Expectations

It has been a while since my last entry. Obviously, when I am immersed in the battle my life offers me, blogging is furthest from my mind.

After my last entry, I had a friend ask me a question that I felt I needed to reflect on before I could post again. She asked if it was possible that I had set unrealistic expectations for the people around me. By the people around me, she meant my church and the Christians in it.

That was a very thought provoking question and one I felt I needed to spend time considering before moving forward.

To answer the question, in a word....NO!

This past Sunday, I sat in the sanctuary with the service about to begin and I let that question bounce around in my little brain. I sat there staring at the bulletin in my hand. I wasn't sure at that moment. Was it possible that I was the one who had it all wrong? Did I set my expectations too high?

I came from a family who did not care about me. I came from a life where the only thing readily given was a hard time and torture. It has been easy to set expectations of people in my life higher than what I came from. I also don't feel it is that difficult to meet those expectations because they are still set relatively low.

When I came to the church, I didn't believe. I didn't believe God knew me, cared about me or even wanted me there. I believed the same was true of everyone sitting in that church. They didn't care, how could they. There was no way they could care about me, someone who was so far from being like them. I didn't have the same belief as them nor did have my life as put together as they appeared.

Until now, I had never really examined why I had set certain expectations of Christians however, I knew what they were.

My expectations of Christians and those in my church were this. I expected that everyone would love one another and be respectful. I expected that when I hurt, they would genuinely care and want to help. I expected that while some relationships may be difficult, I would no longer be an outsider. I expected that I would be allowed to be honest without judgement.

I know enough about life and people to understand that nobody is perfect and everyone fails at times. To me, those seem like simple expectations with understanding that there will be times when it isn't perfect.

But was I still expecting too much? Was it possible that this church could not meet those expectations? What led me to believe that this church could or would meet those expectations?

Still staring at my bulletin, I decided to scan the pages. As the questions still bounced around my in my head, I caught little of what was in the bulletin until I got near the last page. There it was! I found the answer.

Helping at church, I often update the bulletin. I pick up discarded copies in the pews on Monday mornings. I have read it cover to cover, repeatedly. But there it was, the answer.

The church had set this expectation for me three years ago.

"This is MY commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends." John 15:12-13

This is listed as one of the four "most important" values of my church. There it is written for each member and visitor to read every Sunday. I remember reading this scripture three years ago when I was considering who God was and who these people were sitting in that sanctuary every Sunday.

God commands us to love one another. I remember thinking, WOW...that's exactly what I need. To be with people who are commanded to love one another. If they were commanded to love one another, then they could love me too. I had never felt any other type of love besides that of my husband. While unbelievable, I believed I could be loved in that place.

It was right there in writing, why would I not believe it could be true?

The fact that the church outlined it as an important value, set my expectation.

If I went into a new restaurant, it is assumed that I would be handed a menu. From the menu, I order a steak, baked potato and broccoli. It's right there on the menu, looks wonderful. In fact, my mouth is watering waiting for the waitress to bring my meal. I have done my part by taking an active part in choosing from the menu and being polite to the waitress.

When the plate arrives at the table, it is chicken, rice and beans. What disappointment I must feel to be given something so opposite of what was advertised, offered, and promised. The only explanation the waitress can offer is that the cook was just too busy with his own life to fix the meal as originally advertised. The only apology given is to please excuse him because he is only human and makes mistakes.

I think the same is true of this church and this scripture. They set the expectation, fall short and find every excuse to not live up to what they set as their own standards.

(I have been told that this is a common problem in many churches.)

This is an expectation that was set for me by the church. There are other values listed, but they are probably more suited to take on another day.

Even though I now understand why I have these expectations and I know there is a definite problem, I'm not sure how to go about fixing it. That will be the next thing to work through on this level, I suppose.

Stumbling, Falling Flat On My Face

Try as I might, I can no longer fight back tears...

If you know me at all, you know I have seen evil in many shapes and sizes. Yet, sad to admit, I believe the current evil I fight the most comes in human form and sits in a church pew every Sunday.

Let me say first, I have met some very wonderful people in my home church. There are people who love me and accept me unconditionally. There are people who are willing to walk through the valleys with me and see the glory of God when they get to stand on top of the mountains with me. That is more than I thought possible and certainly more than I ever thought I deserved.

Unfortunately, all my experiences haven't been so wonderful.

I will take 100% of the blame for thinking that someone who presents themselves as a "Good Christian" is exactly that. I am learning that sometimes, people wear that "Good Christian" mask so that nobody can see the dysfunction that is swirling inside them.

It seems as though I keep experiencing this over and over. Here is what I wish I could say to these seasoned Christian women...

Biblically, you have a responsibility to set an example for those new to the faith. I know it is much easier to judge others but it says over and over in the Bible that we are to love one another, including our enemies. When you portray a "Good Christian" but your actions show a cold heart, it muddies the fresh waters where I am learning to swim. When you profess to be in God's Word daily and a model Christian, it sets my expectations of you. My expectations are that you will be a reflection of who you say you are and there will be accountability when you cause others to stumble. Your mask doesn't cover your pain, but it creates pain for others when you cannot contain what's behind the mask. I know I can be a slow learner, but while I'm still learning to swim, it would be great if you could refrain from trying to drown me.

So let's stop condemning each other. Decide instead to live in such a way that you will not cause another believer to stumble and fall. Romans 14:13

The past few years has been a quest to find godly women who are capable and willing to mentor, teach, encourage and love me. I was starved to find those things, famished after 32 years of not having any of that. More than once, I have found those covered by a mask who have caused me to stumble.

If you have ever watched a toddler learning to walk, then you understand how easy it is for them to stumble. In the Kingdom, I believe the same is true of Christians.

As I sit on that verse, I cry. Everything in me is fighting to not be angry. But I cry anyway because it hurts. Not only does it hurt when others cause me to stumble but my heart aches for the next person who cannot see what's behind the mask.

I am led back to a simple prayer I learned very early on...

God, if she's right, then please change my heart. God, if I'm right, then please change her heart.

Still There

Even though I carry it with me everyday, I had not opened my Grace for the Moment in nearly a month. I don't know what it's like for anyone else, but in tough times it easy to feel too broken, even for God.


I rarely have a problem directing others to God when they go through tough times. In my heart, I know that it is only in God that we can ever find true forgiveness, love, acceptance, comfort, joy and so much more. Even when we find those things in other people, it is because they are able to share what God has given them in abundance.

It is short trip at times to the bottom of that deep, dark pit where I feel broken in pieces and ripped to shreds. In that place is where I look at the mess I am and have no hope that even God can save me. It is here that a cloud of despair fills my heart and builds a wall between what I know is true and what I feel at the moment.

Looking back to my childhood, I realize that a deep, dark pit was a place of comfort for me. There were times when I would separate myself from the abuse and chaos around me by mentally going to a deep, dark pit. While it was a lonely place, it was a safe place. It was a place where nothing bad could happen. The longer I stayed there, the more deprived I became. Even in the safe place, I found myself alone, unable to breathe, and wanting to leave. Although I had created a place where I did not have to feel the physical and emotional pain, even the deep pit fostered a pain of it’s own.

