This Is My Story

In August, my pastor presented the opportunity to share my testimony and asked me to submit it in writing ahead of time.  This blog post is the testimony I shared with my church family. I had some trepidation, not because I am uncomfortable speaking in public but because of the vulnerability I felt in opening up. When the focus is on the Lord, though, sin and shortcomings seen through the the lens of HIS amazing grace can lead weary wanderers to His miraculous, healing love.  

I am prayerfully considering branching out to speak more boldly of Jesus' offer of salvation and forgiveness. Won't you pray with me for open doors, guidance and strength to reach others with my story and more importantly - the greatest story every told?  I have tried to be as transparent as possible on this site, so some of the friends who have followed this blog and also Gram's blog 97 Years of Blessings, have read a more in-depth testimony through my posts.

The bottom line is - Jesus can save and heal all wounds.  He has already proven His love and forgiveness by sacrificing Himself for all sin - past, present and future.  Once we thankfully accept His offer of free grace and welcome Him into our lives, He abides and guides us through this life and into the next.  The past can not hurt or define us anymore. The chains falling off remind me of Maria Von Trapp singing The Hills Are Alive on the crisp, clear mountaintop! Now if only I could sing like her!  Oh, but that forgiveness is so much more than a feeling.  It is real, true and permanent!  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound!

This Is My Story

When advice is given for giving a testimony, it's pretty simple - what was your life before, and how did it change after you were saved?  I attempted to write my ten minute testimony over the span of about a week, but on paper, it seemed so full of shame and disobedience - and hardly something I wanted to share at all. First of all, the 'math' didn't quite work out for a ten minute limit and my personal testimony.  Second, there was a lot of weeding out that needed to happen - a testimony for my own glory might include my bravery in the portrayal of twists and turns that brought me to this moment in time, but a testimony brings glory to God when it is about HIS love and grace, not my self-reliance or determination in life. I started and stopped, discouraged at the ways I had abandoned Him in my life.  I took breaks, crying out to Him that I am so far from perfect - who would ever want to hear my testimony?!  Then I came across a video on Facebook of a woman who had once been labeled ‘The Ugliest Woman in the World’ due to a disease she had no control over. She wrapped up her own story by saying, "God put you here for a reason, and He wants you to share that reason, no matter what". Why should a Christian stand up and talk of so great a salvation? Because God did not give us our story so we could keep it to ourselves! Telling others about His love and power to forgive is a natural outpouring of a heart that has been touched by grace! And so I humbly begin, ever aware that my story is His, and His alone. 

It began in Boston ten days before Christmas, 1966 when I was born to an unmarried couple who would each eventually tell me I had been an accident.  My story is a hard one, divided up into those things which happened that were beyond my control and also other things that were a result of my rejection of the Lord.  I think we can all look back on our lives and say our personal story is a ‘hard’ one, whether we spent years in disappointment and rebellion or trusted the Lord at an early age and have followed Him ever since.  The most important lesson I have learned as a Christian is that there are blessings everywhere, even in the hard times.  The most pivotal points in my life came as a result of the words and actions of others who allowed the Lord to love me through them.  It is my hope that we may all realize the impact we can make in the lives of others when we reach out with God’s love.

When I was eight months old, my parents made the decision to split up and leave my two older sisters and me at The Boylston Home for Girls in Manchester.  I remember early discussions with kids in the neighborhood about why my parents didn't want me, feeling anxious and unlovable.  I could never answer that question, and as far as I was concerned, the mixed bag of girls I lived with and the directors, Rev. and Mrs. Beal, who I would later call Grampy and Gram, were my 'real' family.  I raised my hand at a Five Day Club held on the porch of the girls' home when I was four years old in response to an invitation to accept Jesus as my Savior.  I believed God existed from that day forward, crying out to Him in pain the day the Beals retired and moved away when I was seven, then silently screaming 'hate prayers' to Him at the age of nine when I found myself living in my father and step-mother's home, separated from my two sisters and prevented from having any contact with anyone from my former life at the Boylston Home.  Having been banished to living a solitary life in my room and only allowed to come out to fix my own meals or do chores, I spent week after week alone, listening to American Top 40 on the radio, and wondering if my sisters would ever hear a long distance dedication if I sent our story in to Casey Kasem.

Now decades away from that time in my life, I can see the blessings along the way, from a teacher who used to rub my arms to keep me warm during recess when I only had a knit poncho to wear one winter, to a hospitalization that led to a tender moment of reunification between the Beals and I, even though my father tried to stop them from visiting me.  The bright spots during that time were when my father would sporadically let me visit Grammy and Grampy.  I never knew when I would end up at their home, and also never knew when my dad would come back to get me. The times I spent with the Beals’ were like medicine to my injured heart.  I felt like a part of an actual family during those times, instead of the empty invisible girl at the park who observed kids and parents having picnics or playing on the playground in the summer time, only to trudge home at dusk and slink back to my bedroom unnoticed. During school breaks or on the weekends, I was told to leave at daybreak and not return until the streetlights came on in the evening. When I was hungry, I stole doughnuts from a Dunkin Donuts dumpster near my house. I became hopeless and angry as each gray day blended into the next. Dad got divorced and then remarried.  During the next few years when Dad’s depression and alcoholism were at their worst, he would often tell me I was going to live with the Beal family ‘for good’, but then he always found a reason to get angry with someone and take me back.  I began to distrust those words, knowing ‘for good’ didn’t mean forever and something bad was always lurking around the corner to steal my joy.

Eventually, I found myself living with my mother in a ghetto in Arlington, Virginia after an especially frightening encounter with my father when I was twelve.  In essence, my mother ‘kidnapped’ me with the help of the Beals after they hid me from my father for my own safety.  I began attending a thriving youth group at a local Baptist church with my sisters, who had also been reunited with each other and our mother. A youth leader who was in his second year at Washington Bible College took me under his wing when I was thirteen, but his intentions as a pedophile eight years my senior soon became evident as he isolated and abused me in every way.  My shame and guilt resulted in a hasty, illegal Las Vegas marriage at the age of fifteen, and the life I thought I now had control of began to unravel with me as a  military 'wife' on the West Coast. I was finally able to break free for good when I was seventeen, thanks to plane tickets provided to me by the Beal family to come back home to NH and start over.  The problem was that I was more like a wild animal than a 17 year old girl, living on raw emotions and giving in to every temptation that crossed my path.  I began to lie often to cover up the messes I created, sinking deeper and deeper into despair.  I was ultimately asked to leave my home after unsuccessful attempts by my foster family to draw me closer to God.

I spiraled out of control for the next few years, sometimes living in my car and moving nineteen times in two years - mostly crashing on the couches of coworkers and friends.  I became a slave to street drugs and alcohol, had a few bouts with anorexia and found myself hospitalized for major depression and attempted suicide.  Through all of this, I always believed in God, but did not follow Him because I was desperately angry with Him for not helping me in the ways I thought He should whenever I cried out to him in frustration.

By the time I was twenty, I was pregnant and found myself in a conversation with my oldest sister, Robyn, who had come to visit me in NH.  Amazed that God would give me a child after I was told it would be physically impossible, I immediately quit drinking and confided in Robyn that I wanted to believe (or not believe) in God for myself - not just because people I loved said He was real.  At about the same time, I sent a letter to Grammy and Grampy Beal, even though they lived only about a half hour away, confessing that I was pregnant and asking them to forgive me.  Gram called the day she read my letter and said, "We received your letter, we love you and we want to see you." It was by that simple declaration of love that I understood real grace for the first time in my life.

