted the small grove just outside the bedroom window. I told him I wanted to hear the melodious rustle of wind through their leaves while laying in bed. They would sing me to sleep at night and gently wake me in the morning. I felt a pang of melancholy. I would not see them leaf out that year. Neither would I see the orchard in bloom or pick the fruit in the fall. Someone else’s hands would till the garden and plant the seeds.

I stood on the front deck and watched the sunset. A slight breeze brushed my cheek and a Meadow Lark broke into song. It was then I realized how much the house represented everything I had lost. By leaving I would finally let go of things past.

The first night in the new house was rough. I dreamed of my home, of the open fields and mountains, the family holidays and celebrations, of children growing. Shaking off the images, I rose and went out to the kitchen. I ignored the stacks of moving boxes and stood looking out the kitchen window while coffee brewed. The new house felt so strange, uncomfortable. Would it ever feel like home?

The sun rose, pouring bright light through the garden window and bathing the room in a warm glow. Mourning doves cooed from the rooftop and song birds chorused from seemingly every tree and bush. Humming birds flitted around the Crab Apple tree.

Bill came into the room and put his arms around me. “Good morning, Sweetheart. It is such a beautiful day let’s take a walk before we do anything else. The OC & E trail is only a few blocks from here.”

The OC& E was a converted railway stretching for a hundred miles through the heart of the city, outlying suburbs, open farmland and surrounding national forest. The section closest to our house cut through hay fields teaming with birds: meadowlarks, blackbirds, Mallard ducks, pheasants and Dove. Tall cottonwoods graced one side, mountains and old red barns lined the other - a little piece of paradise right in the middle of suburbia. I did not feel quite as homesick.

Nine years and several states later, I stood in yet another unfamiliar house, staring out the kitchen window waiting for coffee to brew. I thought about people still married to the same person, living in the same house, going to the same church, and the same job. How lucky to always be surrounded by the known, sinking roots deep within families, homes, careers and communities. I had that once, a long, long time ago, but for reasons I did not understand, God took that type of stability from me. Bill and I married late in life. We would be fortunate to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, and as to a home? We were still searching.

Bill and I took our coffee on the back deck.

"Honey, before we start unpacking, let's take a walk. I found a foot path a couple blocks from here."

The path wound through the subdivision under huge shade trees, beside manicured lawns and flowering bushes, eventually paralleling open fields. Birds were numerous: Canadian Geese, Mallard Ducks, Black birds and so many song birds I couldn’t identify them all. We paused, holding hands.

“So beautiful. How lucky we have been to always have something like this close by all of our homes. And, speaking of being lucky. My luckiest day was the day I found you. I think my whole life has been leading me here, to you. I only wish we could have met thirty years earlier, then we could have had more time together. But then, a life time with you would not be enough."

He kissed my hand. "And yet, I guess it doesn’t matter. Now is our time and nothing could be more perfect.”

“I have thought of that too- having more time with you, but had we met earlier it might not have been the same. Our life experiences have shaped who we are and the attitudes we have carried into this marriage. I think our appreciation for each other stems from the grief we have both known. That pain has made our relationship more precious. I never take you or any of the things we have for granted.”

At that moment I heard a Meadow Lark singing and I smiled. Even though a lot had changed, there were some things that always remained the same. The sun always rose in the east, there were always paths to walk and song birds to serenade us. Spring always followed winter, and God was always there, providing the most important things.

My devotions that morning quoted Ecclesiastes 3:15: That which has been made, the same continues: the things that shall be, have already been: and God restores that which is past. Restores. Amen.

The Psychic

2011-04-09T08:36:00.000-06:00

Predators pounce once an obituary is printed. Thieves strike while the family is at the funeral. Long- lost relatives show up in time for the reading of the will, and self-proclaimed Psychics contact the dearly departed – for a price. After being widowed once before, I knew about these dangers, however, I did not expect to be approached by one of my acquaintances.

Belinda insisted. “You’ve got to come.”

“I just don't know. I don't believe in it and I am not comfortable with the idea.”

"Marie, Joan’s a Christian and this isn’t something she does for profit or for the general public. It’s a gift she shares only when inspired to do so. She tells me she has something very important to tell you. Please, come.”

“I don’t know...”

“Just come. If you are too uncomfortable, make some excuse and leave."

“Alright. Where?”

“Meet us at Marvin’s Café at noon.”

***

Joan spoke first, “I’m usually very conservative with my dress, but this morning I had my manucurist paint my nails this color. It was very important you see it. ”

Her nails were royal blue.

I shook my head. “Other than blue being my favorite color, it holds no significance."

“Trust me, it will. Now, Marie, bear with me. I see things - people who have passed on.”

My eyebrows shot up, along with my guard.

“No, no. Don’t think that way. Just listen. There are two men here with a black dog.”

The room cooled by several degrees. Joan knew about my husbands, but she did not know about Iger. Only close family knew the story behind his death.

Two days before Shannon passed away, I went out to the kennel to feed the dogs. Iger, snarling and growling, threw his body against the chain link. The whole kennel shook. Freda, our Bernese-St. Bernard mix, cowered in the corner. I stepped back and Iger settled down.

Speaking softly I re-approached the kennel. Iger again exploded into a blur of black hair, barred teeth and deafening snarls. I retreated back into the house and called our vet. The diagnosis: a brain tumor - the same disease taking my husband.

Using bits of hamburger laced with a strong sedative, the vet tranquilized Iger, then entered the kennel and administered the euthanasia.

I said nothing to Joan or Belinda.

“Marie, one man tells me he liked your hair better before. The other disagrees. He likes it the way it is.”

The chill in the room fell by several more degrees. Ron liked my hair very short and I kept it that way for the seventeen years we were married. After his death, I grew it out. Shannon preferred the longer length.

“The second man wants you to stop focusing on his mouth. He wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought. In fact, he was rarely in his body. He spent most of the time standing by the clock.”

The world went a little hazy. Joan had never been to my home and there was no way she could know about the clock. It was an old fashioned pendulum that hung in the living room just opposite of the hospital bed.

After Shannon slipped into a coma, the Hospice nurse had given me instructions to to swab his mouth with a moist pad several times a day. I struggled with the technique and felt I had failed. I told no one.

Reeling with uncertainty and doubt, I asked. “Is the clock is running or stopped?”

Joan did not hesitate. “Stopped.”

Granted, Joan had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing the correct answer, but I didn't believe she gussed. No one knew why the clock wasn't running. Friends and family assumed I hadn’t bothered to wind it, when in truth, the rhythmic sound of the pendulum bothered Shannon after his surgery, and he asked me to stop it.

Joan continued, “By the way, the answer to your question is 1 Peter 3:1.”

“Question? I have absolutely no idea what question you’re talking about.”

“You’ll know when you read it. Do you have a pen? I’ll write it down for you.”

I pulled my pen from my purse.

Both Belinda and Joan gasped.

“What?”

“Marie, look at the color.”

It was the same color as Joan’s nails.

I shrugged. “Shannon and I had matching pens. I don’t see any significance to that.”

“As I have already said, this color will be significant to another question you have. Now, there is one more thing...”

I didn’t want to hear anything else.

“...I’ve seen the man you are to be with. He carries a star, so I assume he’s a police officer, a very distinguished looking man of high integrity, and he is left handed.”

I didn't speak. I couldn't. Two days prior to our lunch, friends introduced me to Bill. He fit Joan’s description in every detail: a sergeant with the Sheriff’s department, left handed, a gentleman, attractive - a man highly regarded by his peers.

I went straight home from the restaurant, grabbed my bible and looked up the scripture. I did know the question.

1 Peter 3: 1:

In like manner also let wives be subject to their husbands: that if any believe not the word, they may be won without the word, by the conversation of the wives.

Thirty-five years on the police force left Bill scarred and jaded. Religion was at the top of his skeptic list. I had been wondering why God would pair me with a man who did not share my faith - if Bill was indeed the companion I would grow old with in health.

Months later, when Bill proposed, besides vowing to love and cherish me all the days of his life, he also promised to support my faith. In turn I vowed to never to preach or push.

Now, nine years later, Bill not only supports my wish to attend Church, he asks about the sermon and the service. He admits he prays and concedes he has seen miracles since we have been together. This year’s Valentine card read: You are my Gift from God. Last night, he asked to read my blog.

