I was an obedient and compliant child. At least as a younger child. My mom once told me that she only had to tell slap my hand once and tell me not to touch the telephone. Whereas she had to tell my younger brother multiple times not to do the same. However, when life continued “lifing” it was as if a flip was switched in my teen years and I swung to the other side of the pendulum – disobedience unto rebelliousness, and beyond, and it’s only by God’s sovereign and protective hand lived to tell the tale…

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Imagine a man coming to your door. You’ve met him once, he’s a friend of a friend, and he’s got important paperwork in his possession that someone’s taken from you. You invite him in as it’s a Friday night anyway and you have nothing better to do. Now imagine that he begins telling you about a Jesus, this Jesus you don’t know much about. It’s in such a non-confrontative and curious way that He talks about Jesus, so you don’t shut him down as you did not more than three months ago. Rather, you lean in to listen.

Now imagine a conversation that lasts for hours and someone who asks you questions, then responds to the answers still inside your head that you haven’t yet given a voice to. Imagine also, he tells things about you that only God could know. He’s got your attention.

He tells you now to pick up that Bible you used to read as a teen (but as you mostly read from the book of revelation and without revelation it terrified you, so you stopped reading). He gives you selected chapters of the New Testament for you to read, and while you read he sits quietly. When you finish reading he makes comments you have no understanding of (about the keys of David) and questions you don’t have the answers to (where is your altar, where is your prayer altar?) This cycle repeat itself throughout the course of the evening.

Now imagine the unthinkable. At 11PM this man leaves your home without leading you in a prayer of salvation, without leading you to Jesus. You’re upset. Extremely upset. You broadcast some mean message to him from inside your head and from across the parking lot, for you’ve followed him outside. And although the message was never spoken, he hears it and responds accordingly, then drives off.

You’re irritated. How could this man leave in the midst of such personal turmoil and unsettledness and agitation? These things ought not to be!!!

But here’s what this man did do. He left me with a gift. A gift that would lead to the ultimate Gift. For he left me with a keen awareness that I was not the “pretty good person” I thought I was (oh how spiritually blind I was, comparing myself to IV drug users and such as my plumb line) but he left me with the hammering truth that I was a sinner in need of salvation. Like, right now! I knew I wanted, and more importantly, needed to be become a Christian, but how? And how could he leave me in such a state?!

After he left I did the only thing I knew to do. I went back to that Bible and I read through the night. I don’t know how much of the New Testament I read, but I read with an insatiable hunger, for I knew this book contained the answer. I knew I needed to pray, but I didn’t know how to pray. And in the morning I drove to my mom’s to retrieve the large family Bible I knew contained a “dictionary” in the back. When I returned I looked up every verse on prayer and all the other strange things he had mentioned and I read and I read and I read throughout the day and into the night, stopping to take breaks to for care for my baby daughter and to eat.

And after 11pm that Saturday night, after I had put my daughter to bed, I made the decision I knew enough to pray and was ready to pray to become a Christian. I took everything literally. I went into my bedroom, into my closet, and I knelt on my knees and covered my head with the only thing I had – a red bandana (God knew my heart). And thinking I needed to confess every. single. sin. to become a Christian, I was led to use the Ten Commandments as my guide, to guide me through all the sins I would need to repent from, for the list was long. For in deed I had been a good student of the world.

And so I began working down the list, often going back up the list as another remembrance came to mind, confessing that missed sin then moving on again. And two things happened in the midst of this process. First, I didn’t just experience God’s forgiveness; it was as if I was having an encounter with forgiveness as a real and tangible substance. And as I encountered this profound forgiveness for all my sins, I began extending forgiveness to all those who had trespassed against me. It was if I had entered a supernatural flow of simultaneously receiving and releasing forgiveness. This itself took some time. Also, the more I confessed my sins, the more my heart broke for what a sinful life I had lived and how I had broken all of God’s commandments. I was fully aware for the first time in my life of the extent and the ugliness of my sins. I don’t know when the tears began or how long they lasted. I only know they flowed as strong as my words, for my sins were many.

And then the moment came. I knew I was finished. I don’t know how I knew, I just knew. I wiped away my tears, stood up, looked up, and declared aloud – operating in what I believe was my first official instance of the gift of faith (apart from saving faith) – “God, I’m ready for whatever you would have for me.” Little did I know what was set in motion with those words and how quickly it would begin.