For the next decade, I devoured the Bible, went to church and prayed to a God I found to be very much alive and loving!  I gave birth to my daughter, Shelli, at the age of twenty-one, two months after I married her dad.  We went on to have two other children, and at first, we were faithful in our church and even had leadership roles. As time went on, the grace I found in the Lord was soon overshadowed by my need for perfection - in myself and also everyone around me.  Taking on more and more to prove to myself that I was acceptable, I left grace at the cross and wore myself out trying and failing to be 'good enough' each day.  At first, it was only baby steps away from God - that first drink, the first lie, the prescription medication I accepted when a ‘friend’ offered me a few pills for fun.  The first steps away from God that I thought I could control eventually swept me away into a storm I could not tread water in.  By the time I was 38 years old, I was newly divorced and once again bouncing around from home to home, only this time it was with my kids.

After aimlessly wandering for four more years, I was tired, and ready to stop running away from the Lord. The shame I had for being so fickle over and over again, and for the pain my kids experienced because of my instability weighed heavily on my heart.  By spring of 2009, I began to pray that God would show me a better way, and made a phone call to the director of a Christian camp in Maine to see whether they would let my 15 year old son, Michael, work for them during summer vacation.  Driving away from camp after dropping him off, I lifted my heart in a desperate prayer that life would be altogether different when I returned to pick him up.  Was it ever!

About this time, Grammy Beal, now widowed for many years, had heart surgery and I visited her in the hospital. Too groggy to even remember that she already had the operation, Gram suddenly looked into my eyes with great clarity and quoted II Chronicles 7:14. "If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land."  I left the hospital, thinking about the many times she and Grampy quoted scripture in everyday conversation.  I couldn't shake the realization that God was using Gram's words to draw me back to Himself.  

Within a week of dropping Michael off at camp, I lost my health, my job, my car and my home.  I borrowed a car and drove back to pick him up, packed up everyone and everything I owned and got a ride to Florida with a family member, where I intended to make a fresh start. Michael and I agreed together to attend church and spent time in the evenings going for walks and talking about life. Still, Gram's words remained in my heart as I thanked the Lord for bringing me back to Him, so I made a call back to NH to Gram's daughter-in-law, Meredith, and left a voicemail asking her to tell Gram that I turned back to the Lord once and for all because of the verse she quoted to me.  Within a day or two, Meredith called me back and asked if I would become Gram's live-in caregiver. I accepted the offer, scraped together some air fare and came home.

The next five months with Gram was a peaceful time of healing as, in a tender role-reversal, I was able to return the motherly love she had shown me so many years ago when I was a child. This time, it was I who bathed, dressed, cooked and cleaned for her, and it was an honor to comb her hair in the morning, read to her in the evenings and kiss the top of her head after I tucked her in bed each night.   I listened as she told me, "We must get the word out to others about God's love - that's why we're here!", and I created a blog for her, amazed that being a housebound 97 year old widow did not dampen Gram's passion for reaching out to others with Christ's love!  Even on those wearying ‘homesick for heaven’ days, Gram always called out, “I’m so glad we have each other!” as I exited her room after devotions and prayer.

The morning of January 8, 2010 found Gram dancing in heaven. The night before, we had our usual devotional time and Gram’s last words here on earth were uttered in a prayer to her Heavenly Father.  The final verse in our devotional that night was Zephaniah 3:17: The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing. Gram no longer needed to be homesick for heaven.  Her final assignment of bringing a lost lamb back into the safety of the Shepherd’s fold was complete and she was home ‘for good’. 

By God's grace, I have been able to continue on with the pattern of quiet time and prayer that Gram and I used to share when we were together.  God has allowed me to remain living in my home and has provided every step of the way.  Truly, He has heard from heaven, forgiven my sin and healed my land! I understand now that the Christian walk has nothing to do with my frustrated attempts at being perfect, but about Christ's strength made perfect in my weakness!

As I look back on my life and the presence of God making all things work together for good, I hope you can see two themes throughout this story:

First, I was touched by the actions, words and verses spoken by others who put their own comfort on the line to speak truth into my life.  If you have an opportunity to lovingly point others to Christ, do it.  I struggle with my own hesitation when I sense God asking me to step up and speak up, as my own kids will attest, but I am getting more and more comfortable sharing verses and God's love with others as I go along. 

Second, we can't leave grace at the cross.  I was destined to fail by trusting God's grace to save me, but then telling Him, "I'll take it from here!"  As soon as we take that first step in our Christian walk in our own strength we will find ourselves miles away from Him, lost on a path we don't recognize.  My self-destruction didn't happen overnight - it was so gradual that by the time I realized the devastation around me, I didn't even recognize myself!  

If I had to choose a life verse, it would be John 15:5...Jesus states, “I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing."  I tried to live my Christian walk without staying connected to the Lord, and failed.  I was like an apple tree branch broken on the ground, using all my strength to produce an apple!  Even though my 'leaves' stayed green for a short time, my Christian life gradually became brittle and dead as long as I remained separated from the Life Giver.  The best part of my story is that Jesus forgave me, welcomed me home, and daily promises that I will bear much fruit as long as I abide in Him - in His strength, not my own!

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!

O what a foretaste of glory divine,

Heir of salvation, purchase of God

Born of His spirit, washed in His blood!

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior, all the day long,

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long!

This is my story...what's yours?

I'm Angry

Recently, my church has developed a young adult group.  My two sons actively participate and I already see the insight and teaching specific to their generation affecting our home in a positive way.  Too old for a teenage youth group and too young to feel confident integrating into the adult groups, these 'kids' have found a safe place to be themselves, taking turns leading the Bible study and allowing themselves to be vulnerable with their peers.

Last night, my oldest son Danny told me he shared something about me during the meeting and he was hoping I wouldn't be upset.  Mentally ticking through my many shortcomings, I braced myself for his revelation, though I decided long ago that transparency can be freeing.  We went to a private place in the house to talk, away from the rest of the kids who had come over after group as they often do.  Earlier, as they poured into the house, I was told that some of them took turns sharing their hearts while the rest of the group prayed over each one.

Now sitting together on the porch, Danny lowered his voice and expressed what was on his heart. "Mom, I told everyone tonight that I pray for you every day and I see you getting worse, not better.  I confessed that I'm angry with God because he's not answering my prayers.  It's like He's not even listening.  It makes me feel like it's pointless to keep praying. I hope you're not upset that I shared this with everyone." (Speaking of sharing, Danny gave me permission for me to write about our conversation).

What Danny didn't know was that I had come face-to-face with my own sense of  prayer-defeat just a few hours earlier.  After scrolling through my social networking site and sending up prayers for the many requests I had come across, I found myself wondering why God didn't appear to be answering even my simplest cries for help in areas that I thought should matter to Him, let alone my petitions for others.  Throughout my disease process, He has miraculously fed us each day, and I have had enough - just enough - to accomplish all I need to keep my household afloat, but I've grown weary of asking the Lord for healing, strength and specific provisions because the response so far has been complete silence. When help comes through others I feel secretly betrayed by God for putting me in the position of being a 'taker', when all I've ever wanted to be was a 'giver'.  I regularly give the Lord my tithes with the barely conscious expectation that He's somehow obligated to repay me with interest. When I realize this, I humbly ask that He realign my heart to give freely so others receive the blessing, however insignificant it might seem.  I find myself trying to find the 'formula' for getting my prayers answered whether it's in the form of giving, humility, thankfulness, forgiveness of others - the list goes on.  I wonder which of my sins are hindering my prayers, or is it lack of deliberate, sincere faith? I attempt to model my prayers after my foster parents, who sometimes included, "If Thou wilt, Thou canst" in their petitions. (Matthew 8:2) Trying to figure out how to 'make' God come through for myself and others has worn me out. 