As to the Royal Blue color, several months after the lunch meeting, I discovered Bill had a matching pen – three identical pens. The significance? I don' know. Neither do I know how to explain my meeting with Joan, except, God sometimes uses unusual circumstances to place emphasis on His message. Well, it works.

Child of God

2011-04-01T04:00:00.011-06:00

The mountain of difficulties grew by the hour, nearly all of it beyond my ability to solve, but demanding my attention anyway. I wanted to hide under the covers and stay there. Of course I couldn't do that, so I prayed. I worried and I prayed some more. God answered through a vision.

I was walking toward the break room, when the words Child of God echoed through my mind. At the same moment, the world turned hazy as if a film or sheer curtain had dropped in front of me. The center of the haze sharpened, illuminated by the scene of a small child playing in a sunlit field. He ran and jumped, chased butterflies and grasshoppers. In mid flight, he was called in for lunch. Immediately he obeyed. He sat at the table and waited respectfully until the meal was served. The white plate held what looked like a single piece of baloney – no bread or condiments.

The child neither complained nor pouted. He bowed his head and said, “Thank you, Father, for providing this meal.”

The boy ate and went back out to play. He skipped and ran. He waded through streams, watched a caterpillar creep along a narrow leaf, and and tried to guess shapes in the billowy, white clouds. Birds sang and the flowers nodded in the gentle breeze. He gave no thought as to what was for supper or breakfast, or whether he had clean clothes to put on in the morning. It never occurred to him to worry if the house would be warm come winter. His Father took care of those things.

Night fell and the boy realized he had gone too far and was lost, but he didn’t panic. He didn’t cry. He sat down and waited for his Father to find him.

The vision changed. I was the child, shivering in the dark, worrying and fretting about being found.

“Come with Me.” I looked up and saw His outstretched hand.

Gently He lifted me to my feet and we walked along a steep, rough path. It was unfamiliar, not the usual way we went home. And it was dark. I couldn’t see anything ahead or behind.

“Where are we going? Aren’t we going home? What about supper? What if there are cliffs or deep holes?”

My Father tightened His grip. “Trust Me, Child. Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

“Yes.” I answered.

Back at work the nasty little voice, The Doubting Me, spoke up. “How do you know He will this time?”

How do I know? Because He told me so. As I was paging from one reading to the other during my morning devotions, my Bible fell open to Luke 12: 22-32: Do not be solicitous for what you are to wear, what you are to drink or what you are to eat….Consider the lilies of the field….Your Father in heaven knows you have need of these things.

You Know Not What You Ask

2011-03-25T06:08:00.000-06:00

You know not what you ask. Can you drink the chalice that I shall drink? They say to him: We can.

Matthew 20:22

The sun rose with all the splendor of a sunset. Simultaneously, a full moon, huge, golden, sank behind the western mountains. The scene reminded me of A Letter From a Friend.

I am writing to say how much I care for you. I want you to know me better. When you awoke this morning, I exploded a brilliant sunrise through your window, hoping to get your attention. But you didn’t even notice. Later you were walking with friends; I bathed you in warm sunshine and perfumed the air with flowers. Still you did not notice me. So I shouted to you in a thunderstorm and painted a beautiful rainbow. You didn’t even look! Tonight I spilled moonlight on your face and sent a cool breeze to refresh you. As you slept, I watched over you and shared your thoughts, but you were unaware of my presence. I hope you will talk to me soon. When you are ready, I will be near. I love you very much. You’re Friend, Jesus. (Author Unknown)

I asked to be His witness, but I did not fully understand what I was asking.

Shortly afterward my husband passed away, followed by financial disasters and health issues. Three years later I remarried. Four months after the wedding I was a widow again. The cartilage in my thumbs disintegrated, leaving bone grinding on bone. Unfortunately, the nerves were still intact. I couldn't hold a spoon or fork. Buttons were impossible. Forget the pantyhose. The doctors said I was too young for replacement surgery and I would just have to live with it.

And yet, He spoke tenderly through Scripture, dreams and premonitions. He sent rainbows, lilies, and other symbols as reminders of His love, compassion and promises. Occasionally a last minute miracle spared additional suffering. I married again with God's promise of years together in health. My finances improved. I was finally eligible for replacement surgery. Then, things spiralled downward, then up and then down again. God sent more rainbows and lilies.

And so, I tell stories to anyone who will listen: here, at work, on the bus and at home. Each re-telling affirms my own faith. I worry less and pray more. The cup is less bitter, and someday, when I can relinquish all desire for control, the chalice will be sweeter and life will hold more joy than sorrow, because we know that to them that love God, all things work together unto good, to such as, according to his purpose, are called to be saints. Romans 8:28

And the Lord Spoke

2011-03-19T09:00:00.001-06:00

And the Lord came and stood: and he called as he had the other times: Samuel, Samuel. And Samuel said: Speak, Lord, for thy servant is listening. Samuel 3: 10

I was startled from a deep sleep by a voice demanding I read Psalm 120. I sat up and looked around. My husband was asleep and no one else was in the room. It had to be a dream. I snuggled back under the covers.

The voice repeated the command, louder and more insistent. I still refused to believe I was hearing a voice. I rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut. The voice again told me to read Psalm 120 and this time the words also flashed in bright neon-yellow against my closed eye lids.

"Alright, already!" I threw the covers off and stomped into the other room where I kept my bible. Like Samuel, I finally understood what was happening, but unlike Samuel, I wasn't pleased. How would I explain this to anyone? Hearing voices? Yeah, right. But, I obeyed.

I plopped into my chair, picked up my bible and read the Psalm. I had absolutely no idea why I was told to read it. It made no sense to me at all.

The Lord answered me when I called in my distress: Lord, deliver me from lying lips, from treacherous tongues.

What will the Lord inflict on you, O treacherous tongue, and what more besides?

A warrior’s sharpened arrows and fiery coals of brushwood!

Alas, I was an alien in Meschech, I lived near the tents of Kedar!

Too long did I live among those who hated peace.

When I spoke of peace, they were for war.

I mulled it over on the way to work and then, against my better judgment, I shared the story with my co-worker and friend. Bev stared at me as if I were already wearing the straight jacket.

Her silence and perceived judgement were irritating. “Well?!”

“You just gave me chills. That scripture describes what Cindy has been doing behind your back. She almost had me convinced and I think Fred believes her. ”

“Believes what?”

“She’s been trying to get you fired. She has been telling Fred how unprofessional you are, that you have been making the patients angry, and that your personal life is interfering to the point you are having an emotional break down. Remember the other day when Fred found you crying in the lab?”

I felt sick to my stomach. “Yes. She had just told me I had blown the rush job and that Fred was really angry with me. He was coming in to fire me.”

"See, Fred didn't know that. And, she told me you weren't coming to my birthday party because you didn't really want to be my friend. You were just being nice."

I shook my head. "And then she came into the lab and told me since Ron had to work that day and I would have too come alone, everyone would understand if I preferred to stay home."

Bev said, “She almost pulled it off. Had you not told me about the Psalm...”

I grimaced.

Bev went on. “Now that I see what she has been doing, I think she’s jealous. Everyone respects you, professionally and personally. She wanted to bring you down anyway she could. Let's go talk to Fred.”

Although Fred refused to confront Cindy, Cindy resigned her position several days later and left without the customary two week notice.

The Post Office - Remember the Lilies

2011-03-15T11:23:00.015-06:00

Bills were due, receipts were low. I had just enough cash to buy a roll of stamps. My plan was to send out kind reminders to the past due accounts and then pray - hard - that the money would come in before my creditors cut me off.

Owning my own business was nothing like I thought it would be. I hadn't realized I would have two sets of bills to pay, personal and business. It was a tight wire act balancing the two, and too often I relied on the day's cash receipts to buy gas and groceries. Business was good, that wasn't the issue. The shop was making money, sadly most of it was on the books, in the past due accounts.

I hated handling collections and procrastinated until I was nearly bankrupt. Either I mailed out the notices and made follow up phone calls, or lose the business. Neither choice was a pleasant prospect, but the first was definitely the better of the two.

