My dad changed dramatically when he retired. He had worked his entire life and he was truly happy when his time was his own. He quit smoking after five decades and spent lots of time fishing and spoiling my youngest brother. It was heartbreaking, when it seemed my dad had a new lease on life, to learn that he had COPD. He eventually required full-time oxygen.
I had a hard time watching my father, who had never been afraid of anything, have panic attacks when he couldn't breathe. Traveling and any activities that required him to walk became nearly impossible. At one point, he developed pancreatitis and was given a 50/50 chance of making it. He survived, but I had been warned. My dad was mortal.
Warning or no, I wasn't prepared the evening I got my mother's phone call telling me that my dad was near death once again. I cried and cried and kept saying, "I'm not ready. I'm just not ready." I had recently developed a habit of asking God to communicate with me through His Word. I begged God to let my father live. I loved him so much and I wasn't even sure of his salvation. I opened the Bible randomly and read from Isaiah 38:16, 18
You restored me to health and let me live. For the grave cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise; those who go down to the pit cannot hope for your faithfulness.
I was absolutely convinced that the Lord had heard my prayer and was giving my dad more time. I wasn't disappointed. My dad recovered. He had to move to a nursing home to get the care that he needed, but he never complained. He seemed to enjoy teasing the nurses and staff. I used the extra time with my dad to write him a letter explaining the Gospel and expressing my hope that he had received Christ as his Savior.
During a visit following my letter, my dad said, "Let's talk about what you wrote." He told me that he believed in God and had been baptized in infancy. I still had my doubts. My dad was a humble, generous man, but he had never said anything about God. Was it just because he was quiet? Or did he lack an authentic faith?
My dad and I had a routine. I called him at the nursing home the same night every week. On occasions when I had something else planned, I almost always forgot to call him until the next day. Dad was never upset when I forgot to call, though I always felt awful. I knew he looked forward to our talks. I did, too!
One evening, I realized that I was supposed to be at church the next night, which was my regular night to call Dad. I decided to call him right then. I joked with him that I was really on top of things this time and hadn't forgotten until it was too late. We did the usual chit chatting. I told him about our new mini-van with the remote control door. I said I was walking around like the Queen of Sheba, expecting every door to open for me at the touch of a button. He laughed. He told me that a pastor had come and talked with him for a long time. My dad said, "And you know what? I agreed with everything he said." I was so happy to hear that. I was sure that the pastor had shared the Gospel with my dad and my dad once again affirmed that he believed.
The next evening I was getting ready to go to my church meeting when my mom called. My dad had had a heart attack, she said. They didn't think he was going to make it. In that moment, I knew he wouldn't. When I returned home from church, I got the phone call that confirmed it. My dad was gone. Although I felt ready in comparison to the previous time his life was in danger, I still felt like someone was trying to rip my heart from my chest. I am so thankful my husband was there to hold me up.
Even in my grief, I recognized how loving a God I serve. I'm fully convinced that He moved me to call my father a day early and made sure that I knew my father's salvation was secure. The Lord continued to comfort me as I attended a memorial at the nursing home where he lived. The staff seemed more broken up than I was! Today I continue to be comforted with a vision of my father living in perfect health and peace with the Father of us all.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. (Matthew 5:4)
Me in Leningrad (St. Petersburg) in front of a statue of Alexander the Great
I traveled to Europe in 1989 as part of a month-long May Seminar through my college. I was so excited to go to the Soviet Union, especially. Although I was excited, I was also afraid of losing my passport. I had a history of losing things, but I couldn't afford to lose my passport or the case I kept it in. Inside the case were my cash, credit card, visas, airplane tickets, as well as my passport.
On the initial flight to London, I awoke with a start and realized I had lost something very valuable. The girl next to me could see that I was searching for something and started helping me. She enlisted the help of our other seatmates. Soon we were all searching diligently for the lost item. "What does it look like?" my initial helper asked. I didn't respond verbally, but gestured wildly as I tried to explain the inexplicable. We both started laughing when we realized that I had just been dreaming.
Two weeks later I was living the nightmare. We were on an overnight train from what was then Leningrad traveling to Moscow. Our seminar leaders advised us to sleep with our passport cases. American passports were very valuable in the Soviet Union, we were told, and were often stolen from train cars while their owners slept. I slept with my case around my neck. Early in the morning we were awoken and told we had to prepare to get off the train immediately. Groggily, I gathered my belongings and got on the bus that would take us to our hotel. We drove for an hour, listening to our tour guide tell us about the area.
When we boarded the boat motel where we would be staying, the hotel employees began collecting our passports. Foreign visitors always have hotel staff collect their passports for safe keeping. In that instant, I knew where my passport case was–in the sleeping car of the train. I had given the sheets a once over, but didn't see the case lying there. I searched my bags, but the sick feeling in my stomach told me I wouldn't find the case. I was shaking when I told my seminar leader what had happened. He immediately tried to get information about the train's location. We were told the train had been moved to a cleaning station. There was nothing to do, but check into the hotel and wait.
I had my clothes and about $250 in cash. I had no visa, so I would not be permitted to leave the country. My seminar leader gave me the grim news that the group would have to go on without me. I knew I would have to contact my family and ask for emergency assistance. The assistant seminar leader pointed out that my passport had probably already been sold. He further warned that a phone call to the US would be outrageously expensive. I had to admit to myself that my parents did not have the money to help me even if I could reach them.