Yesterday morning, I mechanically sent up my prayers as usual, wrapped in a vague sense of  pre-disappointment that God was not going to help, yet stoically proud of myself that I at least pray for others when I say I'm going to.  I also wondered, "What's the point?  God will do what He's going to do, no matter what I pray."  I need to add a disclaimer that I want to keep it real here in my blog, warts and all. This  is not my usual frame of mind, but I have to admit that I come to these introspective 'dead ends' sometimes in my journey with the Lord.

Well, the more I thought, the more discouraged I became.  Anger eventually replaced my self-pity as I mulled over my present helpless state.  Why wasn't God healing me or even hearing me?  Why did I have to face each day with the determination to just get through the next 24 hours with a smile on my face for my kids' sake?  I thought and thought and thought, trying to figure out God, chiding myself for my mental exhaustion and unbelief.

Suddenly, I remembered a sermon I heard over twenty years ago by Wendell Calder, a powerful New England evangelist who visited our little NH congregation from time to time. I'll never forget the freedom I felt when he simply said we can bring all of our thoughts and disappointments to God in prayer. With his broad, fatherly smile,Wendell added that we're not fooling God because knows what we're thinking anyway, and He's not going to reject us when we come to Him no matter how bad the subject matter is. 

With that reminder, I realized that I had been emotionally shutting myself up in a closet filled with deceiving thoughts of doubt.  I was facing it all alone, deflating my faith with anger and an even darker fear that maybe God didn't really care, after all. Even when I prayed, it was as if I threw scribbled wish lists at God from under the door of my closet as I nursed my deepest fears in seclusion.

In that moment, I figuratively threw open the door and sat down with my Father to express my disappointment, and even my anger to Him with honesty. Alone in the darkness, I guess I blamed God for a lot of things, but as I turned my secret thoughts into a sincere prayer, there was no blame - only humility and a realization that He really does listen to my heart. God loves me with a perfect love and answers with his best plan. What He asks for in return is my love. A love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things.  Is it too much to bear, believe, hope and endure all things if I love Him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength? Ah, but that's a subject for another post...

My Father replaced "What's the point?" with "Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much (James 5:16)"
-and-

"My situation is hopeless - does He love, does He even care?" with "Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us (Romans 5:5).

I rose from my time alone with God refreshed, peaceful, joyous.  He took my anger and replaced it with faith - real faith that I could trust who He is, no matter what I think He should do. When I was reminded of God's character, his unsearchable love and understanding of things I will never comprehend, I was able to let go, having a renewed confidence that He is willing and able to carry me - much like a toddler who free falls in the air knowing without reservation that his dad will catch him every time.

Sitting alone with Danny, I quickly reassured him that I wasn't upset.  More importantly, I confided that those same 'what's the point' thoughts had been racing through my heart just a few hours earlier.  I understood his anger, and so did God.  I encouraged him to turn those thoughts into a prayer because God knows what he's thinking anyway, and He will never reject anyone who comes to him with honesty.

Whew! What a day!  Lesson learned? When we surrender the ugly 'truth' of our emotions, they will be replaced with peace and confidence in the One who is the way, the truth and the life!

Our Father,
Thank You for welcoming us with tender care even when we present ourselves to You with doubts and anger.  Help us to realize that Your wisdom and timing is perfect and no amount of biblical formulas or 'holy manipulation' on our part will be able to force Your hand into giving us less than what Your heart desires for us, no matter how good we think it is.  May we cease striving and rest in complete confidence in the One who holds the Universe in the palm of His hand.  Help those who are discouraged to just pray through their defeat, and to keep on praying, no matter what.  Thank You that You are faithful, even when our faith falters.

In Jesus' Name...

Sample Chapter

Over the life of this blog, I have been encouraged often (especially by Janice Cartwright!!) to write more on my short story tribute for my foster father, Grampy, who was known to me as "Mister" during my earliest years.  I have finally committed over 40,000 words of an average length novel to paper, and am wrapping up the final 10 to 15 thousand words shortly.  I thought I might share a chapter here.  I have no idea whether this work will eventually be published, choosing to go the traditional route rather than self-publishing and self-marketing, but if not, plan B would be to eventually commit it to this blog, chapter by chapter.

I hope you enjoy this particular chapter from MISTER, Meme - I am sharing this sample here for you! :)

Christmas 1978

           “It’s so pretty!  Can I put on the ornaments?” I was admiring the tree that Grampy had set up in front of the big window in the living room.  He had just come up from the garage and was unrolling the lights with the big green and red bulbs.

            “Why don’t we do it together, Elizabeth?” Gram smiled at me as she rummaged through a large cardboard box of ornaments, pulling out a smaller container of silky blue and white balls with rusty hooks. The fine thread on a few of the old ornaments had previously snagged, showing the white styrofoam ball underneath.  Gram had many homemade ornaments from friends and foster children mixed in with a few ornate glass globes meticulously hand painted with winter scenes on them, along with jingle bells and a hodgepodge of other decorations.  I had seen trees in other homes that had themes, but Gram’s lovely tree was a potpourri of mismatched sentimental treasures. 

            “Tonight the church is going out Christmas caroling.  Be sure to bundle up.  It’s going to be very cold,” Gram said.

            Now in her late sixties, Gram always minded the cold and wore a kerchief on her head, even when we were in the car going a mile down the road to the store.  She often shielded her right ear from the wind because of her frequent earaches.  Gram and Grampy no longer went Christmas caroling, so I tagged along with the grandchildren if I was there during the holidays and joined in the fun.

            This Christmas meant more to me than in years past.  When I was nine, Dad had met a Jehovah’s Witness and grew very interested in that religion, taking me to Kingdom Hall and giving me one of their Bibles and some literature to read.  I had been surprised that Dad showed an interest in God again after such a long time.  When I was at The Home, Dad and Maum visited our little Baptist church a few times with all of us.  During one of their visits, someone in the very back of the church must have taken a photo of the congregation standing to sing because for a long time afterward, that photo was on the front cover of the Sunday weekly bulletin handed out for the morning service.  Even as a young child I found it strange to see that snapshot of my father worshipping in a church he only went to once or twice.

            When he converted to becoming a Jehovah’s Witness, he sat me down and told me that Jesus was hung on a tree, not a cross.  I wasn’t sure why that was so important to him, but he raised his voice when he talked about it.  He also told me that it was wrong to celebrate birthdays and Christmas, so we would no longer have a tree or gifts for either.  I blindly obeyed his instructions, but refused to believe that Grampy had been wrong all those years when I heard him preaching and teaching about Jesus.  As with everything else Dad decided for me, I just went along with whatever he said.  I had to and did not harbor any anger at my young age.  The anger would come later.

            Now Gram was scraping up some old tinsel from the bottom of the box to add the finishing touches to our tree.  I had to smile at the box of tinsel that remained unopened and probably had been for a few years as long as we could continue to reuse the salvaged tinsel from the year before.  Gram was thrifty and reused anything and everything as long as she could squeeze some more life out of it.  When a box of cereal was empty, she took the wax covered bag from inside the box and put prunes in it to keep them fresh in the refrigerator.  Apple and banana peels were saved as compost for the garden.  If there was a half of a baked potato left over from Sunday dinner, she would mash it up in a frying pan with a little butter to serve at the next meal.  Gram was a good cook, but often burned baked goods in the oven.  We always knew that if our brownies were sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar, it was a sure sign that they were scorched underneath.