Even if I did not know Him during those times, He knew me. I was a child, broken by circumstance, sin and evil. As I look at any child today, I know God loves them. Broken and alone, I too was loved by God as a child. But it is the evil that was so prevalent in my life which keeps me feeling too broken for even God.

With what is going on in my life right now, it’s even easier to feel as though I am broken into too many pieces for God to sew back together. I tend to look at the road I have ahead and feel overwhelmed. If it’s too big for me to imagine, then it must be too big for God. That is a thought that often consumes me and has wafted through my head a lot recently. Too big, too many pieces, too much and the road is just too long….I am too much for anyone and for God.

Today’s verse in Grace was this:

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and He saves those whose spirits have been crushed. Psalm 34:18

How is it that today, May 26, 2010 I would need to know that? How could it have been so perfectly planned? Who knew I would be sitting in that deep, dark pit, knowing that I was broken beyond repair? Who knew I would need to be reminded that God loves the brokenhearted and saves those whose spirits have been crushed?

Only God!

Why?

Because He loves me and He is bigger than my brokenness!

Once Again....

After a long, emotional day, I sit here wondering if God can hear my cries or knows the threads of my tattered heart.

There is barely a day that goes by that I do not find another obstacle staring me in the face. Some of them are little bumps in the road while others are huge hurdles that without a doubt will take more than one try to overcome.

As if it were prewritten, my day started completely out of control. With only minutes to get myself ready, I walked out of the house rattled but ready to take on the day. Sometimes, it is easy for me to remember that my day will not go in any direction where God will not go before me.

My rattled start was followed by a constant movement of people and noise, making it difficult to maintain a sense of normal.

Today was a day when my hurdles seemed to grow larger and my fight to overcome them grew weak. I do believe some of that is a bi-product of living daily with an illness.

By the time my day was less than half over, I had seen many reminders that my life is not my own and neither is anyone else's.

On any given night during the past two weeks, I have been in danger of being hurt or worse. I know it is only by the power of God that I am sitting here now. But the residual emotions and reality of that is harder than I care to share right now.

I learned also that a friend had been diagnosed with cancer. Again, her life is not her own. Her hurdles may grow larger and she may grow weary. But even with her, on any day, she will not go anywhere God has not gone before her.

It is possible that I have more to deal with at the moment than I know how to comprehend. There is no starting point and no ending point. What other choice is there besides to cry out to God? When my hurdles grow larger, I can only cry out for help. When I don't have the words to take away a friend's fear, all I have is the ability to cry out to God. When I struggle to understand my out of control life, the only thing I can do is cry out to God.

I wish I had the confidence to know that God knows each of the broken pieces of my heart. I believe it is only in the crying out to God that will lead to moments when I clearly see how knows me, loves me and promises to rebuild my broken heart.

I am exhausted. I can only cry out to God. I am too weak to overcome my hurdles. I can barely look them in the face. I am crying out to God that He will show up in big and powerful ways right now and remind us all that He is the only one who can mend the brokenness.

God, if you are listening....YOU KNOW! YOU KNOW MY CRIES!

To God Alone

My life, when looking at a week long span, is at best described as a roller coaster. This would not be the way I would choose to live but is how I live because of circumstance.

There are times I am able to stomp on the brakes, coming to a screaching halt. But, mostly, my life is totally out of my control.

Lately, I have been identifying with Aaron Shusts song "To God Alone." He is saying, here I am...do what you want with because my life is not my own and I will give you (God) all the glory.

That is truly how I am learning to live every day. My life is not my own. I can try my best, but it doesn't belong to me. For those of you who know me, know that in an even more extensive way, my life is not my own. I am learning to allow God to take my life and trust that He will be sufficient in everything and everywhere.

When I became a Christian, I had nothing to hang onto in the rough times accept a God who's promises were all written and completely unknown to me. It was like getting on a bike for the first time and trying to trust that someone would catch you if you fell, even if you couldn't see them.

I've always been the kind of person who had to learn the hard way what was real and true. My Christian life hasn't proven to be any different. I once had someone tell me that as a new Christian, you have to use other people's experiences to hang onto God's promises in the bad times. That's easier said than done.

Finally, I have some real life God experience under my belt. It's a lot easier to trust that someone will catch you when you fall if you feel their hands guiding you.

Not to overshadow the past six months, but the last two weeks have been particularly tough for me. My roller coaster life took some quick turns and fell from the highest peaks to the lowest valleys.

Can You take me by the hand?

Can You use me as I am?
Break me into who You want me to be
When the time is finally right
Will You open up my eyes and show me everything You want me to see?
This life is not my own

To God alone be the Glory

Fitting In???

This is one of those moments when it’s necessary to be brutally honest. Some people may not appreciate my honesty at times. I never do the “it’s my blog and I’ll say whatever I want” but it really is. I never mean to offend anyone, but I also cannot always speak the truth unless I am willing to be honest about the good and the bad.


I had the privilege of being an observer during a group activity/game with our youth group at church. I could hear the girls giggling and the guys, well, doing the guy “things.” By guy things, I mean wrestling, running and being children at heart.

The thing that came to mind while I listened and watched the youth group was their sense of togetherness. Sure, there were small groups that tended to hang together. But, there were no obvious outcasts. To take in an overview of the group, you would conclude that they genuinely enjoyed spending time with one another.

I know many of these kids have grown up in church together, so there is some familiarity. But they seemed to fit together as if were each a piece of a puzzle. I choked back each and every tear that came as I listened to the kids.

Looking back at my life and even now, I think that is something that has been missing. I don’t think I have ever found too many places where I felt as if I fit.

While I am very grateful for my church, it is one of those places where I have yet to find my place.

In all fairness, I have no other positive church experiences to compare this one to and I am very introverted in groups of any size.

The church I attend is comprised largely of seasoned Christians with a solid base of those who are charter members or long term members. I do believe that foundation of people is what makes a church very solid. I also believe it is the downfall to new Christians finding their place in the church.

Not since I was a child had I been to a Sunday School class. As Kent and I considered attending, a new class was forming. That class was great for me, not so much for me. The group had couples and singles who were my age or younger. The subjects they covered were basic enough that I could understand them and the questions that came up seemed to cover what was floating around in my head.

That class changed in leadership and in membership as well. The class I had become comfortable in was no more. Along with the change, the younger people left. Maybe it was the change that was too much for me. The new leadership in the class taught far beyond my understanding, so I too left.

I did visit other classes, but found similar experiences in all of them. They were full of seasoned Christians who conversed on a level my little brain could not follow. I have also had a difficult time finding a leader who was willing to answer the silly questions and literally hold the hand of a spiritual toddler.

Again, in all fairness to everyone involved, I have not spent time in every single class. I will be the first to admit that I gave up before exhausting every single opportunity. There may indeed be other opportunities there that I haven’t experienced.

That was two years ago this month and I still have not found a place in Sunday School where I fit.

Other bible studies have been much the same.

