Every year for many years, my family and some family friends took a weekend vacation at a Holiday Inn. We rented poolside rooms, went out to eat, and saw movies. It was a real treat that we looked forward to every winter.
My freshman year of high school, we drove about an hour away to a different Holiday Inn only to discover that they hadn't given us poolside rooms. The parents got reservations at a different Holiday Inn near where our friends lived, so we got back on the road.
Our friends wanted to stop and get something from home, so we waited for them out in the car. As I waited, I thought, "I don't want to go." I questioned myself on this reaction because I absolutely loved these weekends with our friends. No matter how rational I tried to be, I couldn't shake the feeling. I even considered telling everyone that I didn't want to go, but I knew they would think I was crazy. I figured I was.
We checked into the hotel, played some mini golf, and went out for a yummy pizza dinner. I went out to the parking lot of the restaurant and lifted up the door handle of our Volare. It was the only brand new car my parents had ever purchased. Without thinking much about it, I let the door handle go and I got into the car with my friends. This was very atypical behavior for me. I wasn't one to decide to ride with another family on a whim. Our friends' son climbed into the back seat of our car since I was taking his spot.
We made the drive through a residential area on our way back to the hotel that night. My family was in front of our friends' car. I saw a car speeding and swerving wildly up ahead of us. I watched as though seeing a movie in which I thought for sure the out-of-control car was going to miss my family. At the last second, the car careened into the front of my family's vehicle sending it into a 360 spin.
The next hours were horrific. My dad stumbled out of the vehicle with blood pouring down his face. The drunk and high driver put his head through the windshield of his car, but came over to my mother who was wedged under the dash, and tried to pull her out of the vehicle. Our friend, and the driver of the car I was in, was a police officer and immediately put a stop to that. My mother's arm was shattered and it took more than a year of surgeries and treatment for her to recover. She was never able to return to her previous position as a service technician for Sears. My brother came out of car with the knee of his pants soaked in blood. He and my dad were treated at the hospital and released. I never saw our friend's son, but learned that he had pushed the car's headrest (that we'd never been able to budge) up into the air with his mouth. He required a lot of dental work as a result of the accident. My baby brother, fortunately, wasn't with us.
After the initial shock wore off, I wondered at my initial reaction to our trip and at my decision to ride with my friends. Had God been trying to protect us? Why wasn't I in that car? Even though our family, friends, and especially my mother suffered much as the result of the accident, we were also protected. No one lost their lives. It could have been much, much worse.
Since the accident, I have learned to listen more closely to God's warnings. I have also learned that even when I forge ahead anyway, I am still under His protection. As much pain as I've experienced in life, without Christ, it could have been much, much worse.
But as for me, afflicted and in pain— may your salvation, God, protect me. (Psalm 69:29)
I returned to my hometown junior high school after a five year absence. There were just over fifty students in my class, so it was easy to get to know everyone again. What was hard was understanding why the girls in particular treated one another so poorly. Like some kind of crazy lottery, a girl was chosen without much rhyme or reason to be "dropped."
Dropping meant that none of the girls would speak to you. You were shunned. Completely. Anyone (including boys) who dared to associate with the dropped girl would also be shunned. The dropped girl ate alone. She walked back to school from having lunch in the cafeteria, followed by a group of girls who mocked and ridiculed her. I watched as girls subjected to this treatment completely fell apart. Then as quickly as the girl had been dropped, she was restored.
It wasn't long after I arrived at school before I took my turn. It's no wonder. I was the "new girl." I wasn't shocked that I had been dropped. But I was devastated by how long I was the favorite social outcast.
I had an okay time of it outside of school. I had a friend I spent time with. But school itself was unbearable. As a psychologist, I have asked myself why my dropping went on so long. I think one reason was that I never buckled. Unlike some other girls who sobbed, begging for it to stop, I never let anyone see me cry. I won't say how long the ordeal lasted so I don't exaggerate. All I know is that it was an eternity for a junior high girl.
I had often prayed and cried out to God for help. Then one night I had a dream that it was over. When I woke up I knew that this was God's answer. The end of this lonely road was in sight. I felt compelled to write a letter of submission to the girl who seemed to be the dropping ringleader. I heard her reading it out loud to some of the other girls. She was clearly shocked. My status was restored within days of my dream.
In high school, the practice of dropping ended. I went on to become vice president of my class and was on the homecoming court. Since graduating from high school, the dropping ring leader seems to be the last person you'd ever expect to be a "mean girl."
In junior high, I felt completely alone, but I wasn't. God was with me and is with me still.
Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)
This is one of my all-time favorite pictures of my dad and me. I look like I'm about two and he has that same patient, teaching look he always had with me.
My father's family was twice the size of mine, but unfortunately wasn't twice the fun. His father was an abusive alcoholic. Dad was sent to live with and work for an abusive uncle at the age of four. He quit school after the eighth grade to help support his family. At eighteen he was drafted and was sent to the German front lines in World War II. While there, his life was in constant jeopardy and he watched many of his friends die.