            I began taking clumps of the wilted tinsel, impatiently throwing them over the branches of our tree.  While I enjoyed the nostalgia of hanging the ornaments, I always rushed through the slow, methodical work of separating each strand of icicles.  My personality quickly grew tired of any work that required precision - no matter what the task - and this trait spilled over into my schoolwork.  While I easily spent hours creatively writing for fun in my room, I agonized over the methodical thought required for difficult math problems.  Now in the fifth grade, I didn’t even try to learn percentages and decimals.  I sped through my math papers and tests, making up answers as I went along so I wouldn’t get in trouble for not doing an assignment.  When standardized testing came along, my English skills rated in the entry level college category, while math lagged a grade or two behind.  Discouraged, I agonized through anything that forced me to slow down and pay attention.

            “The tree won’t look very pretty with the icicles thrown at it,” Gram patiently walked behind me, separating each piece of tinsel as she went along.

            Feeling guilty for causing her extra work, I sighed and began helping her undo my careless decorating, not wanting her to be on her feet for a long time.  Gram had begun to wrap her ankles from time to time because she had developed boils that randomly appeared and caused her pain.  She never complained and had been to the doctor once about it, but there wasn’t much that could be done except to elevate her feet as often as possible throughout the day.  Gram wrapped her ankles before putting on her hose to go out, both to protect them and to hide the wounds.  Even at my height of five feet, two inches, she was much smaller than I, and I often felt protective of her as though she were a fragile porcelain doll that could break at any moment.

          As Grampy packed the smaller empty boxes into the largest to take back down to the garage, he stopped to admire the little tree. “We have much to be thankful for,” he said. “This is a time of year to reflect on Jesus coming to earth as a little baby. He was God in the flesh - imagine that! He had to learn how to walk and talk, just like the rest of us even though he created the trees that were fashioned into his own manger – and cross! ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.’”

            Whenever he quoted scripture, Grampy had a way of emphasizing points in just the right places to bring the Bible to life causing me to imagine Jesus, himself, supervising the many seasons of sunshine and rain from heaven that would nurture the trees which would eventually both cradle and crucify him after he came to earth.

            That evening, I stood in the back of our caroling group with some of the other church kids, admiring the bright lights that adorned the small ranch style home where one of our faithful elderly couples was smiling at us through the storm door.  My lungs felt alive with the tingling chill of the night air. Huddled close for warmth, we cheerfully sang a few songs from our spiral bound Christmas hymnals and finished with a robust rendition of “We wish you a Merry Christmas!” 

            When I was dropped off back at Gram and Grampy’s, I told Gram how the night sky was deep, making the stars seem to shine even brighter than usual as we sang, ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.’  I had been able to imagine the clear, still night that suddenly erupted with a host of fiery angels proclaiming the birth of the King as I climbed into my warm bed that night. 

           Gram and Grampy had always taught me the true meaning of Christmas since I could remember.  We never talked of Santa Claus, and I never felt like I was missing out.  I would gladly spend my holidays with the simple gifts under the tree and the story of Christ’s birth that came alive each year in their home.  I didn’t put out cookies and milk, or ran to the tree to see what Santa left me.  It really never crossed my mind because I was so happy to simply bask in the glow of our little family.

            The next morning, I arose to find Grampy in the kitchen, eating his Shredded Wheat and bananas, just as he did every morning for years.  Sometimes he added Raisin Bran and wheat germ to his bowl.  When he was finished, he took out the bottle of Cod Liver Oil from the fridge and swallowed down a tablespoon, depositing the spoon in the sink and washing it down with a swallow of orange juice.  Grampy had often extolled the virtues of a daily dose of Cod Liver Oil, stating that he couldn’t remember the last time he had ever had a cold.  I was content to let him have it – it smelled horrible!

            As poured out my own bowl of cereal, Grampy made his way into the living room where Gram was already sitting in her chair with her Bible in her lap.

            “Well, what do you know about that!” I could hear his booming voice from my chair in the kitchen. “Somebody littered paper all over our poor tree!  That wasn’t very nice of them, was it?”

            Knowing Grampy was teasing because of the feigned dismay in his voice, I bounded out of the chair and eagerly rushed to the living room to see what ‘happened' to the tree.  There were more than ten wrinkled bills randomly arranged on the boughs.  I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I knew this was going to be fun!

            “I suppose we need to clean up that tree,” Grampy continue to sound perplexed about the ‘mess’ in front of him. “Elizabeth, I suppose if you can name the presidents on each bill, you may have them!” He pretended that idea had just struck him, and pulled down the first bill. 

            “This is one dollar.  Which president is on the dollar bill?” His broad smile let me know the game had begun. 

             Gleefully, I collected the one and five dollar bills after rattling off George Washington and Abraham Lincoln with ease.  Grampy gave me a penny and quarter to match the presidents on the bills. 

             “This is a ten dollar bill.  Can you name the president?” He asked, showing me the president’s picture while hiding the name underneath.

             “No, I can’t,” I said sadly, searching the tree for anymore bills with George or Abe on the front.  I fanned out my two fives and six ones in my hand.  I had sixteen dollars.  It was more money than I usually had, but I knew if I could just get the ten dollar bill, I would be rich!

             “His name is Alexander Hamilton,” Grampy informed me, smiling.  “After we’re finished here, you may have this bill if you look him up in the encyclopedia and tell me what you learn about him.” 

Encouraged, I added the ten to my stack and excitedly exclaimed “Alexander Hamilton!” when Grampy showed me the next two bills from the tree. 

           “I guess we’re all done, now,” he said as he began to walk away.

           “No, no, Grampy, there are two more,” I cried.  “See them?”

            Grampy pretended he couldn’t find them until I impatiently took one of them down and pressed it into his hand.  It couldn’t be a $20, could it?  He showed me the picture of the president with a beautiful head of white hair on the front.

           “I don’t know that one, either, but I’ll even write you a paper on him if you tell me who he is,” I promised.

           “This one is Andrew Jackson,” Grampy said, satisfied that I already knew the ‘rules’ of the game.  He handed me not one, but two twenty dollar bills and finally, we had completely cleaned up the ‘mess’ on the branches.

           “Thank you, thank you, thank you so, so, so, SO much!” I hugged Grampy’s neck before running off to find the encyclopedia.

            Gram called me back into the living room to finish our little Christmas celebration.  Grampy read from Luke, chapter two, and I was able to unwrap the two gifts that had been placed under the tree when we first decorated it.  One gift was a book about Joy Sparton and her problem twin, and the other was a pretty blouse that I could wear with a skirt on Sundays.

            We always prayed after our morning Bible reading, but this time, Grampy took off his glasses and got down on the floor to kneel, hands clasped, resting on the seat of his chair in front of him.  I felt a special reverence come over me as I saw this great man of God kneeling before his king in an intimate position of humble worship.  As Grampy’s voice began, my soul was hushed and I somehow understood that this was a deeply intimate moment.  Grampy was a beloved public servant of God and people admired his scripture memory and wisdom.  His preaching, however deliciously long it might be, was powerful and blessed.  Publicly, he would stand in the congregation praying blessings over God’s people with his booming voice and Northern Maine accent.  Grampy even prayed scripture to God, verbalizing the Lord’s promises and admonitions throughout his conversation with the Lord.

         Now, here was this humble man, bowing low to his Lord and Master with thankfulness pouring from his soul.  Usually, I fidgeted and daydreamed while he and Gram went on and on in our morning prayers, but today was different and not just because it was Christmas morning.  For the first time, I sensed a small understanding of what it might mean to have a relationship with God.  My eyes were opened to the fact that God was a real person we could talk to, just as Grampy was talking to him as his king, father and friend.

        “We thank Thee and Praise Thee for all Thou Hast done, and will continue to do for us.  In the Lord Jesus’ name, Amen.”  Using the chair to help him up off his knees, Grampy rose to a standing position. 