At the Post Office, the teller asked what type of stamps I wanted: The Statue of Liberty or something else. I replied I really didn’t care, stamps were stamps. I wrote out the check and handed it to him.

He glanced at the business name. Printed below were the words, “Say It with Flowers.”

“Say It with Flowers?”

“Yes, my bank thought it a good idea since I own a flower shop.”

“Well, in that case, I think you need lilies.”

I laughed all the way back to the shop.

The mailman had come while I was out. There was not a single bill among the pile of envelopes. They were all receipts.

Remember the Lilies - do not be solicitous for what you shall wear, what you shall drink or what you shall eat...Consider the lilies of the field, not even Solomon in all of his glory was arraigned as one of these, and if God clothes the grass that is here today and gone tomorrow, how much more you, Oh ye of little faith?

The Unexpected Messenger

2011-03-10T20:01:00.000-07:00

I stayed until way past visiting hours, leaving my husband's bedside only when the night shift insisted I go home. As I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, I fought back the tears, the fatigue, the sense of hopelessness. The cancer had spread, already encompassing one quarter of Shannon's brain. The prognosis was six weeks.

I stepped outside into a biting wind, heavily scented with fresh snow. Maybe, with a little luck I might make it home before the storm hit, and with a little more luck I might have the dogs taken care of too. I groaned. Dog food. We were out of dog food. The last thing I wanted to do was put on a civil face and go to the market. I wanted to go home, crawl into bed, curl up in a tight ball, cry my eyes out and then sleep.

The store parking lot was nearly empty, surely that meant the check out lines would be short. I grabbed my purse, jumped out, shut the door - and froze. The keys were still in the ignition. A sob threatened to drop me to the ground and escalate into serious crying, but tears would only complicate my situation, not solve it.

I took a deep breath and calculated my options. I had my purse and thus money and my cell phone. My parents had a key and were only fifteen minutes away. Fifteen minutes would give me plenty of time to make my purchase and be back out to the truck before they arrived. The truck canopy was unlocked and I could put the dog food inside and sit on the dropped tailgate while I waited - if I needed to wait. And, it hadn't started to snow, yet...

In less than five minutes the phone call had been made, the dog food purhcased, and I was back outside, sitting on the tailgate. To entertain myself I watched the people entering and exiting the store. One held my attention longer than the others. It was hard to tell the gender. The hair style, clothing and mannerisms could be either male or female. Hair was a longish pompadore, shirt, slacks/trousers, loafers. Nothing difinitive.

The person crossed the parking lot and then veered in my direction. I held my breath. Surely he/she did not intend on drawing me into conversation.

He/she continued his/her course right up to my tailgate. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ve locked my keys inside, but my folks are on their way with a spare.”

“It’s not very safe for you to be sitting here alone this time of night. I’d better stay with you.”

I thought, God, no! Who will protect me from you?! And to my horror the person jumped up and sat next to me on the tailgate. What followed was the oddest conversation I have ever been a part of.

“Do you remember an incident a few years back when a patient on the fourth floor of the hospital jumped out the window in a suicide attempt?”

The fourth floor was the psyche ward. I swallowed. “Vaguely.”

“Well I was that man.”

I struggled to keep my face non-responsive.

“Amazingly I was not hurt in the fall, just bruised. It was then I realized God had a plan for my life or He would not have saved me in such a miraculous way, and I needed to stick around and discover what that plan was. I continued with therapy and have since put my life back together. I have had steady employment for several years now and I am a productive part of society again.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Surprisingly, I meant it.

“And don’t you worry,” He told me. “God will give you the strength you need to deal with your current crises. I don’t know the details, but I know you are overhwhelmed with great difficulties. I will pray for you.”

I was touched. “Thank you.”

My folks pulled in.

“Looks like the Calvary is here.”

He jumped down, grabbed his cart and turned to me one more time, “I really do wish you luck.”

And with a nod he walked away.

I learned several important lessons that night. First, God sends messages when we least expect them and sometimes through a messenger we are inclined to dismiss. Second, I needed to rely on God’s strength, not mine. He would carry me through the difficult circumstances, the infernos. And third, all I needed was faith.

A Lesson in Honesty

2011-03-08T06:24:00.000-07:00

I was in a car accident. The other driver pulled out from a parallel park and raked the right side of my vehicle from front bumper to back. The woman then panicked, hit the accelerator instead of the break, and slammed into the back of my truck. Both cars were towed from the scene. My vhehicle was totaled..

This was disconcerting for several reasons. First, I loved my truck. The half-ton, short bed, four-wheel-drive was perfect for hauling large orders and for getting around in our rural community. Second, and the most aggravating of all – it was paid for. However, no payments and low insurance rates equals low Blue Book value. Another vheicle meant monthly payments and higher insurance, especially commercial insurance.

Several friends advised against adding the commercial insurance on the new vehicle. They argued the chances were very slim the company would ever find out. I had used sub-contractors before, so how would the company know I hadn't continued that practice and was using the new vehicle for personal use only? I seriously thought about it – for one day.

I ran an early morning delivery to another insurance office. As I parked, a car pulled along side and the male driver got out. The man was my claim agent. The odds of my agent going into a competitor’s office the same time I was making a delivery was too high for just a coincidence. I waited until the man left, made my delivery and drove straight back to the shop. I called my insurance and arranged for commercial coverage.

Interestingly, every month I had enough money to cover the new car payment and the added insurance.

A Companion to Grow Old With – Conclusion - Africa

2011-03-03T21:16:00.005-07:00

Original Photo - Safari Lodge
Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

A week later Peg and George invited Bill and I to dinner. On the drive over I gave God a list of demands. If I were to be in another relationship, it had to be effortless. I did not want to turn my world upside down for another man.

I should know better than to give God an ultimatum.

First, Bill was everything I had dreamed of - literally. He was tall, handsome, kind, and we had so much in common it was almost scary. We talked non-stop about art, history, books, travel. We even drank our coffee exactly the same (shades of Meet Joe Black). Half way through dinner Bill leaned close to ask a question, and I actually felt an electrical charge (another reference to Meet Joe Black - a theme?). When I was ready to leave, Bill walked me out to my vehicle.

"I'd like to see you again. Would you consider going out to dinner with me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have odd days off, Sundays and Mondays. Would next Sunday work for you?"

"As a matter of fact, I have Sundays and Mondays off and next Sunday would be just fine." Mea culpa, Lord. You made your point - all evening!

Whenever I was with Bill, one word kept whirling through my mind - home. It felt like I had finally come home. Our relationship was so natural, it was effortless.

As we both had been married numerous times, we wanted something different. Bill suggested Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. Since returning from his first trip to Africa he had felt it would be a magical, romantic place to be married. I agreed. Through an angel of a travel agent we arranged for a ceremony at the Safari Lodge in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, Africa.

On June 17th at three pm, we stood in the open veranda on the third floor of the lodge and repeated our vows before a magistrate and two local witnesses. Behind us was a watering hole teaming with Elephant, Kudu, Cape buffalo, Zebra and Wart hogs. Beyond that was the African bush, broken only by the gleaming waters of the Zambezi River. I felt like pinching myself, but then, if I was dreaming, I didn’t really want to wake up.

That night we sat out on the lodge's veranda and ate dinner by candlelight. A troupe of four young men serenaded our table with African love songs, finishing their performance with The Lion Sleeps Tonight. The setting sun turned the sky vivid gold and red. Lions roared somewhere out in the deepening shadows.

Bill took my hand, gently kissed it, and whispered. "I love you."

My world was perfect - beyond anything I imagined.

From Victoria Falls we flew to Johannesburg, South Africa. We spent the night in a Bed and Breakfast and the next day went shopping. Our first stop was a Diamond Merchant where we bought my ring. Later, alone in our room, Bill pledged his love once again and placed the ring on my finger.

The next day we flew to Hoedspruit, South Africa, the gateway to Krueger National Park. We spent our honeymoon on photo safari at the Edeni Game Reserve and for five days we observed wildlife: Lions, Elephants, Buffalo, Leopard, Cheetah, Hyena and South African Wild dogs to name just a few. Then it was back to Johannesburg and home. Before the plane left the tarmac I was already wishing I could come back.