Kent and I have a small home. While we have enjoyed being a part of small groups, we have been hesitant to get too involved. Our home is old, small and dingy compared to every other home our groups have met in. We haven’t offered, not only for size, but for fear that we would be looked down on for how we live.

For a while, I thought I had found a place in our women’s bible studies. After attending for over a year, I realized that I was still just on the outside of every group of women. There was one night when it became painfully obvious that I would not easily fit in that group either.

A woman, Christian for years, offered her opinion one night about why women are raped. She said that women who wear provocative clothing are asking for it. I’m not one bit shy about saying that any group who allows a woman to say this so freely is not the place for me. Since then, I have struggled to go back. It’s easier to stay home.

I have tried more recently another small women’s bible study. The jury is still out on it. Could it be the place where I fit in the puzzle? Maybe, but I hold that idea very openly.

Kent and I have often thought about trying a different church. But, we feel very strongly that it was God who took us to that church. And, likewise, we feel God has not guided us to leave.

It is with tear stained cheeks and a lonely heart that I ask God to open a place for me. A place where He knows I fit and a place where I can find comfort in being a part of the puzzle.

Green and Pink

While I got ready today, I laid out my next blog topic. And, once again, my mind was changed by the time I sat down to write.

I woke up with frustration over so much in my life. Some days, I can think about it and move on without much hesitation. Today wasn't going to be one of those days, I wasn't going to let that happen. I wanted to be frustrated. I deserve to be frustrated. I haven't driven in months. It is rare to have time alone. Right now, every day a war begins for me before my feet hit the floor and battle goes on inside me until my eyes close at night. I wanted to be frustrated about that!

But, all of that escaped me. As I sat in the sun and consume all that surrounded me, I began to lose my frustrations. The pink and white flowers that were in various stages of bloom drew me in and the sounds of the birds captivated my thoughts. The bright green trees caught the gentle breeze and gave me a slight wave as if they were welcoming me to join them.

During a therapy session in November of 2008, I watched a video that, at the time, I thought was nothing more than silly jabber that would never be of use to me. But, now I recall how the doctor talked about taking a deep breath in and exhaling all the anxiety and bad thoughts out.

Breathe in fresh air, forcing out all that was bad. In with the good, out with the bad. Yes, that was what was happening to me. The silly jabber was coming back to me and I was doing just that.

It didn't seem to be happening by choice. I wasn't sitting there doing anything special. It was a natural process and it was taking hold me right then and there.

My day could have begun and stayed in that ugly frustration. It would have been ok if it had. In all reality, that frustration will likely return and sooner than I'd wish.

But I cannot deny that, even if for a short time, I was able to let go of all that was wrong and live in the beauty of all that was right.

Ahhh, I live for moments like this and moments like this give me reason to live.

You Know

Have you ever had times when you sat watching television and after an hour you couldn't remember one thing you had just watched? That's fairly common for people, especially after a long day. It's easy for a tired mind and body to "zone out" while doing activities that are for the most part, mindless.

Chances are, even you if you don't remember it, you have done this type of thing. But imagine for a moment if you did that for hours at a time or even days.

I am still uncomfortable sharing exactly what is going on in my life, but I can safely share that I have periods of time like this.

It is not uncommon for me to go through blocks of time, sometimes hours and hours, without any memory of it. It is not uncommon for me to find myself in places, talking to people or even doing obscure things without any immediate knowledge of how I got there.

Without a doubt, I always feel unsettled at first and then try my best to recall the last thing I remember. As was the case today when I found myself sitting at church and not remembering much since yesterday evening. I was fully functioning, just not myself so to speak.

When I sat down in the church sanctuary trying to remember anything to connect me to the last 16 hours, I started to wonder if I really needed to agonize over it.

Rarely do I find comfort in opening the bible and looking at random pages. But today, I found myself reading Psalm 139.

The sanctuary is the one place that reminds me of God's place in my life and my situation. Sometimes I sit in the sanctuary of the church and the one and only thing I think about is this:
Jesus said, "Your Father knows how many hairs there are on your head!" (Matthew 10:30)

When you lose as much time as I do, there is comfort in knowing that God knows. He knows where you are, what you are doing because He knows you and me.

I had never read Psalm 139, but it too is a picture of how God knows us and knows where we are in life. I must never stray too far from knowing that in those times when I have no memory, God does and knows every minute, every second.

1 O LORD, you have searched me

and you know me.

2 You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

3 You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.

4 Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O LORD.

5 You hem me in—behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.

6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

7 Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, [a] you are there.

9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

10 even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

11 If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"

12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

This is not all of the Psalm. I encourage you to check it out.

Encouragement Finds Me

As early as last night, I began to consider what to write about next. While I considered many possibilities, none of them drew me in as much as the one I chose.

While not many in quantity, God has chosen some very strong, faithful people to walk this journey with me. Actually, in all honesty, they tend to carry me more than walk along side. I could likely write an entire book about all the ways God has used each of them in big, HUGE ways to guide and help me and even save my life.

But, there is a very special woman who keeps coming to mind.

Although I struggle with remembering scripture, there are a couple verses that I find myself thinking about when I think of this woman.

Therefore encourage (admonish, exhort) one another and edify (strengthen and build up) one another, just as you are doing. 1 Thessalonians 5:11

This is a woman whom I have never met in person. Yet, outside of my tight circle of those close to me, she gives me more encouragement than I knew possible.

She is a close, personal friend of several acquantainces of mine. Probably a year ago, I saw her name popping up on facebook. Each time I caught her name, it was because I was drawn to what she was saying. With each of our mutual friends, she was constantly encouraging them and praying for them.

It is no secret that I have spent the last few years immersed in a personal struggle. I have found very few people who have been willing to be encouragers. Many have tried, but have fallen away because of their own life struggles.

Unfortunately, I have come across many who do not have the capability to encourage others. Our pastor actually touched on this Sunday. Some people cannot stand to see others receive blessings. I believe that is at the core of why people choose to not encourage those around them.

Encouragement can come from many sources. I do believe each of us has the ability to offer a compliment or a kind word or prayer. It is the hatefulness of the world and the stronghold of sin that squashes our desire to encourage others.

Each day, this woman was showing me that there may be exceptions to what I was seeing and experiencing. She was quick to show support and love to those she cared about. She offered prayer and always, always pointed her friends back to God.

After watching this for many months, I finally took the risk of sounding silly and sent her an email. I explained to her how I had watched her posts and what a blessing I saw that she was to those around her. Even I had been encouraged and blessed by her comments. The idea that someone can love others that much gave me a sense of hope that, at the time, I was searching for in my own life.

In the day of my trouble I will call on You, for You will answer me. Psalm 86:7

I never could have predicted the response that followed. Her exact words escape me now, but I remember the general theme. She was happy to encourage her friends because she loves them. She said it was easy to encourage and pray for people.

An even bigger surprise to me was that she wanted to be my friend. This woman who is so caring and encouraging wanted to know me. I am glad that we both took a risk. We have swapped communication and gotten to know more about one another.