Grampy assured me that he would take me to Ames in the next day or two so I could spend my Christmas money on one toy and some new clothes, then opened the door to his office to work on his ledgers for the bookstore.

        “Don’t you want me to tell you about Alexander Hamilton and Andrew Jackson now?” I asked him, eager to hold up my end of the bargain.

        “You can share that with me at lunch today,” he smiled, apparently pleased that I had remembered our deal, then stepped into the office and closed the door.

         As the day wore on, Grampy walked through the house as usual, with a purposeful stride belting out hymns, half-sung/ half-whistled to his own unique ad-libbed verbiage and melody.  I loved the music he and Gram made every day, whether it was Grampy suddenly sing-shouting the lyrics to Onward Christian Soldiers, making everyone in the house jump, or little Gram standing at the sink in the kitchen, sweetly whistling In the Garden.  More than once, I was a little embarrassed at church when I sang a hymn I thought I knew because Grampy had sung it so often at home.  Such was true of a hymn called Sound the Battle Cry.  Unbeknownst to me, his unique version began with the words of the hymn and ended with some lyrics from Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I loudly sang, in Grampy’s words, “Rouse then, soldiers, rally round the banner; Ready, steady, life is but a dream!”  The kids in the pew in front of me turned and giggled as I blushed.  “Good old Grampy,” I thought, too amused to let it bother me.

         Now on this comfortably lazy Christmas day, I took down the big black encyclopedias and asked Gram for a pen and paper.  I researched everything I could about each president and lunchtime came much too soon for me, so I didn’t bring my reports to the table just yet.  Grampy didn’t ask me for them at that time, so I figured he had forgotten.

        The day went on peacefully with the ticking of the electric baseboard heater keeping me company as I finished up my reports.  Finally, I taped a twenty dollar bill at the bottom of the Andrew Jackson paper, and did the same with Alexander Hamilton’s to show what the presidents looked like.  I folded the sheets in half and drew hearts and flowers all over the outside, finally writing SWAK boldly on the front. When suppertime arrived, I helped Gram set the table and put my pages next to Grampy’s plate.

        “Well, what is this?” he beamed. “I never heard the word SWAK before.  Did you misspell the word snack?” he teased.

         “It means sealed-with-a-kiss,” I explained, proud of myself for holding up my end of the deal.

Grampy read the reports and praised me for my thorough work.  He gently peeled off the money and put them in his billfold, not saying a word.  All through supper, I wondered whether he realized he was supposed to give them back to me, but neither of us said anything about it.     As Gram got up to cut the date squares Grampy liked for dessert, I offered to get the ice cream.  When I turned around, I saw that Andrew Jackson and Alexander Hamilton were reclining on the table next to my place setting, joined by Abe Lincoln and good old George Washington.
        The rest of the evening went casually by and peace enveloped us all.  I sucked on a candy cane while I read my new book, sleepily basking in the heat of the woodstove and the peaceful warmth of our little family of three.  Soon the excitement would build with the noise, love and laughter of the ‘kids and grandkids’ pouring into the house on New Year’s Day, which was always the highlight of the holidays for me. Tonight, though, my heart was a strange mixture of quiet contentment and exuberant joy, which was best expressed as a gentle, smiling sigh.

  

The Cure for the Common Baggage

It's been an interesting few weeks with some ups and a whole lot of downs for myself and some of my good friends.  Mostly, I sense some inner conflict in myself and others which can be a very positive sign of growth.  In my Bible reading today, I read about Saul, who was the first king of Israel that was chosen by God.  

Saul's Perspective:

It seems that Saul's life consisted of working for his dad until one day, a few donkeys wandered away from Kish's territory, so he sent Saul and one of his servants out to look for the donkeys.  They searched everywhere, but couldn't find them, so Saul told his servant that they'd better go home because his father would be more worried about him than the donkeys at this point.  His servant realized that Samuel the prophet was in the same town that they just happened to be in, and talked Saul into going to ask him about the donkeys.  So this was just a day in the life of Saul, and he just 'happened' to have a meeting with Samuel about a couple of donkeys. (1 Samuel 9:3-13)

Samuels Perspective:

Twenty four hours before Samuel met Saul, God told him that He would send him a man from the tribe of Benjamin to anoint as king of Israel. As soon as Samuel saw Saul coming to ask him about the donkeys, God told him that Saul was the one.  He asked Saul to eat with him and stay the night, and reassured him that the donkeys were OK, adding that Saul was now the owner of all the wealth of Israel, anyway. (1 Samuel 9:14-20)

The Secret:

After Saul was given the place of honor at Samuel's feast, they went to a roof top to talk privately.  In the morning, Samuel walked with Saul and anointed his head with olive oil, telling him that the Lord had appointed him the king of His people - all Israel!!  Wow, great things were going to happen.  Saul must have been on cloud nine, right?

Where it Gets Sticky:

Kish, Saul's dad, was a rich, influential man from the tribe of Benjamin.  Saul, himself, was the most handsome man in all of Israel, and was head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the land, according to 1Samuel 9:1,2.

When Samuel told Saul that he now owned all the wealth of Israel, Saul replied by telling him that he was from the little tribe of Benjamin and his family was the least important of all the families in his tribe.  He argued that Samuel must have the wrong man. (1 Samuel 9:21)  Was it the truth?  Well, part of it was - he was from the tribe of Benjamin, but his father was a very rich and influential man.  I don't know if it was fear or modesty causing Saul to step back from the prophet's pronouncement.  If it was fear, I can certainly relate!!

Saul received Samuel's words when he sent him on his way, and God's spirit was with Saul.  Everything Samuel had prophesied came true that day.  When he came home, he was a different man.  His uncle asked him where he had been.  Saul told him all about meeting Samuel and how Samuel told him the donkeys had been found, but he didn't tell his uncle that he had been anointed as king. (1 Samuel 10:9-16)  More fear?  Maybe.

Then Samuel gathered all the tribal leaders together to announce that God was giving them a king, and the tribe of Benjamin was chosen by a sacred lot.  Then he narrowed it down to Saul's family, and finally to Saul, himself. (1 Samuel 10:17 - 20) Saul's moment had come.  

I can imagine everyone but Samuel and Saul on the edge of their seat to find out who the Lord had chosen for their king.  As the sacred lot revealed more and more, Samuel could watch with patience and confidence- smiling, even- as the secret he already knew was becoming evident to all of Israel. For Saul, it might have been frightening and awe inspiring to see the sacred lots consistently pointing to him as the sovereign of Israel. Finally, it was clear that Saul would be the king! As soon as God's choice was ultimately revealed, all eyes were on Saul, or would have been if they could find him.

        So they asked the Lord, "Where is he? Is he here among us?"

        And the Lord replied,"He is hiding in the baggage." (1 Sam 10:22 TLB)  Definitely fear, here!

My Perspective:

So this whole passage really hit home to me.  As I wrote in a previous post, I am learning to just be faithful through whatever comes.  When I am at my lowest, I can still ask God to help me remain faithful to what I understand about His will and His purpose for my life.  Last week, I thought I had turned a real spiritual corner and was raring to get on with a more victorious life.  That's when the worst flu I have ever had hit me. I had a high fever, congestion and every cell of my body ached.  I spent 72 hours lying low, unable to sleep because of chills and aches, stacking the covers up on myself at night, only to rip them off one by one as the medicine lowered my fever.  Coughing produced a razor blade-like feeling in my lungs and throat. My esophagus hurt so much from the coughing that I kept taking antacids for the burning (they didn't help), and the pressure of my coughing fits actually burst blood vessels in my eyes.  I dragged myself to the sink in the kitchen on the third day and stared out the window, discouraged beyond tears and doubting my worth, which was an incredibly dark and empty place to find myself.  Where was the excitement and  peace I had experienced when I felt the Lord so close just a few days and weeks before and why, after I had just come to a place of personal victory had I been cut off at the knees?  