But what I knew was that it was 5:30 am Sunday morning because I happened to glance at the clock. I then decided it would be a good idea to lie down with my baby daughter and get a couple of hours rest before she woke up (as the next day I’d be getting on a bus to go cross-country to visit her father). So my head hit the pillow and I closed my eyes. And immediately, the brightest flash of light flashed in my room. I could see it with my eyes closed and I think it was a good thing my eyes were closed. It was the most brilliant blinding flash of white light I had ever seen. Then it flashed a second time. And without another second’s passing a jolt of electricity entered my body through the tips of my toes and coursed upward to my head. And in that moment, for it all happened in a moment, my first thought formed, “What is this?” And I was answered with an audible voice, gentle yet authoritative, “I am cleansing you of your sins.” That was it. One simple sentence. And this is how I encountered Jesus as the Light of the World. And I suppose it’s why that man didn’t lead me in a sinner’s prayer.

And it’s why I’m compelled to preach, publish, and proclaim the goodness of God and His saving grace, and to see His Kingdom expanded. One prayer at a time, one person at at time, and one story at a time, if that’s what it takes and for as long as it takes. (I go to Texas in April and I have an opportunity to go to Kenya in July!)

Separating The Boys From The Men

When I was 16 I asked my boyfriend at the time, “What happens if I get pregnant?” and immediately he made some sweet gesture and answered, “Well then, we’d get married.”

And of course we had no business sleeping together, we also had no business getting high together or a number of other things, but we were a couple of “in love” sixteen-year-olds with not enough parental supervision who dreamed for a short while of a life together, till circumstances caused us to drift apart. He eventually joined the army or marines and life went on.

Fast forward a year or so later, I was still yet 17 when I brought the news to my then 22-year-old boyfriend (who I had no business being with whatsoever) that I was pregnant. And my expectation, perhaps based on this previous relationship, was that we would get married. Oh my naivete! For without any hesitation he responded, “That’s O.K. you can get an abortion and I’ll pay for it.” How magnanimous! But not magnanimous enough to come into the abortion clinic with me. Rather a quick drop off, then a pick up at the appointed time as if he was dropping me off for a salon appointment. And as if he had done this before.

And I wasn’t the only girl alone in that clinic that day. Many of us were left to face our fate alone. And terrified we were. In my case, my boyfriend hung out with his best friend rather than sit by my side to face together the consequence of our actions. And I am by no means condoning abortion and this is actually not my abortion story, I have another purpose entirely for writing this. I’ll just say I walked in that day as much a victim as the baby in my womb. And it wasn’t till I walked out and climbed into the backseat of my boyfriend’s truck - (And how ridiculous it was that I sat in the backseat, while my boyfriend’s “boyfriend” sat in front seat) -that the flood of emotional pain swept over me at the realization that two lives walked into the clinic, but only one life was walking out. I was coerced by my boyfriend and lied to by a host of professionals, not to mention this abortion was performed without parental consent.

But why am I sharing this abortion story? This abortion that swept me into a vicious cycle that would repeat itself, starting with this very boyfriend, but with a much uglier beginning and ending. (And in case you’re freaking out, no, I didn’t yet know the Lord) I share this to make the clear distinction between these two boyfriends, and I’m deliberate in my choice of words. For one, though only sixteen, was very much a man, both physically (he easily passed as 21) and emotionally, and he treated me well. While the other, although more advanced in years, was very much still a boy. Yes, a boy who never became a man. A boy who still lived with his mom. A boy whose mom helped to support him by paying his truck payments when he was unable to do so. And for all I know paid his rent as well. And this boy, unladen with responsibility, lived accordingly. Lived for himself. And during the time we were together I watched him transition from an unwillingness to accept responsibility (for his life choices) to an unwillingness combined with an utter inability to shoulder any responsibility whatsoever. He was trapped in boy-land. It was a profound learn. Learned when his ugly actions reared their head after he impregnated me a second time. And I say “he” because the sex wasn’t consensual.

But every lesson has a blessing if one can dig deeply enough. And this is why I raised my son to be a man (and the life experience of being raised till age ten with the discipline of a military father was also a factor). I didn’t coddle my son. I could have been a bit softer, but I had dated too many boys and experienced the full measure of the ridiculousness of it. And I knew my son’s destiny was to be a man. Only twice did I actually have to tell him to “buck up” and buck up he did. He bucked up all the way through post graduate work and he paid and worked his way through it. But he could have been a landscaper as my husband was when he bravely married me (he took on raising another man’s two children – that’s the man I married) or he could have been a sanitation truck driver, as one of my sons-in law is, and that would be O.K. because my over-riding concern for my son was that he become a man. (And he became a man the summer he spent working in Alaska as a very young 18-year-old unloading cargo planes. And if that wasn’t enough to make him a man, the situation also required that he had to cook all his own meals. This prepared him well, for shortly after that he was on his own, making his own decisions.