A friend she has been, indeed. Through the entire time I have communicated with her, she has been a blessing to me. She encourages me when others walk away from me. She directs me to God when she knows I am struggling. She prays for me when hope seems to drift away. She teaches me when she likely doesn't know it.

To this day, I have yet to meet her face to face. About a year ago, we passed each other briefly and unknowingly at a restaurant. And, I do have a desire for the busyness of our lives to allow us to meet one day. But I do believe God has chosen her to show me that many blessings can come from those who are not seen nor heard.

Does this sound familiar?

Do you encourage others? Do you encourage them enough? Do you consider encouraging perfect strangers? Do you offer a kind word when you see someone really needs it?

Thank you to all who do. And, thank you God for placing special people in my life who encourage me!

Disagreement

By the title, I'm guessing you already understand that I disagree with something. Maybe it should be labeled lack of understanding or even "How Could You God?"

Looking at today's page in Grace for the Moment, I felt a firm disagreement and lack of understanding coming over me.

Yesterday was my birthday. A tough day for me that is always filled with reminders that my parents did not want me and definitely did not deserve me. And yesterday's devotional was so appropriate for the day. All you who put your hope in the Lord be strong and brave. Psalm 31:24

But today, the day after my birthday, this is what I found.

You made my whole being; you formed me in my mother's body. Psalm 139:13

Here's where the WHY God? kicks in for me.

A struggle...no full on fist fight....with the idea that God knew my parent's and knew me before I was born, yet chose to create me for them anyway. How can I possibly accept that I was not an accident when I have been told over and over and over by my own parents that I wasn't only an accident but not wanted?

There are many things I have learned from the bible. There are a good portion of them that I have wrestled with and a good portion of those, God has showed that His word is powerful, good and right.

But this is one of those first questions I asked and probably the one I struggle with the most.

My own inability to have a child has kept me from truly knowing and grasping the fullness of God's gift when he gives a child to a mother. I can only imagine that the size of the gift is immeasurable. I can also only imagine the desire I would have in me to love and protect such a gift.

It is my own parent's inability to love and protect that led to my infertility.

Through only a short explanation, I come full circle back to my original thought. WHY GOD?

No matter how hard I try to understand the purpose behind God's choice for me, I cannot.

I have learned that some people become very uncomfortable with the idea of questioning God's choices. Just as I have learned that those same people get squirmy uncomfortable the second I mention that I strongly disagree with the idea that God doesn't make mistakes.

While I struggle with this often, there is one thing I am positive of all the time. It will ONLY be God who will change my heart on this. When that day comes, it will be a powerful work in my life. The day God finally wins this struggle will change my life. It will be a day when the value of my entire life changes. I don't know how that will happen or when. But if it is supposed to happen, God will make it happen.

Just as I can explain the decisions I make even when others feel they are a mistake, God can too!

Quiet----ly

(I often read the daily devotions from Grace for the Moment by Max Lucado. Lately, I have found myself being more and more drawn to dive deeper into what I think or how I feel about the scripture being discussed. It has inspired me to examine, consider and reexamine my spiritual life.)


Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed. Luke 5:16

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Mark 1:35

Both verses present this idea that Jesus used quiet time alone to communicate with God.

Just since I sat down with my book, I have lost focus at least a dozen times. Four text messages, three songs, two conversations and one facebook session later, I can finally concentrate on what the scripture is saying.

Quiet and alone are not two things I do well with at any time. When I create quiet, I still tend to lose focus when the wind blows or the bugs jump.

I believe the scripture emphasizes the importance of spending time alone with God.

How many of you willy nilly pray? When I say willy nilly, I mean walking through a store or driving down the road, you say a quick prayer when something pops into your mind.

I think until the past several months, I have been a willy nilly prayer. I would do the quick obligatory praying as things popped into my head or someone presented a request.

Not sleeping for months on end, opened a window of time every night for me to sit alone. In a quiet house, everyone sleeping, I was able to have an honest time of prayer everyday.

It was in those times that I learned deep, thoughtful prayer was more powerful than willy nilly. I could think about those around me and pray for every need I knew and even those I did not.

As crazy as it sounds, I used facebook as a prayer tool. Going through the list of needs expressed every day and listening to the cries of the hurting, I was able to spend time praying for each of them. It was a very powerful experience for me.

I think it’s easy for me to be distracted and get caught in the hurriedness of life, but I can hold onto my experience. Being alone, praying and communicating without distraction with God is and can be a life changing experience.

The Fire of My Heart

My God, I want to do what you want. Your teachings are in my heart. Psalm 40:8


For over eight years, I worked at an eye clinic. During most of my time there, I never had much of a desire to really examine my life and my goals.

Going on medical leave would open my eyes and heart to entertain the idea that God’s plan for my life is more than sitting behind a desk all day crunching numbers.

In Grace for the Moment, Max Lucado challenges with this question: Want to know God’s will for your life? Then answer this question: What ignites your heart?

What does ignite my heart? What ignites my heart for God?

The first thing that comes to mind is music. I can spend hours letting true Christian music penetrate my heart and soul. Not only can I identify with the words, but it feeds me. The end result is always the same regardless of whether I am listening or singing. It directs me back to God and fills me with hope that I may have somehow thought was lost.

But what truly lights a fire in me and gives me a desire to draw nearer to God? And, what will I do with it when I find that fire?

This is where I find myself many times a day since leaving my job.

A truth in my life is that I am a survivor of many horrific events. Even though I survived, God has chosen to take me through yet another fire. I constantly remind myself that there must be a reason. There must be a purpose for my life, something that God plans to use for His glory.

There is a stirring inside me. What is God’s will for my life? What fire will burn so great inside my heart that the plans He has for me will be fulfilled?

I have no idea what that is right now, but my heart is open.

There is no doubt that I have a tender heart for orphans and the hurting. I have spent countless nights praying for the spoken and unspoken needs of those around me. I have watched prayers be answered and I have watched many people learn to wait on the Lord.

Learning of my own need for salvation only a short time ago, I have a heart for the lost. How could I pass up the opportunity to share the need for salvation to those who do not know?

Whatever the plan is for my life, I pray that my eyes and heart will remain open to every opportunity. I pray continuously for God to ignite that fire in my heart and lead me to fulfill His plan for my life.

My Wedding Day....It was a God designed circus!

As I looked at a photo this morning of my wedding bouquet, I was reminded of how God works even before we know Him.


I have often joked about how the story of my wedding and all events leading up to and afterwards would make a tragic comedy if every recreated.

There can only be one explanation of why my wedding happened and how my marriage has lasted this long…by His design, God made my husband specifically for me and has been the glue that has held us together through every trial.

The calamity of the wedding day cannot be fully appreciated without the background of the four years leading up to the big day. I do offering a warning that even though it is a story still in progress, that today I find laughter and tears in it all.

My husband and I met in January 1994. I will spare everyone the details of my dysfunctional 18 year-old ways. To be honest, I met him and his best friend. Kent was quiet and showed no interest. Well, the honest part is that I thought he was a jerk and way too old for me.

Over the next six months, I would date his best friend from who he was inseparable. My roommate would date Kent. It was, for all intentions, a great way to spend time with my roomie and the guy I was dating…oh yea, and that old, jerky guy too.