A Young Man's Perspective:

We drove toward the ocean, not knowing where we would end up.  His music was playing in the car and we were lost in pleasant conversation.  Twisting and winding on Route 1, we imagined life in the mansions that were sprawled out over immaculate lawns.  He spoke of his inner conflicts and the uncertainty of his future, weighing pros and cons of each potential choice.  In day to day conversation, I am able to be the most 'real' with him, speaking verses to him when appropriate and gently urging him to rely on the Lord for his answers.  He finally verbally expressed what so many of us feel in our Christian walk, but would never dream of exposing to others:  Why do I always get so close to the Lord and then just walk away, time after time, year after year? If I already know I'm going to fail, aren't I a hypocrite to once again draw close to God?  It never lasts! His teenage conclusion is that it would be better to lie low and plod along the way things are without attempting anything for the Lord anymore.  He doesn't trust himself to be faithful.

My Friend's Perspective:

She is a giving and loving person, who will go out of her way to share what she has with others, including reaching out to people she doesn't even know with the love of God.  She has been on fire for the Lord, finding Him more and more real and alive in her heart in the past few months. She wrote to me the other day, saying she was discouraged, fearful, empty and couldn't sense that the Lord with her at all.  

Are We All Really That Fickle?

Are we alone in this - I mean, really?  Sure, some Christians might want to tsk-tsk us and satisfy their own sense of maturity, but I think this pattern is all too familiar for many of us.  If we verbally admit to these ups and downs, we risk feeling like the only one in the room with 'problems'.  I think most of us spend a whole lot of time pretending.  Yes, there is that underlying peace and confidence that God is our Father - for true Christians that truth will never really be shaken. If there are fleeting thoughts of doubt, God always brings us back to His promises, but there are empty, black moments that creep up on all of us out of the blue, leaving us feeling non-committal, ugly and bleak.  It's that fickle feeling in my own heart that makes me think  I'm unfit for God's purposes and plan for my life. This is where the enemy befriends me, agreeing with me that I will never follow through and warning that God sees right through me.  Oh, and it's not just my relationship with God - it's the failed promises I've made to myself, others and the Lord that keep me from moving forward.  Pretty soon, I'm convinced like so many others that it might be better to stop trying because I already know I won't follow through. 

Hiding in the Baggage:

How in the world did the three of us find ourselves hiding in the baggage after God showed so clearly that He was with us and has an amazing path laid out for us to walk with Him?  Fear certainly has it's own ugly part in the process.  I don't think it's the fear that God will let us down.  I think it's more the sick feeling that we will let Him down. This is the contents of our baggage - our own disappointment and mistrust of ourselves.  It trips us up and not only blocks other people's view of God's work in our lives, it blocks our view of the Lord's plan.  When we look for shelter in the baggage, it alters our perspective until the baggage is all we can see.

The Rest of the Story

Well, of course, God knew where Saul was.  He told the tribal leaders and they went and brought him out.  I love that they just dragged him out of hiding and then shouted, "Long live the king!", as though it was the most normal thing to have your fearless leader and king hiding among the 'stuff' (KJV).  I want to be the kind of friend that grabs a loved one from their baggage and helps them march on to their potential, right as rain, as though they weren't just flat on their face.  Saul went on to be a mighty warrior and king and led the Israelites into many victories.  In the end, though, he relied on his own wisdom over God's and his reign ended tragically.  Saul's is a human story.

It's normal to be human.  God knows we are weak.  I am learning that there are two ingredients in the recipe for success in my own Christian walk.  If I cling to those two things, I can look at my past successes, through my failures and all the way into eternity, knowing that God is sufficient for my life.  The first ingredient is faith.  Without faith it is impossible to please God (Heb 11:6).  Faith in Jesus' sacrifice and His promises will get me through anything - and I mean anything - that I will ever have to face in this life.  Faith will lead me into eternity.  Faith in a trustworthy God leads to faithfulness in me.  The second ingredient is grace. It's a given - I will falter, and God's grace will absolve me from all my guilt and self-recrimination, allowing me to put the past in the past, even if the past was just yesterday.  When I fail, grace covers my failures and removes all the baggage that goes along with it.  I only need to trust in God's amazing grace as I did when grace made me right with my Heavenly Father in the first place!

Ephesians 2:8 For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.

Faith and Grace: The cure for the common baggage!

Dear Heavenly Father,

You know we all hurt sometimes.  Thank You for reaching down to us when we are scattered, fearful and empty.  Please remind us during our down times that we don't need to beat ourselves up for failing you again and again, because your word says "Faithful is He who has called you, who also will do it" (1 Thess 5:24).  Help us to simply be willing to let you work in us and through us, focusing only on You and Your faithfulness and grace.   When You lead us to our friends who are bogged down and hiding among their own stuff, give us courage and compassion to help them get back on their feet without being harsh or judgemental.  Thank You for your patience and love!  In Jesus' name...

Thirty Years of Monday

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, buy and sell, and make a profit”; whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away. James 4: 13-14 

I have heard some very good sermons surrounding this passage in the book of James.  The general theme has been instruction to replace our own self-reliance with trust and confidence in the Lord’s perfect plan and will for our future.  This leaves no room for boasting, only trusting in our Heavenly Father for His provision each day, even the provision of life and breath.

Today, these verses were brought to mind as I realized I’d already wasted half my day following my emotions, resulting in a lack of discipline in all areas across the board.  By nature, I’m a pretty free spirit, feeling confined with daily lists, menus and responsibilities.  There’s a place for spontaneity, but when I allow feelings to dictate each day, not much is accomplished and the lack of organization leaves me feeling overwhelmed and more dissatisfied than I would have ever been by sticking to a daily plan! By allowing my emotions to guide my time, ultimately it’s my emotions that pay the price. This is when I usually make elaborate plans to begin a new diet, create amazing monthly menus, plan a budget and come up with a personal chore chart – all to begin on ‘Monday’.

Monday seems to be the magic day – the day when all things become new.  It’s a new week with untold possibilities.  My sister told me once that she has all the resolve to stick to a future healthy diet when she’s eating ice cream.  It’s when the ice cream is gone that the idea of healthy eating becomes difficult.  That’s how my Monday daydreaming goes.  I will fantasize of becoming Wonder Woman on Monday with all the resolve and ambition I now lack on Tuesday.  That gives me five days to prepare.  The only problem is that I’ve been preparing for Monday (for the most part) for thirty years.  When Monday comes and I don’t measure up to my own ideas of success, I set my sights on the next Monday to make real, positive change. Another big day is the first day of each month – the best big day is New Years Day, and the pattern is repeated day after day, week after week, month after month – well, you can see where this is going.

Now, I’d like to say that my life is not necessarily the huge flop I’ve just reported, but there is truth in what I wrote.  I write because I believe I am not the only one who encounters this, and other struggles.  I put my thoughts into words in the hope that I can bless others with some of the humbling lessons I learn along the way.

So there I was this afternoon, realizing my day was half over without much to show for it.  Figuring today was now a complete wash, I began mentally planning out my day tomorrow with all the resolve in the world to accomplish something better.  Laying off the Pop Tarts at 7 a.m. would be a good start.  You see, ‘Tomorrow’ is almost as good as ‘Monday’.  Almost.  Then I remembered James 4:14 - whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow – and I dropped to my knees in my bedroom to have an honest talk with my Father. 