***

Eight months after we returned from Africa, Bill became ill. His doctors dismissed it as the flu, but I knew something was very wrong, something other than flu. Bill was delirious and so hot I could barely stand to touch him. Finally a specialist located the problem – a very large internal abscess.

The surgery was simple and the doctors expected Bill would be home after a few hours in recovery. That didn’t happen. Some of the toxins entered Bill's blood stream during the surgery and his fever spiked to 105 degrees. I stood outside the hospital room and listened to the frantic efforts of the medical staff. What if I lost Bill? What if I was widowed again - for the third time? If it was God's will to take Bill, I would survive. I had before and I would again. I thought of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham trusted God, knowing he had a promise. A promise! I too had a promise. At that moment I knew, despite all appearances, Bill would be healed - without the residual effects the doctors expected.

Three days later Bill was released from the hospital. Tests showed none of the toxins had entered his organs and against all of their predictions Bill walked away completely healed.

The next morning as I paged through my Bible I noticed a footnote I had not read before. It stated the number seven represents a great number, and when paired with the number eight, means an even greater number. It was then I fully understood His promise.

We are currently at nine years and counting....

A Companion to Grow Old With - Part Three

2011-03-01T06:12:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law flew out from Minnesota to assist with Shannon’s personal things. After a day of emotional ups and downs we flopped, exhausted into chairs.

“Well, Dearie, I’ve had enough melancholy for one day. There are several Noir films I have been longing to watch without interruptions from my Cherubs. Shall we?”

After a quick run for supplies at the nearest market and video store, we settled in with our refreshments and movies. Our first movie was, Double Indemnity, an old black-and-white from the 1930s. Half way through the film one character turned to another and asked another if he had ever been to my hometown. It was a small community, isolated in the southeastern part of the state. In the 1930s it would barely have been a speck on the map.

In the next, Designing Woman, circa 1960, one of the main character’s last name was Shannon. Neither of us was giggling.

“What’s up with all of these odd coincidences?” Shari asked.

“I don’t know, and I’m sure not I find it amusing.”

By the time we put in the third movie, The Thirteenth Warrior, I was mentally reviewing all the previous coincidences: Luke 1: 37, Psalm 37, the book of Tobias, the dreams and my earlier conversation with Becky. Was God really promising me a companion? Or were all of the coincidences just that, coincidences? And the dreams, were they simply my subconscious working through my grief?
My attention was jerked back to the movie. One of the characters was named Melchisedec. I had never heard the name mentioned outside of church. Jesus is referred to as a priest in the order of Melchisedec, the first priest to offer bread and wine as a sacrifice in place of animals. It seemed very odd that it was selected as a name in a secular movie. But, there was more. The next scene took place in a tavern. The main character was asked to tell a great story.

He began, “In the beginning God created the world….” Genesis – again.

I asked Shari to turn off the TV. That was enough coincidences for one night.

The next morning Genesis 2:18-25 was listed among my readings:

And the Lord God said: It is not good for man to be alone: let us make him a helpmate like unto himself.

Coincidence? I didn’t think so. Not this time.

***

Several days after Shari left, a good friend, “Peg”, asked me over for coffee. After a few minutes of small talk, I described the coincidences, the dreams, the scriptures and the interpretation Becky had offered.

“Marie, you are describing Bill. He is a sergeant with the Sheriff’s office and so, in a sense, a warrior. Besides that, he is a former Marine and a hunter. In fact he has been to Africa on Safari. On the outside he is tough, and a little hard to get to know, but once you manage to earn his trust, he is the kindest, sweetest man I have ever known.

“George and I wanted to introduce you after Ron passed away, but when we thought enough time had passed, you were seeing Shannon. Maybe it is time now, what do you think? ”

“Maybe…”

“Oh!” Peg said, “I just thought of something! If you two should marry, you would be his third wife - he has been divorced once – ugly, ugly scene - and lost two to cancer. He has been single and alone now for six years - and, he would be your fourth husband –"

My eyes opened wide. “Seven! Sara’s seven?” To be continued…..

A Companion to Grow Old With - Continued

2011-02-26T08:54:00.002-07:00

My sister has a PhD in Experimental Psychology and by default has become our family advisor on a wide range of topics. “Let’s ask Becky” has become our mantra. She was my first phone call when all of the odd coincidences began.

“Interesting,” her code word for not enough data, please continue.

“So, you think God is promising me another companion? What about Sara’s seven husbands? Surely God doesn’t mean that literally?

“I do believe God is promising you a companion, but not seven of them. That is symbolic, but I’m not sure what the number seven symbolizes- the biblical sense. I haven't studied Numerology. All I can think of is Creation. Other than that I haven’t a clue.”

“I don’t know either – about the number seven – and to be honest, I am a little scared about trying another relationship. What if I get hurt again?”

“Do you really believe you will be?”

“Deep inside? No. But my rational brain keeps worrying about the ‘what ifs’.

“Listen to your heart, Marie. No, better yet, listen to your faith.”

“I'm trying.”
“And there were dreams?”

“Yes. Three. In the first we - you, Mother and I - were standing on a street corner watching a bicycle race. One man stood out from the rest. He had accomplished a great personal achievement, something no one else could do.”

“That’s easy.” Becky said. “His great personal achievement will be survival. He will survive – something your other husbands didn’t -couldn’t - do.”

“You really think so? That would tie in with the verses in Tobias.”

“Exactly.”

“Wow.”

“And the other dreams?”

“In the second I was being hunted. The man was considered very dangerous and everyone suggested I hide from him. I refused and when I did meet him, I did not feel threatened in anyway. He asked me to go with him, and I did. After we walked a short distance, he laid down on a bench and said he was ill – but it wasn’t really an illness. He was showing me his vulnerabilities, something he never let anyone else see. Then he cut out a piece of his heart and placed it in my hand and asked me if anyone had ever loved me that much. I said, no.”

Becky said, “The imagery and symbolism in this one is wonderful! He shows one face for the outside world, and another for those he loves -trusts. He has a very strong character and is not easily swayed by others and in fact, he isn’t too concerned about what others might think, except those allowed into his inner circle. As for the act of cutting out his heart, his love for you, that of course is an easy interpretation. He will sacrifice more for you than anyone ever has.”

“Sounds too much like the movie, Practical Magic. Maybe I am literally dreaming up a man who doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t know that. And after your previous dreams, which remember came true in every detail, how can you be so skeptical?”

“I am afraid I want it so much that it will kill me if it isn’t true.”

“Faith, Marie. Remember your faith."

"Yeah, I know."

"You said there was another dream?”

“Yes. In the last one our family was standing in the center of a huge fortification high on the side of a cliff. We had just won a horrific battle and everyone was celebrating our victory. This same man was one of the warriors and he urged everyone to keep fighting, and not be fooled by a false victory. The enemy was reforming their lines, not running. But no one believed him. Angry, the man turned to our father and told him he loved me and was taking me away. He picked me up and carried me toward a huge gate.

“Becky, the one thing that stood out in the dream was his gentleness. He was a fierce warrior and yet kind and tender with me.”

“Beautifully put.” Becky said. “Sounds like a true hero to me. Go on.”

“As we approached the gate he noticed it was shut. Under his breath he kept repeating, ‘Hope it’s not locked. Hope it’s not locked.’ I knew what he meant. He couldn’t show any weakness by putting me down to open it. Not in front of my family, especially Daddy. I told him I could open the door. When we came to the gate, I leaned over and opened the latch and he carried me through.”

“Another beautiful symbolism, Marie. By carrying you, he was proving his ability to care for you. Putting you down in front of Daddy, would signify he lacked the resources - strength - to be a good provider. The fact you offered to open the gate and preserve his dignity indicates your relationship will be a true partnership, one of mutual support and respect.”

“It feels like I know him already, and I haven’t even met him…” .....To be Continued

A Companion To Grow Old With

2011-02-23T11:07:00.001-07:00

There would be no last minute cure, no miracle. Shannon was dying. I fell to my knees.

“Lord, why aren’t three enough? Why can’t I keep this husband?”

At that exact moment the narrator on the audio book said, “Don’t you know four completes the circle?”

No. Impossible. It was just a random comment from an audio book. Even if it was meant for me, what were the chances of finding another good man? I had already found two. Impossible.