And my purpose in sharing this slice of my story is to undergird the need that we raise our boys to be men. That we resist the world’s view that masculinity is toxic, that we safeguard, nurture, and honor a healthy blueprint for masculinity that boys could become men who honor and treat women well, rather than men who mock women, men who bully women, or men who are afraid of women or worse yet, afraid to become men. I know the problem is multi-faceted and the solutions are many. I’m suggesting a simple starting place – that we raise our boys to be men. That we don’t do for them what they need to learn to do for themselves. That they learn the skills of taking care of themselves and basic household matters, so that the weight of these matters doesn’t fall squarely on the shoulders of their wives or girlfriends. In essence, that men would learn to place enough expectations on themselves, that their expectations of women would become more reasonable.

For I am now a mother of four adult children and a grandmother of eight, six of which are females. And I see a sea of marriageable and marriage-minded women looking for a few good men to step up to the plate. We have more than enough boys to go around (just as we did in my day) and an increase in pretty boys, the likes of which are not so pretty if you catch my drift. What we need now are strong men. Strong men who are ready to stand alongside strong women, who aren’t intimidated by or scornful of or aggressive toward strong women. I know these men exist, but it appears their numbers have been decreasing since the days of my youth. So let there be a revival of real men, strong men. And boys who are raised to be men. And in the meantime, will the real men please step forth? The world is waiting. And the women especially are waiting.

Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong. 1 Corinthians 16:13 KJV

Watch, stand fast in the faith, be brave, be strong. 1 Corinthians 16:13 NKJ

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The Mean Man

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For a slice of my youth I was a passionate baton twirler who at age nine and ten marched in parades and twirled competitively it was through one such competition a valuable life lesson was imparted to me.

It was the marching event. The easiest of all of the events. The baton never leaves your right hand while moves in a “one two” up and down beat while left hand extends to your left side at a ninety-degree angle. You simply march in a square formation, keeping in step to the beat of band music while holding good posture and turning each corner with military precision. Add a smile and “poise” to the mix and that concludes a proper march. Once again, it’s the simplest of all events, but it requires timing and concentration.

And there I was in the midst of one such march when the unthinkable happened. Somewhere after the half-way point I dropped the baton – a full point deduction – and it is here that a curious thing happened. Without thought and without missing a beat I simply scooped up the baton, and kept marching, almost as if it never happened. I kept marching, I stayed in step, till I finished my course, saluted the judges, and left the floor.

I don’t recall having any major level of dismay after I saluted the judges. I had done my best and it was all I could do. What I do remember is having no expectations of placing first, second or third. So I simply enjoyed watching the other marchers, particularly my friend and neighbor who was new to competition, and I remember thinking she did well even though even though I could tell she was a nervous. And I was happy when her name was called for the third-place finish. But my surprise was complete and absolute when my name was called (last) for the first-place finish. It was in this moment I learned the reward of not giving up, not quitting. It would take adulthood however before I would more fully realize the value of “not giving up” when things got hard. I didn’t yet know in that moment that this lesson would serve me well for the rest of my life.

For instance, as a competitive gymnast in high school I fell off the beam – a full point deduction – but I still placed third because I didn’t give up (as some girls did, running off the arena in tears). It was also in high school I found myself performing a solo dance routine; a routine that started as a trio, then became a solo when the second dancer also quit. Because of this I’d added a series of rapid paced gymnast moves to fill in the time – the momentum of which caused my left heel to slip off the stage, rather than catch the stage. And what did I do? The only thing I knew to do – quickly hop back on the stage, and continue on. The tears came later, after the curtain closed.

And this is the lesson I learned at nine years of age – to never lose hope, to never lose heart, and to never give up. And it has served me well. Because I have continued to drop batons in my life and march with imperfect steps. But now that I know the Lord, I’ve learned to trust that as I continue to move forward to the best of my ability, He is with me, strengthening each step of the way. And that if I have a misstep, He is the One who lifts me up. Oh the joy of knowing He will be with me when I cross the finish line. Because a quitter I refuse to be.

Do not rejoice over me, my enemy; when I fall, I will arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me. Micah 7:8 NKJV

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I wan’t going to write today, but my mind is changed after reading Aaron Salvato’s Note “The Kingdom of Heaven matters to people who know what hell tastes like.” After reading his impactful note, I put pen to paper and wrote in random order what hell tasted like for me:

1. Approaching the edge of insanity in the midst of a downward spiraling mushroom trip, and pondering whether to jump into the abyss.