Dad came home to discover that his father had drunk up all the money he had sent home from the service. He eventually married twice and was left twice. When he married my mother and became a father to me in his early forties, he was ecstatic. I can't tell you that he was a perfect father. Years of trauma and mistreatment took its toll on my dad emotionally. But I can tell you that he wasn't an alcoholic, nor was he ever abusive to me. He told me he loved me and was proud of me all the time. He constantly made me laugh. He was one of the most humble men I've ever known. He taught me how to fish, fast pitch softball, and basic carpentry skills. He loved beating me in cribbage. When I was on my own, he bailed me out of several financial jams I got myself into and wrote me precious letters. In one letter he wrote, "I've been thinking of you all week, so I thought I'd better write."
My dad's parenting is a testimony of God's faithfulness in my life. He was the father I wish he had had.
And he shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elias, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children… (Luke 1:17)
Pictured from left to right: my grandmother, (help on who this is, Mom!), me, my grandfather, my mother, and my father
This photo was taken during my baby blessing (or dedication) and you might think that I am going to discuss how God began a lifetime of blessing me on this day. While that is most certainly true, that isn't the story behind this picture.
The real story began many years before I was born. My grandparents had three daughters and one son. My grandma encouraged me to space my babies five years apart like she did so that the older children would be in school when the baby arrived. I didn't exactly follow that advice! I would have been 53 when the last one was born and I didn't exactly send them to school (we homeschool if you're new to this blog).
My mom will have to help me edit this post because I am not sure if she was born when the accident occured or not. My grandparents' two older daughters (10 and 5) went sledding one winter day in Iowa. Their sled struck a parked car at the end of their ride and their five-year-old daughter sustained a fatal head injury as a result. My grandmother, who eventually lost her husband of almost fifty years, said that nothing was harder than losing a child. I can't imagine the pain of it.
My mother told me that prior to this tragic accident, her father was not a Christian. It's been said that trials will either drive us away from God or toward Him. In my grandfather's case, he wanted to be sure that he would see his beloved daughter again in heaven. He became a believer and eventually an elder in his church. If my grandfather had not come to faith, I wonder if I would have? Only God can work good from such terrible circumstances.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
Several years ago, I was inspired by these verses to create a scrapbook of God’s faithfulness to me that I’m calling my Joshua Journal:
5 and said to them, “Go over before the ark of the LORD your God into the middle of the Jordan. Each of you is to take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, 6 to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ 7 tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the LORD. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.” (Joshua 4)
I recently took stock of the huge number of scrapbooking projects I want to complete and reluctantly admitted that I will never be able to complete them all. So I asked myself which projects I would really regret not completing in my lifetime and this particular one was number two (my youngest’s baby book is #1! I just have to do the journaling :-). I want to have an 8×8 digital photobook that I can give to each of my children that is like the pile of stones in Joshua, testifying to the amazing things the Lord has done for me. I dream that they will read it to my grandchildren and maybe my great-grandchildren, too. I also want to have a copy in my purse that I can use in sharing with people I meet the reason for the hope that I have.
I realized that if I blog each story, I can not only share these testaments of God’s faithfulness with all of you, but it will motivate me to finish the book! If a particular story is meaningful to you or if I fall off the wagon and quit posting them before I announce that volume 1 is complete, will you please comment? Thank you so much! I would love it if I inspire you to do the same. Please link up to your own stories!
If you're struggling to get things done or to make significant changes in your life, it pays to consider whether you're at war with your inner rebel. Are you:
Giving your rebel too many rules? Are any of the rules extreme, seemingly stupid, or put in place to please others?
Asking your rebel to do something far too easy for her? Have you neglected to give her a big challenge, preferably with some competition thrown in?
Neglecting to give your rebel the opportunity to be unique or to lead others in the process of change? Are you inadvertently encouraging her to follow the sheep?
Disrespecting your rebel by putting her down? Are you asking her to follow the advice of someone who's a hypocrite or has few credentials (even if that's you)?
Heaping on the guilt, in an effort to motivate your rebel, for tasks that aren't vital to sustaining important relationships?
The truth is, however, that even after addressing all of these potential rebel stumbling blocks, you still may not have the change you want. I've been there! In those situations, it's time for a Super Power solution.
One of my favorite changed rebel stories is that of George Mueller. More than a rebel, he was a conniving thief! He attended a prayer meeting with a friend with the intention of making fun of it later at the bar. But hearing the Word of God brought him up short. He continued to attend those meetings until he felt compelled to submit his life to Jesus Christ. George's life changed radically. But one thing didn't change; George was still very strong-willed. He ended up becoming an example of what radical faith can do.
In the same way, your inner rebel is likely to keep her strong will. God can use that strength to do great things. But perhaps like George, you need to hear the Word of God and you need to bow the knee to Jesus Christ and His purposes for your life. That's my prayer for you.
Who is wise? Let them realize these things. Who is discerning? Let them understand. The ways of the LORD are right; the righteous walk in them, but the rebellious stumble in them.
I’m a Christian psychologist turned homeschooling mother of six. My life can be a little crazy, so I look for sanity-saving ideas to use and share. I hope you’ll read my About page to learn more.