The next day my daily devotions included Luke 1:37: For nothing is impossible with God.
I still refused to believe God was giving me the promise of another companion. I was convinced I would indeed spend the rest of my life alone, but God had a different plan.

For the next seven days, as I paged from one listed reading to the next, my bible fell open to the Book of Tobias, Chapter 10 – the wedding of Sara and Tobias. Sara was married seven times. Each of her husbands was killed by a demon on their wedding night. Sara, naturally distraught, believed she was cursed and would remain unwed for the rest of her life, enduring the scorn of other women. God did intend her to have a husband – Tobias. On their wedding night the couple knelt in prayer. Verse 10: Sara also said: Have mercy on us, O Lord, have mercy on us, and let us grow old both together in health.

I closed my Bible, my head bowed with grief. I wasn’t growing old with any of my husbands. Why was God rubbing it in my face? Not just once, but over and over?

That afternoon I received a beautiful sympathy card from a close friend. In a personal note she quoted Psalm 37: But the salvation of the just is from the Lord and he is their protector in the time of trouble. 40 And the Lord will help them and deliver them: and he will rescue them from the wicked, and save them because they have hoped in him.

I read and re-read the passage, clinging to its message of hope.

The next morning, Psalm 37 was listed in my devotions: Trust in the Lord, and do good and dwell in the land, and you shall be fed with its riches. 4 Delight in the Lord, and he will give you the requests of your heart. 5 Commit your way to the Lord, and trust in him, and he will do it. With the Lord, shall the steps of a man be directed, and he shall like well his way. 24 When he shall fall he shall not be bruised, for the Lord puts his hand under him. 39 But the salvation of the just is from the Lord, and he is their protector in the time of trouble. 40 And the Lord will help them and deliver them: and he will rescue them from the wicked, and save them because they have hoped in him.

I chalked it up to just another coincidence. I picked up the book my son gave me, a devotional by David Jeremiah titled A Bend in the Road - What to do when your world comes crashing down. The first page I read quoted Psalm 37.

The Psalm was quoted three times within twenty-four hours from three different sources. Coincidence? I wished with all my heart it was true, that God was indeed promising me a life companion, but I was too afraid to believe, too afraid I would be hurt again…..To Be Continued.

The Bus

2011-02-19T09:58:00.002-07:00

I had another dream. I was riding in a bus careening down a forest road. It was late afternoon, the sun sat low on the horizon and the thick timber cast long shadows across the road. The alternating patches of light and shadow created an effect similar to that of a strobe light, mesmerizing, hypnotic. I watched, fascinated, until the patterns of light and shadow flew by at an alarming rate of speed.

I looked toward the front to see who the maniacal driver was. There was none. The seat was empty. I tried to go to the front, but I was unable to move into the aisle. Some unseen force held me back. All of my family was also riding the bus. I begged each of them to take the wheel, but they too were held in place.

“Dear Lord, save us!”

He answered, “I will – in time.”

Determined to trust Him, I turned back to the side window. We were moving so fast the trees were just a blur. I looked out the front window. The road ended abruptly at the edge of a steep cliff.

I begged God to save us.

He answered. “I will. In time.”

We were at the edge.

“Now would be a really, really good time!”

God patiently answered. “There is still time.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but never uttered a word. The bus plunged over the side and slid down the cliff face toward the rocky bottom. Dirt clods, rocks, grass and tree limbs flew past the window and I braced for the impact.

Nothing happened. The bus stopped. Its back wheels were caught on the limb of a gigantic Ponderosa Pine and we hung only a few feet from the ground. All we had to do was open the front door and step out.

I fell to my knees in thanks giving. Family and friends, too embarrassed to join me, melted into the crowd one by one.

I understood I was to apply this lesson to all the issues in my life, but it was hard. I wanted to see someone in the driver’s seat.

Blind

2011-02-15T06:28:00.001-07:00

Over the course of seven consecutive days my bible fell open to Tobias 11: 12 -14 -Tobias is cured of his blindness. It was obvious it had a message for me, but I did not understand exactly what it was. What “blindness” was the passage referring to – mine or someone else’s? I puzzled over it for months without any clear revelation.

Then one morning my bible fell open to Tobias 14: 1-4:

And the words of Tobias were ended. And after Tobias was restored to his sight, he lived two and forty years, and saw the children of his grandchildren. And after he had lived a hundred and two years, he was buried honorably in Nineveh. For he was six and fifty years old when he lost the sight of his eyes, and sixty when he recovered it again. And the rest of his life was in joy and with great increase of the fear of God he departed in peace.

I was fifty-six the first time I read the passage, and needless to say the coincidence caught my attention. Obviously I was the “blind” one. But what was my “blindness?”

My husband and I decided to relocate to a different state, one closer to family and friends. Financially it seemed a bad idea. The housing market, the stock market, the banks, the auto industry and numerous other businesses were going under. Every day millions were being laid off from their jobs. Relocating to another state and attempting to find another job was close to insanity. I should be thankful for the job I had, regardless of how miserable and homesick I was.

At first I resisted the negativity, but gradually my confidence was worn away and I began to fret. What if I couldn’t get another job after we moved? What if I waited to relocate until I had a job offer and that never came? What if we were stuck, isolated from family and friends for years?

Then something happened.

I watched a TV program, Disorder in the Court, a count down of the twenty most amazing court disruptions. One of the cases shown was the murder trial of famous celebrity. As he walked toward the court house he noticed a man with a guitar among the gathering crowd. The celebrity stopped, borrowed the man’s guitar and played the song, Some Where Over the Rainbow. As you know from past posts, God has sent Rainbows as heralds of miraculous delivery from whatever trial I happen to be struggling with. However, my doubting mind wasn’t sure this particular incident was a “sign.”

The next morning my bible fell open to Tobias 14:1-4 - once again. I “told” God if He had a message for me in that passage He would have to make it clearer in order for me to understand.

As I turned to the listed Gospel reading for my morning devotions, I “accidentally” read the wrong passage. I was convinced I was reading the same verses listed in my devotional. But I read this Gospel instead:

Mark 7:14-23, I read Mark 8: 14-21:

And they forgot to take bread; and they had but one loaf with them in the ship. And he charged them, saying: Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, and of the leaven of Herod. And they reasoned among themselves, saying: Because we have no bread.

Which Jesus knowing said to them: Why do you reason, because you have no bread? Have you still your heart blinded? Having eyes, see you not? And having ears, hear you not? Neither do you remember. When I broke the five loaves among five thousand, how many baskets full of fragments took you up?

They say to him, Twelve.

When also the seven loaves among the four thousand, how many baskets of fragments took you up?

And they say to him, Seven.

And he said to them: How do you not yet understand?

I understood. He had to literally spell it out for me, but I finally “got it.” The point of the story was God met the needs of the crowd plus. How many times had God provided for me above and beyond what I needed? My heart was “blinded” by worry and anxiety. These fears eroded my memory of all the miracles He had given me in the past.

Streams in the Desert added: Faith that moves forward triumphs. It used Christopher Columbus as and example of faithful perseverance in spite of circumstances.

There was more. Another devotional dealt with being homesick. There really wasn’t any place as dear and sweet as home….

The words exactly expressed my feelings about my job and Arizona. The desert was beautiful, I had made friends among my co-workers, but, it wasn’t “home.”

Three days later Mark 8: 1-10 was listed in my readings. In these verses Mark recounts the feeding of the four thousand – a reaffirmation of God’s divine providence.

Now, exaclty two years later, I find myself worrying again. This time about the job God so graciously gave me. With the economy still weak, concerns about cut backs errode any sense of permanance. Adding to my disquite are rising taxes. The little gains we manage, even with unexpected windfalls, melt away through higher expenses. I barely slept last night.

My thought on rising: I have sinned, numerous times. This constant state of uncertainty and struggle must be my punishment. However, my first devotional reading this morning was taken from Genesis - the story of Noah. An obvious reference to Rainbows. The next bit of encouragement came from Psalm 32. I was supposed to read Psalm 29, but just discovered I had actually read 32 - the one God wanted me to read.

Verse 10: Many are the scourges of the sinner, but mercy shall encompass him that hopeth in the Lord.