Towards summer, both relationships began to drift apart. Yes, that is a nice way of saying dramatically in all teenage fashion, breaking-up.

On a very strange, but fateful night, all four of us would begin to follow the paths that God had set for us.

That night began a new and lifelong journey for each of us. While the new paths would strain and eventually separate the relationships amongst friends, we each knew there was a reason.

I am happy to tell you today that the other two are still married today and have two beautiful children.

It did not take long to learn that Kent, even at 28 years-old, was in no hurry to get married. He was ready, but only to wait. And wait we did.

Over the next 3 ½ years, we would date get to know each other and date via long distance relationship. He lived in Wichita and I lived in Humboldt. We would talk on the phone every night. It’s amazing the amount of life you can share on the phone. It did create huge phone bills and he was all too happy to help pay for them.

Kent drove home on the weekends and we would be together for most of it. The saddest part of the week would be at 3 p.m. on Sunday when he would load his truck up and head back to Wichita. I would watch his truck until it was out of sight with a tear in my eye and the anticipation of his return on the following Friday.

Without fail, that’s how we lived our lives for several years. During that time, Kent had moved to Lee’s Summit but the routine was the same. In the summer of 1997, I would begin to feel what I call the “3 years together and I’m ready to get married” itch.

I believe God used several events to bring us closer together and push us in the direction of marriage.

In September 1997, Kent left me a message on my home answering machine that without a doubt stays with me today. “My apartment caught on fire and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to call you.”

His neighbor below him had caused a fire that completely destroyed the entire quad. With Kent’s parents, I went the next day and tried to help him salvage all that he had gathered in his adult life. Loads and loads of laundry, lots of smoke saturated furniture and what little was salvaged was moved into another apartment. This was the point when Kent decided it was time to look for a home.

Leaving him after his fire was the absolute hardest time I ever had not being with him. It was the desire to be more to him than a weekend girlfriend that drove me to take the ultimate risk in our relationship. I told him in the fall that it was time to either get married or go our separate ways.

Saying he was reluctant is an understatement. We shopped for an engagement ring together. He shopped quality, I shopped hurriedly. I only wanted to get the ring on my finger before he decided again he wasn’t ready.

Once we had the ring, it was decided that Christmas would be when we would be “officially” engaged. Upon my persistence that he get on with it and give me the ring, my proposal consisted of this…”Here, put the ring on and tell everyone we are engaged.” Of course then, I was just happy to be engaged. Now, I realized that a little patience may have resulted in a much more romantic proposal and one I would be much happier to tell.

Now, the hunt was on for a house. The fire and impending nuptials pushed Kent into taking another huge leap into adulthood. In March 1998, he purchased and moved into the house where we still live.

All that was left was to plan the wedding of my dreams and begin my life of wedded bliss…or so I thought.

My contract with the school was up in May, so May would be the perfect time for a wedding. Kent, still dragging his feet, would have preferred to plan for a later summer wedding and of a different year. We finally agreed on August 1, 1998.

While not surprising yet completely heartbreaking, my dad would offer to help with $100. I was so fortunate to not only be living with my grandparents but have a grandmother who would do what she could to make my wedding as close to my dream as possible.

As a young girl, I may have dreamed of getting married but never fantasized much about the wedding. I had no illusions that my mother would finally behave like a mother and be a part of the planning of my big day. So, it was my grandmother, not my mother who gave me support during the planning.

My grandmother was the one who drove me an hour to buy the dress I had fallen in love with in a magazine. I never thought I could have something out of a magazine, but she made it happen. My grandma also drove me two hours to a bridal fair one Saturday, where we met the lady who would make the cake I had also fallen in love with in a magazine.

It was my grandma who would sit with me for hours looking through magazines, books and samples of wedding invitations. While Kent was interested, he was not big into the planning. For the most part, he was good just knowing the date and time.

During the planning of the wedding, I watched my grandma’s health begin to decline rapidly. She began having breathing problems in January of that year. As I sat across from her while making a final decision on my wedding invitations, I watched her excited for me fade quickly as she struggled to catch a breath between words.

Towards early summer, most of the plans for the wedding were set in place. We had a location, decorations, flowers ordered, invitations ready to be mailed, dress purchased, cake ordered, photographer, wedding registries completed and a flurry of other details wrapped up.

I would begin a summer of packing, slowly moving to Lee’s Summit and enjoying the wedding showers. My mom was sewing the dresses for the three candle lighters and I was hand sewing beadwork on my veil. There was one small detail that kept me from feeling as though I was ready for the big day.

I had bought my mother’s dress for the wedding, but my grandma had not yet gotten one. By then, she was in and out of the hospital often with little to no explanation of why she was having problems breathing. Each time I encouraged her to get her dress, she assured me that she would not need one.

Once the wedding plans were set, I spent time helping Kent and his parents getting the house ready for the big change that was coming. In mid-July, Kent’s parents tangled with brush and trees in our backyard. Little did we know that they were tangling with tons of poison ivy. It isn’t the poison ivy that will later cause a problem for our wedding day, but it is the steroids they were on that would.

It was well into mid-July before I began to count down the days. I didn’t have the kind of friends who were big on bachelorette parties, which was fine by me. As a last fun trip for me, I went with a friend and her kids to Kansas City for the day. The same day, my grandma was to have testing done on her lungs in Wichita.

While we were at a pizza place, I used the pay phone to call home. I was calling to let my mom know that I would be home late and to find out about my grandma’s test. When I heard the voice of my estranged cousin answering the phone, I knew something was wrong.

What she said to me would kick me in the chest and take me minutes, maybe days, maybe years to recover from. She said, “Grandma has cancer. She is on life support and she is going to die.”

The next few hours is still fuzzy to me. I called Kent and he met me in Humboldt. From there, we drove two more hours to Wichita. At 4 a.m., we arrived at the hospital in Wichita where we tried to sleep for a couple hours in the waiting room before my mom would find us waiting. This was before the time when cell phones were prevalent.

While the details are a blur, I spent the next six days living in a hotel room and sitting with my grandma during the day. One by one, most of the family came, visited, said goodbye and left. With four days until my wedding, my mom finally made me leave.

In the first few days on the vent, my grandma communicated with nods, blinking eyes and writing half legible notes. By the time I left, she was barely able to blink when we asked her questions. I leaned down close to her and told her I would see her again soon. With tears in her eyes, she shook her head and grabbed my hand.

As much as I wanted to believe there would be a miracle, I knew that was the last communication I would have with her.

I got out of bed the next day in my grandparents house, completely alone. The first thing on the agenda was to put together a memory locket for my bouquet. What I had planned was to have a photo of my great-grandpa who had passed away my senior year. Now, I was adding a photo of my grandma.

Next on the agenda was making hundreds of tiny mints for the reception. As I pressed and molded my last mint, my grandpa, mom and uncle walked through the door. I knew, they didn’t have to say anything, I just knew.

Three days before my wedding, the wedding my grandma had helped plan and pay for, my grandma passed away.