It began as a prayer to just make things right with Him, acknowledging that I wasn’t using my time in ways that were honoring to Him, and resolving to make tomorrow count, but then another verse was brought to my remembrance.  I must work the works of Him who sent Me while it is day; the night is coming when no one can work. John 9:4

This day wasn’t over yet, even if half of it had blown away with the warm summer breeze!  I understood then and there that I couldn’t keep relying on Tomorrow or Monday or Next Month to become all God wanted me to be.  If I blew it this morning, I could confess and give the rest of the day to the Lord.  If I didn’t get in the groove by suppertime, I could go back to the Lord and offer him all of me until bedtime!  I didn’t have to believe the lie that a few ‘bad’ hours in the morning would ruin me for the rest of the day.  I also didn’t have to buy into the promise of Tomorrow anymore.  Tomorrow may or may not come, but it holds no more power to conform me into the image of Christ than today does.  If I miss my opportunity today, I’ve already made tomorrow that much more difficult.

How encouraging that we can make a brand new start any time of day by kneeling and bringing our failures to the Lord and asking for His strength as we rise up to go on with Him, moment by moment!

Moment By Moment  Lyrics by Daniel Webster Whittle (1870 – 1901)

Dying with Jesus, by death reckoned mine;
Living with Jesus a new life divine;
Looking to Jesus till glory doth shine,
Moment by moment, O Lord, I am Thine.

Moment by moment I’m kept in His love,
Moment by moment I’ve life from above;
Looking to Jesus till glory doth shine;
Moment by moment, O Lord, I am Thine.

Annie's Testimony

I was going through old papers and photos today and came across the written testimony of Annie,one of my foster sisters from the Boylston Home.  I always looked up to her and admired her, so it was a very difficult day in May 2010 when I stood up in the crowded Tabernacle at Rumney Bible Conference to say a few words about her life as she and her husband, Dave, requested just about a week prior.  Annie had lost her battle with Pancreatic Cancer, but remained true to her Lord to the end.

Annie, Mary and myself in 2009 (Boylston Home Sisters)

Yesterday,  I asked Dave if I could share portions of my tribute and Annie's written testimony that she shared with a group of women when she was going through her cancer journey.  It is my prayer that those who read Annie's story will realize that the same Lord who was able to take a broken little girl and grow her into a faithful missionary, pastor's wife, counselor, mother and friend, is the same Lord who's power to heal is available to everyone who trusts in Him:

"Annie was, and still is a child of God.  She placed her faith in Him on December 11, 1966 at the age of twelve years old and began a life of service to Him from that point on.  The Annie we all know and loved became a vivacious, yet peaceful woman who gave her all to the ministries God called her to.

In her adolescent years, Annie brought joy and laughter to our beloved Boylston Home for Girls in Manchester.  Many of us sisters remained close to her and each other long after we had all left The Home.

Annie and Dave came back to Boylston Home in recent years to serve as Director and houseparents, and she would show me the catalogs of her dream home - the beautiful log house she and Dave would be able to build here on the grounds of Rumney Bible Conference, where they have lived for the past four years.

As I said before, the Annie we all knew and loved gave her all to serve her Lord and Savior. To see her joy, courage and strength, no one would have been able to guess the daunting hurdles Annie faced throughout her life, with each trial bringing her closer to the only One who could see her through the 'dark days', as she referred to them.  Annie endured terrible tragedy and hardship as a child.

It was Annie's desire to share the difficult parts of her life with others - not for pity, or her own glory but to point others to Jesus, who was with her and sustained her throughout these dark times and brought her into the light of His love.  Annie was an overcomer.  James 1:12 says, "Blessed is the man that endures temptation (or adversity) for when he is tried, he will receive the crown of life, which the Lord has promised to them that love Him."  Annie was an example to us all in her determination to bring all of her hurts and and uncertainties to the Lord.  No matter how deep or how steep the path, she traveled it bravely knowing her Lord walked with her, holding her hand.  Even as she looked forward to heaven, she talked of the sadness she had of leaving her loved ones behind and learned to trust that the Lord would continue to care for each one."

Annie's testimony was one of encouragement. The following is her testimony written in her own words as she spoke with a group of women:

Out of the Darkness and Into the Light - Annie Gable

I was born May 22, 1954, and became the fourth child in my family.  At the time, my mother was a single mom trying to raise three youngsters on her own.  It would become apparent very quickly that I, as a new baby, would prove to make life more difficult for the family because of some serious medical issues in the first few months of my life.  I had to be hospitalized several times and on one occasion, it was thought that I might be blind and deaf.  This was later disproved, but I continued to remain frail.  As time progressed, I got healthier and began to eat better, but still had some problems with my neck which doctors thought was due to either bone or tissue missing from the right side of my neck.  I had to sleep with a book under my neck for support.

In March of 1956, life was proving to be far too difficult for my young mother of four, and after complaints had been made to the state of NH regarding how we were being cared for, all of us children were taken away and placed into foster homes.  From March of 1956 to 1958, I was placed in eight different foster homes.  Finally, in 1958, I was placed in a foster home where I would remain for the next eight years.

I bring a suitcase with me this evening as I share my heart and my life with you.  This suitcase does not contain clothes, but rather baggage, and as I share my story with you we will attempt to empty out all the baggage.  My reason for sharing my story is not for pity, but to bring honor and glory to my Lord and Savior, for without his watchful care, I would not even be here today to share these things with you.

It was rather dismal as I recall the events of 'that day'.  I was four years old and was being helped out of the car by a seemingly nice lady.  We were in front of a house that was not at all familiar to me, and I couldn't understand why we were here, with a suitcase in the back seat.  I reluctantly took the hand of the nice lady as she helped me out of the car and we headed toward the front steps of the house.  She knocked on the door and footsteps could be heard coming toward us.  Who was on the other side of the door?  The question began eight long years of finding out exactly who was behind that door.

It is difficult to put events in any certain sequence because it seemed as though once the abuse began, it was an almost daily occurrence.  When I speak of abuse, I am referring to almost a concentration camp type of environment.  The abuse consisted of many forms, such as beatings, hard labor, sexual and certainly emotional abuse.  I have asked myself if maybe I deserved the punishments because I must have been such a bad child.  I was a normal healthy child who went through all the stages one goes through from age four to twelve.  I have come to realize that no one deserves the forms of punishment I received in those eight years.  I did do some things I probably shouldn't have, but many of those things I was driven to do by circumstances.  Overall, I was not a naughty child.

They established in my mind very early on that I was a liar and a thief.  It did not take long for me to learn what survival mode was all about and I would admit to doing things I really hadn't done because I knew the punishments would be even more severe if I didn't tell them what they wanted to hear.

In the next few minutes I will share some of the details of my life during those years so that you will be able to rejoice with me for what the Lord, and one's own determination can bring you through.

One reason I entitle my testimony "Out of the Darkness and Into the Light" is because I was often locked in a closet all night and sometimes for days at a time.  When I would wake up, it would take several minutes for my eyes to adjust until I was able to find which small wall was the door that would eventually be opened.  I longed for the time to pass so I could see the light of day and the sunshine.  The fear I lived with for those eight years was incredible.

I was not allowed to use the family bathroom, and I had my own outhouse in the back yard.  This was another place they would lock me when they needed to go away and did not want to take me along.  There were times I was locked in there for a couple of days at a time and was given nothing but bread and water.  You may think, well at least I had water, but the water had a large amount of salt in it.  I was thankful for it just the same as it was all I had.

While I lived there, I was made to work in the big fields they had, as this was a farm.  I raked hay with a rake that was bigger than I was.  They provided me with water to drink, this time in a ketchup bottle that had not been rinsed out.  I am not much of a water drinker or ketchup eater to this day!  Some other bizarre things I was made to ingest were a meal of napkins soaked in vinegar.  This happened many times and I was made to drink full glasses of vinegar at a time.  I do not care for vinegar, now, either.  I had to drink ammonia, aftershave, and even my own urine, along with many other things during those eight years.