Rainbows and promises. But there was more. The Gospel reading for today is Mark 8: 14-21, once again. Then God went one step further. Streams in the Desert by L. B. Cowman quotes Psalm 37. This Psalm was intrumental in leading me to my current husband and our wedding in Africa. Using the quote as a starting point, the text goes on to say: Do not fret. Do not get unduly upset. Stay cool. Even for a good reason worrying will not help you.

And so once again I am told to put my faith and trust in Him regardless of my circumstances. And you know what? I am tired of the constant turmoil created by worry. It ruins my nights and days, robs me of what joy I may have at the moment, and destroys my rest. With God's grace and strength perhaps I can finally lay the ugly baggage of worry at His feet and never pick it up again.

Chief Joseph

2011-02-11T05:47:00.003-07:00

Original Photo - Chief Joseph Canyon

I had another dream. Our family was on vacation, traveling through a mountainous region of steep, timbered hills. It was beautiful country and I remarked it looked more like a park than a wilderness.

After several hours of winding road we needed to stretch. A sign announced a historical site and we pulled into the wayside. The large parking area was unpaved and edged by a low stone wall. It did little but warn the visitor of the thousand foot drop on the otherside.

Danielle, aged six, ran up from behind, dodged around me and headed toward the wall. I yelled for her to stop, but she ignored me and kept on running. Just like in a horror movie, she tripped and fell. I threw myself forward, but was too late. Only the tips of my fingers brushed hers. For a moment, she hug suspended in mid air, her eyes clearly reflecting her terror. Slowly she fell away and disappeared into the rocks and trees thousands of feet below.

I collapsed in tears, my body shaking with grief. I heard a noise and looked up. An old Indian man was walking toward me carrying my daughter. He managed to break her fall and save her life.

******

A year later, while on vacation, we drove thrugh the Wallowa Mountains of northern Oregon. The steep hillsides, timbered and without the usual underbrush, were some of the most beautiful country I had seen. I commented it looked more like a park than a National forest.

We passed a sign announcing a historical site. After hours in the car we all needed to get out and stretch. Ase we pulled in and parked, I felt a chill as if I had suddenly been plunged into a tank of cold water. The spot was the same one I had seen in my dream.

I grabbed Danielle's hand and held on tight in spite of her ardent protests. With her in tow, I walked over to the marker. The cold feeling intesified. Chief Joseph had been born in a cave below where we stood.

Be Careful What You Pray For

2011-02-08T09:12:00.002-07:00

Original Photo

The fresh dug grave was somewhere in front of me. I couldn’t see but sky and a few inches of ground next to my feet, certainly not enough to keep me from falling into the pit. I calculated the distance back to the truck, too far to make it back. My arms were already shaking from effort. It was better to keep moving forward. I tried shifting the box to increase my vision, but it was too large, and too heavy.

My first graveside floral delivery – alone. I always had assistance before, either from my staff or from the mortuary. This time I arrived before the funeral director and there were not any grounds keepers in sight. With time sensitive deliveries waiting I had no choice but to carry the casket piece - on the large delivery box - by myself. Too late I realized I did not have the upper body strength to lower the box without dumping the arrangement and breaking all the long rose stems. Adding to my anxiety was the disconcerting news one of the funeral directors had fallen into an open grave and dislocated his shoulder just the week before - in this same cemetery.

A cold wind blew in from the north. The sun disappeared behind dark clouds. Trees bent, swayed and moaned. I swore I felt rain. The desire to pick up my pace was tempered only by the fact the grave was still somewhere in front of me. I felt forward with my toe, hoping I would feel some kind of disturbance in the lawn - before I stepped out into thin air. Nothing but grass.

I prayed, "Dear God, please send an angel to assist me!"

The box rose up out of my hands. I looked down at my feet. Solid ground.

The next instant the box swung to the left, revealing one of the care takers. “I saw you from just below the rise and figured you could use some help.”

I could only nod my agreement.

My rescuer laughed. “Sorry to have startled you. I guess I should have announced my presence.”

Another nod from me. My breathing had not yet returned to normal and my heart was still hammering. In retrospect, perhaps I should be more careful how I word my prayers.

The Lottery

2011-02-06T07:29:00.002-07:00

We were barely scraping by and I couldn’t help but think, if we just had a little more money, not a million, just a few thousand, it would be so much easier. I thought about the Lottery.

I grabbed my purse, intent on purchasing a ticket while at the market. Even though the odds were horrific, someone was going to win, right? On the way to the door I passed my Bible. Compelled to stop, I open it and read the first passage I saw. It was from the Book of Wisdom.

Pray for wisdom as if it were money.

I didn’t buy the Lottery ticket.

Lilies

2011-02-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

Finances were very tight. In fact to use a euphemism coined by my mother-in-law, we were squeezing nickels tight enough to make the buffalo poop, and we were still struggling.

Not every bill could be paid. We made a list of the most important expenses: mortgage, groceries, clothing, and gas. Health insurance was no longer an option. I had to trust God that we would remain healthy and accident free until we could have coverage again. This was a great plan until the care insurance came due. There wasn’t enough money. Either it would be insurance or groceries.

I set the bill aside, praying some kind of miracle would happen before our ten day grace period expired. The ninth day dawned. No miracle. Not even a glimmer.

My morning readings included Luke 12: 22-30:

Don’t be anxious about what you are to eat, or drink, or how you are to be clothed. God knows you have need of these things….Consider the lilies of the field. They neither reap nor sow, and yet not even Solomon in all of his glory was not arraigned as one of these. So, if God clothes the grass that is here today and is thrown into the fire tomorrow, how much more you, Oh ye of little faith?

I loved this verse, but I was a realist. God wasn't going to pay my car insurance.

I arrived at work a little early, eager to share my reading with Teri, friend, co-worker and fellow Christian. We usually sequestered ourselves for a few moments in the optical lab, sharing devotions and faith experiences. Teri was of the same opinion: too bad we couldn’t take the passage at face value.

Our receptionist poked her head through the lab door. “We have an adjustment.”

Terri went out. The door had not stopped swinging before she was back. “I think you are meant to help this woman.”

Thinking she was one of “my” patients, I went out.

I had never seen the woman before. Nor had I seen the sweatshirt she was wearing. The front was emblazoned with lilies. Underneath were the words: Remember the Lilies….Luke 12:27.

…..

On my way home from work I stopped at the mail box and gathered up the day’s mail. Among the usual ads and bills was an envelope from our insurance company. I was positive it was our cancellation notice. It wasn’t. The envelope contained a letter and a check. After more than a year, the insurance company had finally tracked down the uninsured motorist who had rammed the back of our car. At the time of the accident he had given us an expired license, false address and had fled. We paid for the repairs.

I looked at the check. It was enough to pay our insurance premium to the penny.

You Will Never Look at the Stars Alone

2011-02-03T16:48:00.007-07:00

Through a dream, a premonition, I was told my husband would leave me. After seventeen years of marriage, our relationship would end. I knew the time frame, just not how it would happen.

As detailed as a photograph or postcard, the dream opened with a view of a lodge, set on a small hill, surrounded by dense timber and constructed of whole pine logs. A creek meandered through a meadow below the main building, paralleled by a foot path dotted with wooden benches and small arched bridges. Judging from the cold air and the patches of snow lying under the trees, I surmised the time frame was late February or early March.

Ron and I strolled along the trail to one of the bridges, stopping in the center to gaze up at the night sky. Millions upon millions of stars stretched from horizon to horizon.

Ron turned to me. “Marie, I have to leave and you can’t come with me.”

“What do you mean, ‘I can’t come with you’?”

He didn't answer. Instead he turned and walked over to a side road and boarded a waiting bus. I watched the bus pull away until the taillights vanished. I had never known such loneliness. It was a deep hole without light - or hope.

A man approached. “Are you alright?”

“My husband just left me.”

“You must be terribly hurt and lonely. I’ll look at the stars with you.”

I saw things in his eyes I wanted no part of. “No thank you.”

He shrugged. “Suite your self.” And walked away.

I left the bridge, walked up a small rise to a bench and sat down. Unable to look at the stars, I doubled over, put my face in my hands, and sobbed. Someone sat beside me. I looked up into the face of Jesus. He drew me into his arms and laid my head on His shoulder.

He gave me a promise: “You will never look at the stars alone.”