If it weren’t for my ability to go numb when emotions were threatening to overwhelm me, I don’t think I would have survived the next 10 days. The wedding I had dreamed about and planned for would quickly turn into a circus.

First up would be funeral planning. Because of my dysfunctional family, the date and time of the funeral would become a battle of wills between my family and my uncle’s family. My wedding was planned for 2 p.m. on Saturday. My uncle, who was more interested in not missing any time from work, was insistent that the funeral be held on Saturday.

His idea of not interfering with the wedding would be to have the funeral at 10 a.m. I was having absolutely none of his theoretical plan to have me wear my wedding dress to the funeral. His plan may have been spoiled merely by what could have possible been my only known childish, kicking and screaming fit in all my life.

Because of other funerals, it was set that my grandma’s funeral would be Monday morning.

Kent and I had not planned an extravagant honeymoon, but our reservation was not refundable or moveable within one week of check-in. In true dysfunctional fashion, it was the same uncle I fought tooth and nail on the date with who called and paid for the honeymoon to be moved by one day.

Next hurdle for me was with my soon-to-be in-laws. The day my grandma passed away, I was to help clean the church for our wedding. Keeping in mind that my in-laws were saturated with poison ivy and a heavy dose of steroids, you can only imagine the misunderstanding we had over the church cleaning. It would not take long for me to learn that I would probably hear about this for a while.

I know you may be thinking there is nothing comedic about this so far. But, it’s coming. Even if it wasn’t funny at the time, I can laugh about it now.

As you may remember, my mom was in charge of making three candle lighters dresses. Earlier in the summer, I purchased all the material and patterns for the three dresses. My mother, as would be her normal, had waited until the last minute to make the dresses. And, where was she at the last minute? She was with my grandma at the hospital, two hours away from the material and a sewing machine. With four days left until the wedding, I frantically and thankfully found a family member who made the dresses.

It was the same family member who made last minute alterations to my wedding dress. After a long week of stress and not eating right, my arms were very swollen. I had lost weight from not eating, but the stress had caused major fluid retention. The dress fit perfectly, except a small issue. I could not move my arms. The dress was let out in the arms only and nobody knew any different.

For 18 months prior to getting married, I lived with my grandparents. My plan was to finish packing my things during my last few days there. That task became nearly impossible with the steady stream of family and well wishers passing through the house.

The funeral arrangements were made and I had nothing to focus on but my wedding. The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner is but a foggy memory to me. I believe the stress everyone was under put a cloud of negativity over the entire event. I think a rehearsal dinner is probably the first indication of the true colors of the family you are about to marry into.

The Friday night rehearsal did lead to some interesting activity to say the least.

Kent had asked his best friend to be his best man and his brothers to be groomsmen. Not being close to many women at the time, I asked a co-worker to be my matron-of-honor and a good friend to be a bridesmaid. My second bridesmaid was originally a former school mate and girlfriend of one of Kent’s brothers. One month before the wedding, the brother and girlfriend broke up. Leaving me short a bridesmaid, I asked my oldest brother’s girlfriend. I would have liked to have chosen someone I knew better, but it worked and that’s all that mattered.

All three of the ladies agreed on a simple navy blue dress that truly could be worn again. I purchased the dresses and all three said they would pay for them. The night of the rehearsal, one of my bridesmaids gave me a check for her dress and shoes. It was two weeks later that I learned that the check had bounced and I was out the $85 for the dress and shoes. A small price to pay for not having to find another replacement at the last minute.

I had asked my two brothers to be ushers at the wedding and asked the oldest of the two to do the music. We were married in a Church of Christ. This Church of Christ does not believe in having musical instruments in the church. It did, however, have a sounds system and cd player.

The night before the wedding, my oldest brother’s girlfriend and bridesmaid, informed me that because my brother couldn’t be in the wedding and stand opposite of her, he would not be helping anywhere else with the wedding.

During the rehearsal, I had to find an usher and someone to play the music we had chosen. Kent’s brother-in-law would be an usher and my cousin would take care of music.

It was also during rehearsal when I realized I would have a problem with a cousin. She was, much to my disbelief, taking on a role as personal attendant to the bride. She boldly stood in my place during the rehearsal and made herself at home giving orders to everyone. In all fairness to her, she did keep things in order during the wedding with the music. But imagine my fear as I saw her taking over, knowing that she was not always the most trustworthy person.

That night was the moment I also learned that my soon-to-be mother-in-law and sister-in-law would be wearing the exact same dress. They both were aware that they had chosen the same dress. Being strong-willed mother and daughter, neither of them would agree to exchange for a different dress. No way to avoid this catastrophe only hours away from the wedding.

The fact that Kent and I barely said a word to each other through the four days prior to the wedding might have led everyone to wonder why we were even getting married.

Finally, the morning of the wedding and I bet you think this story is about to reach it’s beautiful ending. Not yet, it’s just beginning!

That morning, I awoke to rain pounding on the roof. I know everyone says it’s good luck. But I needed a miracle and rain wasn’t part of that plan.

With everything I needed in hand, I headed for the church in the rain. Each of the ladies in my wedding party would get their hair done by a friend of the family at the church. And, one by one, each of them would leave in the rain or August post-rain humidity. One might think that a mature woman would understand why that was a bad idea.

I soon learned it wouldn’t matter anyway. Once my hair was done, we began taking group photos. I didn’t see Kent prior to the wedding, but we did all photos possible beforehand.

Our photographer was a friend of Kent’s family and was a complete amateur. You’ll hear more about the wedding photos later, but they are awful to say the least. She took all of us out in the hot, humid August weather to have photos taken. All hairdos were hair-undoes by the time we were finished.

Flat hair didn’t matter to me, this wedding was about to happen and be done.

As I continued to dress in the small cry room of the church, I got hit with one issue after another.

The cry room was in the lobby of the church. Each time someone came to ask a question or give me bad news, the door opened and every one walking through at the moment could see me getting ready.

We had sent 100 invitations and had 89 people RSVP. The church has a capacity of 212 people. Because of my grandma’s death, we had family and friends who decided to show up. People who weren’t invited and people who hadn’t sent an RSVP walked through the door, filling this small church. With over 15 minutes left until the wedding, we already had people standing at the back of the sanctuary.

The first visit to my dressing room was my future mother-in-law. Her only comment to me was about my dress or maybe more so about me. She said without pause that if I had lost weight, my dress would have been beautiful on me. She turned and left before I had a chance to pick my chin up off the floor.

She was followed by a stream of older women from both sides of the family who were insistent on talking about losing my grandma.

Minutes to go, nothing else can go wrong. Right?

Wrong!

I get a very upset relative coming in stating there are not enough corsages to give to all the females in the wedding party. How could I be two short? I planned the flowers with precision and with one spare of everything. With my grandma gone, there should have been two extra. I told the family member to make sure mothers and grandmothers had flowers and someone would have to go without.

It was only long after the wedding was over that I would learn where the extra flowers had gone. My cousin, a.k.a. my uninvited personal attendant, had taken one corsage for herself. I’ll explain more later, but she gave her mother one as well and she kept one.