That evening, the other students went off to explore Moscow. I stayed in my room, realizing that I could not afford to spend even a penny of the money I had. I took a shower and the water alternated betwwen freezing cold and scalding hot. I may have needed that shower to bring me out of the shock I was in. I cried and cried. I realized that all I could do was pray. I hoped that God was still God in the USSR. I remembered hearing once that you should pray until you feel peace. I began praying more fervently than I had ever prayed in my life. "Lord," I said, "You can do anything! You can cause the person who finds my passport to turn it in rather than sell it. Please, Lord, please return my passport case to me!" As I continued to call on Him for help, I felt a peace come over me. I knew that my prayer had been answered. Even though I was in the worst spot of my life, I fell asleep peacefully.
At midnight, my seminar leader awakened me to tell me that my passport had been recovered. I was not surprised. I went back to sleep. The next day, my seminar leader and I made a trip to pick up the passport. My leader was nervous as we were away from our guides. When we arrived at the station holding the passport case, a sterm looking military man watched as I verified that not one coin had been stolen. He shook his head in disbelief, the same way my mother always did when I lost something. When we were back with the entire group on board our tour bus, my answer to prayer was announced and the group began cheering in response.
If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer. (Matthew 21:22)
Pictured above is my high school speech team, with my coach at the top.
I have been able to win at the two-truths-and-a-lie game by including a statement that I was runner-up in a Miss Teen USA pageant. Maybe I should be insulted that people think that's a lie?
My junior high years took a serious toll on my self-esteem. Although I began my school years as an extrovert, I had become very fearful of rejection. My mother was reading the paper one weekend morning and found an ad for the area teen pageant, which extolled the virtues of participation, including more self-confidence.
For whatever reason, I let her convince me to enter the pageant and I set about conquering my fear of asking businesses to sponsor me. The pageant was scheduled for a Sunday and we had a bit of a drive to get to the church where it was being held. That morning I was listening to the radio while I was doing my makeup and a sermon was on. The pastor said, "The Lord stands with the losers of the world. Just when you are about to became a winner, God changes the rules." I thought that was a nice sentiment, but really didn't want to be a loser.
My mom, my aunt, and I got in the car and drove to the church. I am not sure if my mom took a wrong turn or if we were supposed to be driving on a gravel road, but I remember distinctly her mowing down a flock of chickens that were in her way. She didn't seem the slightest bit remorseful either! I was concerned that our bumper would be covered in blood and feathers.
Once at the church, I was happy to discover that there were only two of us entered in the pageant from my county. I figured I was a shoe in! But you already know that I took second place. As I went back to the prep room following the announcements, I was honestly feeling pretty humiliated. As I fought back tears, I remembered the sermon I'd heard. That's when my attitude completely changed. I really felt like God was standing with me. I was actually in a great mood! I probably teased my mom all the way home about her chicken massacre.
The following fall, I was in a high school speech class. Our assignment was to give a personal experience speech. I spoke about my experience in the pageant and how God had taught me what winning really means. After class, my teacher told me I needed to give that speech in competition. My sophomore year of high school, that's exactly what I did. Many times after giving that speech, other competitors would come up and thank me for sharing my experience and my faith. An extra bonus was the winning season I had.
Becoming a loser at a beauty pageant was the beginning of a speaking ministry that continues today. It was also the beginning of my understanding of God's ways. He has consistently used my failures and disappointments to change me and even to bless me. I have learned that when God stands with you, there is really no way you can lose.
This is what the LORD says— your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: “I am the LORD your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go. (Isaiah 48:17)
This is my brother with the vehicle we referred to as "The Plymouth." After the accident, it was our only car–at least for a while.
People are shocked when I explain that I was allowed to drive at 14 in South Dakota (dawn to dusk). They should be shocked! If they only knew the crazy way we drove at that age. We drove 80 miles an hour on gravel hills because fish tailing was fun. We drove one another's cars, or should I say we drove the cars that belonged to one another's parents. My girlfriend stopped her vehicle by throwing the transmission into park. You can imagine how excited I am to have my own kids get behind the wheel.
When I was 16, I could drive at night, and often did. We lived a good distance from my high school and I was involved in a number of extracurricular activities that kept me from home until later. I also had a boyfriend (don't tell my kids). I don't recall what had me driving the Plymouth home in the dark alone one particular evening, but I will never forget the drive.
On a dark and deserted county road, I suddenly heard a voice yell, "Watch out for that deer!" I was so startled, I slammed on the brakes. That's when a deer ran across the road in front of me. I spent the rest of the trip home trying to figure out what had just happened.
Had I seen the deer in my peripheral vision? Honestly, no. Was I looking out for deer? No again. Whose voice was that? Honestly, it seemed to be mine, but like someone else had taken over my head. It was too loud to be a thought. What would have happened if I had not heard the voice? Would I have been injured or killed? Would another accident have crippled my family financially and emotionally?
1 Kings 19:12 calls God's communication "a still small voice." I can't recall God ever yelling at me other than the night I avoided a deer collision. But I have heard His still small voice many times. I look forward to telling you what He had to say.
Could He be speaking to you, too?
for he is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care. Today, if only you would hear his voice (Psalm 95:7)
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)
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.