The foster family had two children of their own - a son and a daughter.  They took in two other children while I was there and those children were never treated like I was.  There is an old saying about being the black sheep of the family, and I was definitely considered that in this family.  I will never comprehend why I was singled out to receive such severe punishments, but I would have never wished that abuse on any of those other children.

As I shared early on in my testimony, I was accused of being a liar and a thief.  Their son would take things from his sister's room and plant them in mine, so when they came up missing, they automatically assumed I had taken them and searched my room where they would find what the son had hidden.  How was I to deny that I had taken them?  This began my really lying to protect myself from even more awful punishment.  Again, it was a way to survive.  I would be locked either in my room or the closet after these types of incidents.

Winter for a child should be filled with happy memories of sledding and making snowmen, but for me, my memories were much different and certainly not fun.  On several occasions, I was put in the bathtub and they would bring in buckets of snow and fill it up with me in there.  I had to lay there until the snow would melt.  I was also made to stand out back facing the garage in my bare feet and my feet would freeze to the ground.  There were many very humiliating times in my life with these people.

Growing up in this home I received all kinds of beatings to all places on my body, with all manner of objects. They used belts, sticks with nails in them, a garden hose and many other things.  I can remember vividly, one beating that would impact the rest of my life in a very profound way.  I had been locked in the closet and had apparently done something they were not happy with, so they grabbed the closest thing to them which happened to be a mug and hit me several times, hard over the head. I remember lying in a pool of blood on the floor and them just standing there looking at me.  They went and got salt and poured it into the wound.

As a child, I thought there had to be a better way.  As a result of that particular beating and maybe others as well that involved my head, and I had a grand mal seizure at the age of eighteen. To this day, I go to my cupboard every day, twice a day, to take medication for this and will have to for the rest of my life.  I am thankful that it does stay controlled for the most part and I can live a normal life.

Eight years is a long time to pretend to your social worker that everything is fine.  But that is exactly what I did, and when they came to visit me, everything on the surface appeared to be fine.  I was told over and over again that I'd better never say anything or I would pay severe consequences once they left.  I believed that so I kept silent for those eight years.

One day, I guess I had just had enough, so I got very brave and decided I wanted to get out of this situation and felt I was the only one who could make it happen.  Many times I literally feared for my life.  Their son had a secret that was never mentioned by me, but whenever he could, he sexually abused me.  So it was not just the beatings I wanted to get away from, it was also him.

So one day I was out by my outhouse washing my hands with a hose, and I looked around at all the fields and woods around me and decided I was going to run away.  I truly felt like I was escaping as I frolicked through the woods all day.  As the day wore on, however, I began to get very weary and decided I needed to find something to eat.  As a child, you don't think of all those important things ahead of time.  I had made it out to a road that I recognized and knew that my school bus stopped at a house right near there each day.  I felt confident that because these people knew me, they would give me something to eat, so I proceeded to go to the house and knocked on the door and asked if I could have something to eat and drink.  They were very friendly and they made me an egg, which they put ketchup on but I ate it anyway because I was so hungry.  After a bit, I heard them on the phone in the other room and I knew right then I had made a mistake!  I ran out of the house looking for a place to hide. It was getting dark now so I knew I needed to find a good hiding place as it would be a long night.  On their property was a huge garage where they kept a big piece of machinery.  I went to the back and decided this would be a great place to hide and settle for the night.  Little did I realize that my boots were dangling in plain sight.  When the people came looking for me, they shone a light right into the garage and they could see my feet hanging down from where I was sitting.  I had been caught!  Talk about fear!  I was warned I'd better never pull a stunt like that again.  When we arrived home I received a punishment that, as usual, did not fit what I had done wrong.  As odd as it sounds, in spite of all the terrible things these people did to me, I still loved them because they were all I had.

This family had told me many times that they were going to get rid of me because I was so bad.  I was told probably daily how awful a child I was.  Obviously, this is not how you build a child's self esteem.  Finally, after eight years of physical and emotional torture, they followed through with their threat to get rid of me.  I was sent to a very expensive camp for the summer which I had been at before and had a wonderful time.  They told me I would not be returning after camp was over and I don't think I really believed it at the time, because they had told me this so many times in the past and had never followed through.  When camp ended, I had no home to go to.  I will never forget the strong feeling of loneliness and not belonging anywhere or to anyone, that overwhelmed me that day.  I watched as the last camper drove away with their family.  I was all alone in the world and didn't think anyone could ever love me.

The welfare was working on a place for me to go ,but I remained in the infirmary with the nurse for about a week after camp was over.  Finally, an older couple was found who were willing to let me come live in their home.  I remember them coming to pick me up at the camp and they seemed like such nice people.  Try to get a picture of what comes next!  It is a sight I will never forget.  We arrived at their home and they took me upstairs to show me my new room.  I am sure my mouth must have dropped wide open  There before me was my very own canopy bed with a beautiful ruffled bedspread.  The most amazing thing was that I had my own bathroom and it was indoors!  I just didn't know how to act with the freedom and kindness that was shown to me after being held like a prisoner for so long.  I only lasted there for a couple of months and will always be grateful to these people for all they did to me.

Once again I was in need of a place to live.  A social worker came and told me she had found a girls' home in Manchester, NH that would be willing to take me.  When I arrived, I was the thirteenth girl living there.  It certainly was a full house!  Here I found love and acceptance, but it would take me five long years to ever share all that I had lived through in that foster home for eight years.

The best thing that happened to me was finding Jesus as my Savior on December 11, 1966.  This was a Christian girls' home so I had a solid foundation to begin my new life with the Lord.  The foster home I had lived in for eight years had been a Jehovah Witness home.  I was so thankful I had found Truth and the best kind of love I would ever find in my lifetime.  After eight years of spiritual and literal darkness, I was taken out of the darkness and into the light.  All the glory goes to my Lord because without HIM, I am nothing and would not have been able to choose not to remain a victim.

Well, this brings us to today and all that is going on in my life now.  I feel like what I just shared was the first huge journey I was asked to walk and now God has asked me to walk another difficult journey.  As most of you know, on December 16, 2008 I was diagnosed with stage 3 pancreas cancer.  It was a shock, to say the least, but God is still God today just was He was when I had to go through all I did as a child.

In 1Corinthians 10:13 it says, "No temptation has overtaken you, but such as is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, that you may be able to endure it."  I like to call this "Father filtered concept".  He is not going to let anything touch my life without HIS permission.

As you have walked this journey with me, you know that I have had the amazing privilege of experiencing the 'peace that truly passes all understanding'.  I believe with all my heart that God was preparing me way back when I was walking the journey as a child to face THIS journey with the courage and stamina HE had already given me as I went through all of that.  So now I hope you can see first hand that God is who HE says He is and HE does not leave us or forsake us.

I don't know what the outcome of this journey will be, other than the fact that eventually, I will be with Him in Glory.  My sadness on this journey surrounds those in my life who I love so much and will have to leave behind if that's what He chooses, but if that is HIS will for my life, HE is teaching me to trust Him to care for each of those I will leave behind.

I encourage each of you to live each day as though it is your last, because we just do not know what will come into our lives.  Love like you have never loved before and ask yourself what the really important things are in life that will truly count for eternity.  It is a privilege to share with you and I trust that even in a dark story you will find encouragement.  This is the day!! Rejoice and be glad in it!!

***This is the end of Annie's testimony, as written in her own words.  May it bless and convict us all to focus on the important things in life that matter for all eternity.  We love and miss you, Annie!***