*******
March 6th 1997. Ron complained of being tired. He was pale and obviously not feeling well, but brushed off entreaties to see a doctor. By evening he was suffering from severe heartburn. He still refused to see a doctor. Concerned, but tired I went to bed.

At ten pm he woke me. “Would you run to the store and pick me up some stronger antacids?

“Honey, maybe you should go to the emergency room.” I was thinking of his high cholesterol and his dad’s four by-passes.

“No. It is only heartburn. I just need some better antacids.”

He was sitting in his chair when I returned from the store. He thanked me, took two tablets and went into a convulsion. By the time I reached him he had stopped convulsing and conscious.

I asked him, “Is it your heart?”

He shook his head no and went into another convulsion. I ran for the phone and dialed 911. The dispatcher instructed me to ease him from his chair to the floor and perform CPR, but I realized that would be fruitless. His eyes had changed, his lips were blue and his skin was already cold. He was gone. The dispatcher encouraged me to continue CPR until the Paramedics arrived. I obeyed until the dispatcher announced the ambulance couldn't find the house. Any chance of resuscitation was gone. I put the phone down and cradled Ron in my arms.

I felt an intense sense of peace and joy – ecstasy. I understood I was given a glimpse of heaven, a tiny taste of what Ron was experiencing. I wasn’t angry or bitter. How could I begrudge Ron that kind of joy? But I did not want to be left behind. I begged God to take me too. In His wisdom He did not grant that wish.

The Paramedics finally arrived, after the dispatcher asked me to flip the house light on and off several times. The porch light had burned out, apparently just that evening, and made the address impossible to see in the dark. Ron did not have a DNR document and so by law the Paramedics had to attempt resuscitation even though it was clear he was already gone. After thirty minutes and no response, the medical team stopped their efforts.

One of the paramedics knelt beside me. “We are going to transport him, but there isn’t much hope of any change.”

I nodded I understood. The ambulance pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, no sirens or flashing lights.

*****

A month later, the first of April, Hailey’s Comet was visible. I was alone for the first time since the funereal and contemplated stepping outside to view it, but I hesitated, remembering my dream. Did I have enough faith? Summoning my courage, I went to the closet for my coat. Someone knocked on the door. It was “John”, my daughter’s boyfriend.

“Is Dani home?”

“No. She is at the movies with her girl friends, but I expect her back anytime. Do you want to wait?”

"Sure."

I stepped back to let him in.

He hesitated, then asked. “Have you seen the comet yet?”

“No. I was just coming out when you knocked.”

“I’ve studied Astronomy. I could show you some of the constellations….”

We had been in the yard only a few minutes when my dad called down from their yard. “Marie, is that you?”

“Yes. ‘John’ and I just stepped out to look at the comet.”

“I’m setting up the telescope and your Little Mother is fixing hot cocoa, do you want to come up?”

I looked at “John”. He shrugged. I took that as a “Yes” and headed through the horse pasture to my folks’. I had to admit, although I wasn’t with a Significant Other, I wasn’t alone.

Some Where Over the Rainbow - Part Two

2011-01-31T10:04:00.003-07:00

The next dramatic incident involving the song Some Where Over the Rainbow happened several years later during another difficult time. The nature of my anxiety is not really important, and so I will not bother with details other than the situation caused nausea and nightmares. It felt as though I had been dropped into a black hole without any hope of rescue. I prayed. I read my devotions. I meditated. Still, I felt submerged in a pit too deep to get out of. Just going to work was a struggle.

At the time I was a receptionist for an Assisted Living Community and part of my job was keeping the old time jukebox playing. On this particular morning the machine was stuck on one song, a classic hymn such as This Rugged Cross. Nothing wrong with the song, except Tuesday morning breakfast was not the time our residents cared to listen to it. I tried changing the CD. Didn't work. I tried re-programming. Didn't work. Tried unplugging it and plugging it back in. Didn't work. At this point our Activities Director tried. Same results. Finally she held down the Forward button until the CD changed.

The jukebox played normally the rest of the morning until I returned from lunch. This Rugged Cross was playing again. I went over to the machine with the intent of turning if off and call a technician. I touched the control and the song changed to Some Where Over the Rainbow.

Our Activities Director called down to me from her office on the second floor. "That isn't possible. That CD is not next in the rack and that song is not the first on that CD."

Of course it wasn't. I was being reminded that blue skies always follow a storm - after the rainbow the rainbow appears.

Some Where Over the Rainbow

2011-01-29T08:09:00.001-07:00

When my third husband passed away my sister gave me a beautiful book of Maxfield Parrish prints, breathtaking landscapes coupled with the words to Some Where Over the Rainbow. The book and the song became beacons of hope, heralds of miracles I believed, prayed, were yet to come. I kept the book close, referring back to it frequently when I felt overwhelmed with grief and uncertainty.

Several months later while on vacation in Hells Canyon in Eastern Oregon, I became very ill. Somehow I had contracted an infection which quickly turned into a Staff infection and then to blood poisoning. The nurse -practitioner in Half Way announced I should be hospitalized, but did not believe I would survive the sixty mile trip to Baker City. My only option, other than a Mercy Flight, was treatment in the clinic.

After an injection of the most powerful anti-biotic available, plus a prescription for an equally strong oral anti-biotic, I was restricted to complete bed rest - flat on my back. If the reddened area progressed beyond the line the nurse drew (with a ball point pen, no less) I was to call her immediately. I had the clinic number, her cell phone number and her home number.

I don't know which was worse, the agony of the infection or or being forced to lay in the back bedroom of a small camp trailer, while outside the Canyon was ablaze in sunlight and Autumn colors. I was on vacation and wanted to be out walking along the river or sitting beside the creek. Instead, I had a small view of a few trees and a section of sky.

Every morning I went into town for my injection and inspection. Then back to the trailer and bed. Gradually the redness receded and I was pronounced well enough for light activity. I could sit or stand for short periods - as long as the redness did not reappear. I felt I had been paroled from prison - short parole,discomfort sent me back to lie down after only a few moments of sitting or standing - walking was still too painful to go but very small distances.

By the end of the next week I was well enough to travel home, with explicit instructions to make an appointment with my doctor for further tests. The general consensus was the infection might be a symptom of a chronic disease. I arrived home on a Saturday. My doctor appointment wouldn't be until Monday morning. I tried not to worry.

As a distraction, I watched the movie Meet Joe Black. The story line is inspirational, and the reason I chose it, but my miracle happened at the end while the credits were rolling. The first verse of What a Wonderful World, another song with special meaning for me, played, followed by the first verse to Some Where Over the Rainbow. Verses to both songs were alternated until the credits finished. As if I heard a voice, I understood my doctor would tell me I was healthy, the infection was a one time incident.

That is exactly what happened. A small blemish had become infected and due to a weakened immune system (thanks to excessive stress) Staff had taken hold. This in turn led to the blood poisoning. As long as I carefully monitored other infections, I should never have another issue.

From that moment on, the song became a herald of miracles during other black moments - reminding me that there will again be blue skies after the storm - a symbol of God's promise that as long as I held onto Him, my faith, the flames would never burn me.
(To be continued)

Inferno

2011-01-27T06:05:00.006-07:00

Palm Sunday. A lazy morning. Slept late. Ron and the kids slept even later. Church wouldn’t be an option that morning. I took the second option, reading the Passion while having my coffee.

I read the familiar words, resisting the temptation to hurry through. When I reached the end, I realized for the first time how personal the passage was. Not intellectually, but intimately, in my heart. For the first time I fully realized Jesus did indeed die for my sins. He died in my place. I collapsed onto the dinning table, sobbing.

An overwhelming desire to attend church propelled me into the bedroom. I had to go, even if I crawled the entire distance on my knees.

Ron rolled over and sat up. “What are you doing?”

“Going to Church.”

“Now?”

“Yes. I have twenty minutes to get there. You and the kids don’t have to come, but I have to go.”

By the time I was finished, he was dressed. I had another surprise when I headed for the door. All the kids were ready and actually waiting. That never happened.

As we raced across town I recited my usual mantra “Better late than never.”

We pulled into – an empty parking lot. My heart dropped. No! We couldn’t be that late! Ron pointed to a sign beside the door. Services had been moved back a half hour. Instead of being late, we were twenty minutes early. How I had missed the announcement? Stuffing that question into the back of my mind, we shuffled in and sat in our usual pew.