2. Getting ripped off. Again.

3. Eating a yoghurt a day while living on methamphetamines for a time.

4. Trapped in the car again with my abuser, speeding down the highway with no exit.

5. Wondering if I’m pregnant. Again.

6. Being introduced to pot, hashish, acid and ? in the summer before I turned 14.

7. Realizing something was slipped into that joint I just smoked.

8. Being told by a medium (after asking about the terrifying presence that had visited me twice), “Not to worry. These are beings from another world who will be tapping into your soul from time to time in order to glean information because this is your first life on earth.” And since there’s no need to belabor the point, I end it here.

   And this is is why the kingdom of Heaven matters to me. Beyond church doctrine and denomination, and beyond which is more correct - I’ll leave that to others. The taste was bitter, but I am now a prisoner of Hope and I now proclaim, “Behold your God! He comes with a strong hand, and His arm shall rule for Him; Behold, His reward is with Hm, and His work before Him” (Isaiah 40:9-10).

I’m new here and I maybe should have started with a brief explanation of why Jesus is such a big deal to me, so here it goes.

I didn’t grow up in Church, but always believed in a God who was somewhere out there, unreachable and unknowable. And I didn’t know a thing about Jesus, Zip. Nada. But all this changed when I was 21 and a friend of a friend came to my door on a Friday night. His name was Edward and after I invited him in he started telling me about Jesus. This was the first time in my life anyone ever told me anything about Jesus. And I was ripe and ready.

After hours of conversation interspersed with Edward telling me to read selected chapters from the New Testament and making strange comments about “new wine” and “altars” and “keys of David” Edward left. It was 11pm and I was in a state of extreme agitation. Because Edward left without leading me in “The Sinners Prayer.” What he left me with however, was a new-found awareness that I was a sinner in need of salvation.

It was a sense of urgency that compelled me and knowing I needed to pray, but not knowing how, I continued reading the New Testament. I also went to the back of the Good Book and looked up all the verses I could find on prayer. I devoured the word for about 24 hours, until the moment came when I knew I was ready to pray.

And at this moment in my life I was a 21-year-old single mother on welfare who was getting high daily and no longer living with the father of her almost 6-month old baby, and this was after a string of unhealthy relationships with men. This is the PG rated version of the toxic muck I waded through until I met Jesus. I’m still working out my salvation of course, but it’s not as difficult as it was in those early years, when, in my ignorance, I though the Lord needed my help, and when I still wanted to do things “my way.”

But back to my 21-year- old self. Everything I read I took to be literal. I guess it could be said I was operating in “saving faith.” I went to my bedroom, kneeled in my closet, and covered my head with the only thing I had - a red bandana. Then, thinking I had to confess each and every one of my sins in order to be forgiven, I landed on the idea of using the Ten Commandments as my guide for confessing my sins. (I now know this was the leading of the Holy Spirit, but I didn’t yet know Him.) And so I began, working my way down the list, and back-tracking up again each time I remembered yet another sin to confess.

And I began to weep under the weight of it. Under the weight of the realization I’d broken all ten of God’s commandment, and the sheer volume of my sins. I’d thought I’d been a good person, but that was using man’s plumbline, not Gods, and the weight of God’s plumbline was a heavy one to bear. For the first time, I was seeing myself for who I truly was – a sinner in (dire) need of salvation.

But then curious thing happened. As I began to encounter God through the repentance of my sins, I began to encounter His forgiveness as well; this is the best way I can describe it. And as I encountered His tangible forgiveness, I began to extend forgiveness to all those who’d trespassed against me. Each and every person and incident that came to mind, I forgave them, out loud, with words. This went on for hours, for I came to God very much like the woman at the well. And then, finally, I knew I was finished.

And so I stood up and looked straight through my ceiling and unto heaven and said, “OK God, I’m ready for whatever you would have for me.” Seeing it was 5:30 in the morning, I made the decision to get some sleep before my baby daughter woke up. Immediately upon closing my eyes, I saw The Greatest Flash of Light – once and then twice, then a current of electricity coursed through my body, entering through the tips of my toes and traveling up into my head, all in a nano-second. And in that smallest slice of a moment my first and only thought formed – “What is this?” “I’m cleansing you of your sins” a gentle but authoritative voice answered. (Oh the glory of that moment of eternity I experienced when He spoke.)

And this was the voice of Jesus and the beginning of my journey. He revealed Himself to me as the Light of the world and the Forgiver of sins. And even though I would have to go through a dark season, fighting off darkness and demons and the fear of it all (because of my involvement in the occult) I eventually came out of that darkness and into the light.

Every struggle through every dark place, it was hard, but it was worth it. And every fear overcome, it was worth it. And I would have it no other way. For what I gained no man can take from me. I now live in the truth that light rules over darkness, just as faith rules over fear. And that’s why Jesus is such a big deal to me.

Signed,

A Thankful Heart