I can hear the music as the next person runs to me with a problem. It is Kent’s niece, one of our candle lighters. With all the men in place, Kent’s nephew Zack was our ring bearer. Sticking to tradition, I did put our wedding rings on the pillow. Zack, who was 5, had gotten a few steps down the aisle only to get scared and run with the ring pillow to the bathroom.

One of Kent’s brothers left the alter to get Zack out of the bathroom. He was carried down the aisle and yet another catastrophe was avoided.

One by one, everyone got down the aisle. The only one left was me. I stood there with my dad. The only reason my dad was allowed to walk me down the aisle was to keep with tradition and to avoid questions. While waiting our turn, my dad turned to me and in all honesty said that he felt sorry for Kent. He truly did and does believe that Kent could have done better than me for a wife.

Being a bit of a controlling person, I wrote and scripted our entire wedding. I felt as though it was important for both sets of parents to come to the alter once I arrived. The pastor asked each set of parents if they not only gave their child into this marriage but accepted the other as part of their family. As it was time for my in-laws to do their part, there was a sickening silence and an obviously reluctant agreement.

They all returned to their seats and the candle lighters came forward. I should have guessed that with three 9 year-old girls there would be some kind of problem. My two cousins lit their candles and all was fine. Kent’s niece could not keep her lighter going and her candles lit. Very loudly, she yelled to her mom that it wasn’t working. She stopped trying, started crying and finally ran off the stage. Another crisis, over.

The rest of the wedding went as planned.

Thinking again that it must be over? You would be wrong, again!

Everyone headed to the reception. Kent and I were still barely speaking to each other. I wasn’t even sure if I would be riding with him to the reception.

I had planned the reception and made changes when I knew there would be additional guests. I had chosen some friends to cut the cake and handle the gifts and guestbook.

Remember the missing flower that was given to my aunt? At the reception, my aunt informed one of my friends that they were no longer needed at the cake table. She took over and had no idea what my plans were. She started to cut cake before we arrived. Thankfully one of my stronger willed friends kept her from cutting our smallest cake that we had planned to freeze.

For the most part, our reception went as planned. When we lined up for the receiving line, my mom threw a childish fit. She wanted to be the last person in line. My mom isn’t an emotional or gracious person. As people would pass through the line, she would barely look at them and refused to shake a hand.

By this time, most of the photos had been taken and my mother-in-law was already angry. Even though it was her friend who took the photos and she had met with her, someone had overlooked the fact that she wanted a photo of her family. When I say her family, I mean without me! Hadn’t we just gone over that whole “united as one” thing? At least with her pouting, she was out of my hair for the time being.

As we got ready to leave, we were prepared for the traditional throwing of bird seed. In true redneck fashion, my family was ready to pelt us and they did. We both got bird seed in the mouth and nose. I not only got bird seed in my eyes, but I got a corneal abrasion that would cause a blurry, watery eye for days.

Now, it was time to clean up. I headed in to change out of my dress, which was a relief. The wedding was over, the dress was off and all the catastrophes were over.

As I began to clean up, I realized that most of our centerpieces were missing. My all too helpful cousin had been giving them away to her friends. There were two left, all was good.

We couldn’t leave as planned for our honeymoon because of the funeral. Both sides of the family met at my grandparents house that evening. There is nothing quite like spending your wedding night with all of your family, right?

Everyone fed on the many, many meals that people had dropped off. We were exhausted, but everyone insisted that we open our wedding gifts.

I think it must have been our exhaustion that kept us from noticing at the time, but some of our gifts were disappearing. I remember unwrapping some beautiful candlestick holders, placemats, crystal vase, photo albums and cookware that were never found. When I found them in the list that was made as we opened gifts, I knew I hadn’t imagined those wonderful gifts. Someone in one of our families had taken our wedding gifts when nobody was looking. It was odd sending thank you cards for gifts I never got!

We spent our wedding night at my grandparents house listening to a relative snore on the couch in the next room.

The next day was the visitation for my grandma. I had stayed busy enough that I missed most of the many weird trips to the funeral home to visit my grandma’s body. During those times, my family left notes, games, and other obscure things in the casket with her. As I walked in, I saw the last missing corsage. My cousin and aunt had made a decision to take one of them from the wedding and pin it on my grandma.

That Sunday and Monday are foggy at best and went fast.

Because of the timing of the funeral, Kent was unable to return the tuxes on time. He had to pay an additional day on all of them. Oh, did I mention my dad refused to pay for his tux and Kent paid for it?

Thinking it must be over? No, there’s one more thing!

We arrived in Eureka Springs, AR on Monday afternoon. Finally, we were beginning our married life with our honeymoon. After checking into our room, we ate at a restaurant that was recommended to us by the desk clerk at the hotel.

Just a few hours after eating, Kent became very sick. We are almost positive that he was the recipient of food poisoning because he spent the rest of the honeymoon sick.

We obviously survived each and every hurdle. But to say the odds were stacked against us getting a good start in married life would be an understatement.

Yes, I have to laugh when I think of the chain of events.

Yes, Kent and I could have given up and walked away at any time.

I have to believe that it was God’s plan for us to be married. Even though I didn’t grasp what it meant to believe in God then, I believe God was working on me. I think God knew I would need a reminder for the rest of my life that when He plans something, He will make it happen.

Even the Dogs

For reasons I cannot yet explain, we have created a routine where Kent takes the dogs with him when he goes to bed.

The lab is unphased by the whole event and is willing to change her sleeping location at whatever time. But the two little ones are beginning to remind me of children.

Each night when Kent gets ready for bed, they both run to me, crawl on my lap and cling to me. Even when Kent picks them up to carry them to the bedroom, they fight to get back to me.

Tonight was especially hard. I fought back tears as I began to understand the big picture.

Gizmo, the smallest, is around a year old. Since we adopted him last October, he has always been particularly attached to me.

Since we've had him, he spends most nights and sometimes all night sitting up with me. He never leaves my side and it aware of every move I make.

He has a desire, if not need, to be near me. I am his safety, his provider and his protector. When he is afraid of thunder, he runs to me. When he wants something, he comes to me.

I realized that even my dog has an inherant need to be cared for and loved.

It is during this time of him being a puppy, that he will learn that I am happy to love him and meet all his needs. For a dog, I'm sure now is the time when the loyalty to an owner is developed. Meeting his needs now, may very well lead to him being a loving dog when he is older.

As I lost the fought with the tears, I understood how important it is for an infant, tolder and child of every age to be loved and have their needs met.

A parent's failure to meet a child's needs or love them can and will damage the child and the relationship.

Lucky for Gizmo, I will never intentionally fail to meet his needs. And, I don't think I could ever stop loving him.

Although I struggle to always remember this, I do know God will never fail to love us. I don't think we ever have to worry the He will forget to love us or feed us or want us or meet our needs.

God, please remind me to run to you when I'm scared. Please remind me to come to you when I am in need. And, please, oh please, remind me that You are everything and will give me everything I need.

Road to Salvation, Part 9

Yes!


The pastor spent the next hour sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ with me.