It happened during the sermon. One moment I was sitting next to my family, the next I was standing in a white void. I was not alone. Jesus was there. He opened His arms and beckoned me. I ran to him and was enfolded in a tight embrace. As my face pressed agianst His chest, I could feel the coarsness of His garment. It was rough, like burlap, not the soft linen I had expected. I could feel the mass of his body, the strength in His arms.

Ecstasy. That is the only word that fit. No sorrow. No pain. No fear. Joy - unparalleled with anything the world had to offer. I wanted nothing, needed nothing. , Unbidden and unwanted, my sins paraded before my eyes. I did not deserve to be in His presence, let alone touching Him. I drew back, my head hanging in with shame.

He urged me to look up. His eyes held no accusation. He loved me just as I was – flawed and imperfect. It did not matter how many times I failed, only how many times I tried. It was the effort that counted.

I reached for Him, but was stopped by the deep sorrow in His eyes. He directed my gaze to my left. There lay a huge pit of fire. Black smoke roiled over white hot flames. I would have to walk through the inferno, not as a result of my sins, but as a natural part of my life. I would endure great pain.

“I can’t! It will be too great!”

He told me I had no choice.

I stepped into the pit expecting and fearing a horrific blast of heat. Instead, I felt His hand reach through the flames and grasp mine. As long as I held onto Him, my faith, the fire would never burn me and He would be waiting on the other side.

The next momet I was back in church. I still feelt the impression of His garment on my cheek. An overwhelming sense of peace kept my head down, unwilling to return to the world. The feeling lasted for nearly a month before the world eventually wore it away. It was months before I could talk about my experience, and then to only a few very close friends and family.

Dream Come True

2011-01-23T18:48:00.000-07:00

I met my second husband in September, five months after the divorce. He told me he loved me by December. We were engaged by January and married the following June.

We went to the Oregon coast for our honeymoon. It rained the entire week. On the last day we headed south on Highway 101. As we entered a long sweeping corner, the sun came out and Ron opened the roof on our red Peugeot. I recognized the white guardrail, the cobalt ocean, and the emerald hills from my dream all those years ago.

“Honey, we are going to have a child – a girl.”

Ten months later our daughter was born, premature. Her lungs were not developed and she could not breathe on her own. She was rushed by ambulance to a neo-natal center seventy miles away. Ron and I stayed by her beside, praying an fearing the worse. Then, miraculously on the third day, she was taken off the ventilator before brain damage could set in. She improved daily and finally after fourteen days we brought her home.

Ron was the father the boys needed - Dad from the beginning. He was the loving husband I had dreamed of. And it got better. "Eddy" moved out of town and for the most part left me alone. Life was pretty quiet until I had my second vision.

Forgive - Seventy Times Seven

2011-01-23T18:06:00.000-07:00

"Eddy" watched the boys and I walk away from the house from the roof - with a rifle across his lap. He stalked me at work, in restaurants and in parking lots. He cursed me and threatened. I filed for divorce, but was too terrified to ask for a restraining order. I was convinced it would only engrage him further. I had nightmares and panic attacks.

I sought counseling. Through my sessions I worked through feelings of anger, guilt and shame, but I would not find total healing until I found a way to forgive “Eddy”.

A close friend gave me the name of a Christian counselor specializing in victims of abuse. Using visualization and scripture, she guided patients toward forgiveness. I immediately made an appointment.

During my session she asked me to recall the worst moment with “Eddy”. The night of the rape flashed through my mind.

"Now, turn to 'Eddy'and tell him how much he hurt you and how angry you are."

Paralyzed with fear, I couldn’t speak.

“That’s alright. I’ll say the words and you can repeat them after me.”

I couldn’t do that either.

She then read several comforting selections from scripture and instructed me to visiualize Jesus on the cross. "Has He come down and is He holding you?”

I shook my head no. What I saw was far more powerful. I saw Jesus on the Cross. Behind him stood "Eddy". As as I watched, Jesus transposed his face over "Eddy's". In that instant all of the hate and anger evaporated. I forgave compeltely. The nightmares and panic attaks stopped. The world changed. Colors were brighter and life was no longer an endless series of crises.

"Eddy" Continued

2011-01-23T09:06:00.006-07:00

“Eddy” and I married November 27, 1971after he was honorably discharged from the Army, designated 100% disabled. I was eighteen. He was twenty-one. I really didn’t want to marry him, but I felt it was the honorable thing to do. It was wrong to walk a way when he obviously needed me. Until he learned to use his artificial limb, he needed assistance with dressing, feeding, bathing etc. I was naïve enough to believe we could work through our issues and become a loving family. I ignored and excused his temper. Surely after he regained his strength, and could take care of his own needs his anger would diffuse. I was very wrong. It only escalated.

My son was eight months old I had a second premonition.I was riding in a small red convertible, with my second husband. We were on our honeymoon heading south along Highway 101- Cobalt ocean, sandy beaches, emerald green mountains, white guardrails.. We entered a sweeping corner and I understood I would have my third child with this man, a girl.

It made no sense at the time. I had not even considered a second child let alone third. Nor had I considered leaving “Eddy”. I was still clinging to the hope we could make our marriage work. So, I discounted the dream and tried to forget it, but the images remained vivid in every detail. Even forty years later I could paint the scene.

Our second son was born two and a half years later. There were no phone calls, flowers or visits from “Eddy”. When I and the baby came home, his temper increased. I sported bruises and scars. I hung in for another four years, until May of 1979.

“Eddy” was angry, but he was always angry. This time the boys were the center of his rage. They fled to their room, crawling under their beds in a desperate attempt to escape his abuse.

I beat “Eddy” to the doorway and refused to let him in. “Eddy” exploded. He threw me out of the doorway and into the hall. Within seconds he was on top of me, dragging me to our bedroom. He threw me onto the bed like a bag of unwanted trash and before my back hit the mattress he was sitting astride my chest, pinning my arms down with his knees. He grabbed a pillow from the bed and held it down, hard, over my face. I fought, but could not dislodge him or the pillow. After several agonizing seconds, I lay still, feigning unconsciousness, praying he would panic and lift the pillow. I nearly passed out before he finally let me go. But, his anger was still not spent. He threw me back onto the bed and raped me.

The pain was so intense I separated from myself, watching the scene from above the bed. I felt a tug, a falling sensation and everything went black.

When I woke the next day I knew the boys and I would not survive the next explosion. We had to get out, but "Eddy" would not let us go easily.

(To Be Continued)

Nightmares and Promises

2011-01-23T08:30:00.002-07:00

Last night I had horrific dreams, the kind that wake you up, and then continue where they left off when you finally get back to sleep. The kind that haunts you after you get up and prey on you while you try to enjoy your morning coffee.

I followed my usual response to this degree of distress – I turned to my devotions. Among my readings was Psalm 27: 1, 4, 13-14.

The first time I remember reading this Psalm was a month after my second husband passed away. I believed I had my happiness, and although I was only forty-four, I would live alone the rest of my life. I would never laugh, or find joy in this life, only in the next.

I started a habit of keeping my devotions next to my bed. It was only after reading their comforting words could I managed to crawl out and face my daily tasks.

On this particular morning I had dreamed that my husband, Ron, had come back. It had all been a horrible mistake. As he walked up the back steps to the patio, I raced out to meet him. We embraced.

After a moment, he pulled back. “Marie, you have to let me go. No matter how much you fantasize or dream, I am not coming back. You must move on and live your life.”

“What life?! You took mine with you!”

He did not respond.

I woke sobbing.

Desperate for consolation, I picked up my devotions. Psalm 27: 1-2, 13-14 was listed for that day.

The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the protector of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?
I believe to see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living.
Expect the Lord, do manfully, and let thy heart take courage, and wait thou for the Lord.

I knew God was promising me an end to my grief. Some day I would smile, maybe even laugh. Some day I would know joy, maybe even true happiness. I did.

From that first incident, this Psalm - or reminders such as the number 27 - have appeared when I need them most – as this morning after such horrific dreams.

I am not surprised my dreams have been troubled after stirring the pot with re-conjuring the incident with the demon, but as usual, God is always there promising me comfort and protection.