God had loved me that much. He had sent his one and only son to die on the cross for me.

Before leaving the pastor’s office that day, I prayed along with the pastor and accepted Christ as my savior.

While I have spent the past few years trying to understand the enormity of the gift God has given us, I have never doubted what the pastor said to me that day.

Once God had used this pastor to help break the chains and soften my heart, my checklist became a real working document for me to learn from and allowed me to introduce a new truth to my life.

Never will I tell you that finding salvation has made my life easier. In fact, in many ways, it has become more difficult. I have learned that once you become a follower of Christ, Satan begins an intricate plan to draw you back.

Once I realized God grieved all that had happened to me, I had to begin the painful process of applying God’s truth to every one of those things and many more I was unaware of at the time.

I will be forever thankful that a wonderful pastor with no hidden agenda, no preconceived notions of changing me, followed a divine plan set for me by God and allowed himself to be used on my road to salvation.

"For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." (Romans 10:13)

Road to Salvation, Part 8

The pastor looked at me and without any hesitation asked, “Did you ever wonder where God was during those times?” He followed by saying that I must have.


What a simple, yet profound question. Of course I had wondered where God was during those times. Especially over the past several months in hearing week after week how good God was. Even if I hadn’t wondered then, I was wondering now.

Yes, where had God been? Again, without any hesitation or without me even asking, he offered an explanation to me. What he gave me would not answer the question, but it would break the chains that were wrapped tightly around my heart. I had no reason to trust a stranger, let alone a male. But, I’m convinced God had prepared me to hear what was about to be said by giving me an overwhelming sense that what was about to be said was truth.

The pastor said to me that he knew those things that had happened had broken God’s heart. He said he knew that God grieved over those things that had happened.

My exterior may have held a look of disbelief. But, inside I was shedding tears of joy. I remember today the thoughts that swirled in my head.

God really cared so much that it hurt Him to see me hurt? Could God really love me that much? Could the same God who I had read created the earth really care about me and what happened to me?

Road to Salvation, Part 7

On August 3, 2007, I walked into the church with my checklist but many questions that muddied the waters floating in my head.


My first thought upon meeting the pastor was that he was even less intimidating standing face to face and not at the pulpit. The pulpit seemed to have a power with it that was missing face to face. I knew this would be easy. He would confirm that I was right and I would walk out.

As I sat down in his office, I shared with him that his sermons had caused me to start to think about Christianity.

Before I realized it and before he could even begin to explain, I boldly shared with him the surface of the reasons I could never believe what I knew he would try to tell me.

His puzzled look shifted to one of concern. He was a pastor, so I was sure he must be used to showing concern. And, I knew after I was finished sharing, he would be ready for me to leave.

Once I gave him a chance to talk, the pastor asked me a question which would change my life.

Road to Salvation, Part 6

Never going back to church again would remain true for me until I began the process of getting married. I chose to take as much God out of my wedding vows and was never comfortable with being married in a church. Being married in a church was again something I did only to appease my future husband and his parents.


Each of these experiences were on my checklist of reasons why I would never believe in God. Yes, it was a checklist that I firmly believed kept me safe from ever having to change the way I thought about God or church.

The sermons on Proverbs came to an end, but the stirring inside of me was just beginning. The pastor talked directly to me from the pulpit every week, but I knew he could never get me to change my thoughts on God. Even though it was completely out of character for me to meet with a strange man, I had the need to meet with the pastor. I wanted an opportunity to explain why I could never believe in God.

I scheduled a time to meet with him and was ready to tell him why I felt God didn’t fit in my life. I was willing to listen to what he had to say, but was prepared to stand my ground. I had a solid case to not believe in God, so what could he ever say to change my mind?

Nothing!

Road to Salvation, Part 5

In upper elementary years, I became very curious about church. All of the kids at school talked about church. It was another way that I knew I did not fit in with everyone around me. Although I don’t remember the details, a friend of my mom’s took me to a Baptist church with her.


I wore the best clothes I had, which were stained shirts, pants with holes in them and shoes that had tape holding them together. I sat and listened, even though I didn’t understand anything that was said. When I returned home with activity sheets and bibles, my dad always took them away from me or made me throw them away. Every time, he warned me to not go again.

The last time I went to that church was Easter Sunday. The lady who picked me up gave me a purple dress and white shoes. I got to change before church started. I sat and listened to a story about Jesus. I didn’t know who that was, but I felt good in my pretty new dress. For one of the only times I can remember, I felt like somebody cared about me. Church was merely a background thought that day. The beauty of the day ended the minute I walked back in the door of my house. In his anger, my dad punished me for disobeying him. He destroyed the dress and threw the shoes away. My fear of being punished again would swallow any desire I had to go back to church.

During the same year, I developed my extreme distrust of people in church. My grandparents lived across the street from a Catholic church, where a Priest and Nun lived in a small house. My cousin, who had molested me for many years, often took me to a secluded area of trees in the church yard. The trees would hide the awful things he would do to me.

As he followed his normal routine on one day when I was nine at the church yard, I looked at the house that was only a few feet away. There my eyes were met by the Priest who was standing in the window watching every moment of what was happening. Only after our eyes met did he close the blind. As a nine year-old child, I never understood why an adult would not have stopped my cousin. My first and only thought, people in churches did not care about me.

It was an easy decision to make that day with all of my nine years of life experience that I would never go back in a church again.

Road to Salvation, Part 4

Through the next month, I would begin to ask Kent about his own faith and start my mental checklist of all the reasons why I would never believe in God.


My entire life was filled with time after time of learning that the word God was bad, churches were awful and people in the church were better than me. While I know that seems extreme, I think it was a normal perception for anyone who had endured a life like mine.

As a young child, my dad was very outspoken against God. The seed he planted with me was, first and foremost, that there was not a God. If there was a God, then bad things wouldn’t have to happen to me. Even if there was a God somewhere in this big world, then he would never care about a little girl whose parents didn’t love her. Yes, those were the seeds he planted through his words and his actions. He was not afraid to prove his theory to me over and over.

It was not uncommon for people from “the church” to visit our house on the weekend. I would later learn that they were Jehovah Witness and Seventh Day Adventist, mostly. I grew up in a very church oriented town who boasts one of the oldest religious parades and celebrations each year. When the church people would knock on the door, we were all forced to hide in the stairway and remain quiet until they were long gone. If any of us didn’t move to the hiding place fast enough or dare to make a noise, we faced the wrath of my dad once the coast was clear.

In my early elementary years, we received New Testaments at school. To prove his point that bibles, religion and God were not allowed in the door of our house, my dad would take the small bibles from us as soon as he found them. He would take them and the bibles left by the church people to his shop and burn them. If he saw that any of us were particularly attached to the small book, he would force us to throw the book into the fire.

Neither my brothers nor myself saw the small bibles as anything more than a gift that someone had given us. My dad, however, saw them as a threat. It was difficult for any of us to understand how something that was given as a gift could arouse such hatred in my dad. But, we would follow his rules on this. It was rare that any gift would be worth the punishment of fighting for with my dad.