Role Models of America

The Hidden Truths

      While my sister and I were  mapping our way toward the funeral of our father, I realized our starting point 2104 Underwood (my home church) was very similar to our destination 2106 my fathers house.  It had been 25 years since I had been there.  A brutal divorce and remarriage left me feeling unaccepted even abandoned as a child. We drove for thirty hours and during the entire ride we prepared ourselves for an unkind reception.  We rehearsed every scenario, with complete responses, and retreat strategies. When we finally arrived we were complete nervous wrecks. We grabbed each other’s hand and walked into what we believed would be our own personal hell. 

      The door opened and all 6 of our siblings, their spouses, and children were there to welcome us home. The "stepmonster" I had rebelled against as a child, opened her home and heart to us.  They treated us gently and with much kindness.  I had to look again at this family of mine.  I was shocked to learn who they truly were- for the first time. 

      We ate together, reminisced childhood memories, and laughed at old pictures. Not only was I reconnecting with my family, but I was getting to know my dad.  This was an experience that had eluded me my entire life.  That emotional hole... who am I...where do I come from.... was I loved.... was finally being answered. I didn’t realize how important and how vast that hole was until it started to heal. 

      Here are some interesting facts about my father. My dad was a very patient man. He waited 25 years for me to come home. I look just like him- NO REALLY -just like him!!  He had a very organized mind.  I got to sit in his office and look at all of his accomplishments on his walls, the things he treasured, and all of the  lives he changed.  He was a leader in his community.  He served as the President of an organization that provided wheelchairs to impoverished children. He had programs in place that took care of the elderly and widows. He wanted to reinstate Beefeaters, which is the royal guard in England, to American soil. He was told this was impossible, and in true bulldog style he went all the way to the top petitioning the Queen of England herself.  And to his honor his petition was granted.  He served as a Beefeater for 15 years until he could no longer stand.

      At the funeral I listened to testimony after testimony about the kind of man my father was.  I watched as the Beefeaters carried his casket into the chapel and they stood guard over him.  I watched each man whose life he touched stand and testify before God that he was a faithful, honest, and fruit bearing man.  When all 6 of his children stood on the platform in front of the 500 plus people in attendance to speak....... I chose to be silent.

                                                                     I choose to speak now

Daddy, I love you.........

I remember the day you took me to my first dance competition.  I did not win and was completely heartbroken.  You took my heartbreak very seriously and went straight to the judges to make them come encourage me.  At the next competition I won 3 gold medals.  That day you taught me that my feelings count, and to face my trials head on, and the value of never giving up.  You introduced me to dance-which will always be something we shared a great love for.

I forgive you and I’m sorry for my part in the separation of our family.  I am proud to learn that some of your "good parts" have been passed through to me. I accept them and will do my best to put them into practice in my daily life.  I will remember that in the end the small things are remembered in the same context as the big things. 

And above all, I will remember that the truth is not always the most obvious answer, sometimes its hidden from us until we are ready for it.

      I expected to leave California orphaned and rejected….. 

Instead I got to see another promise in scripture come to pass in my life.   Beauty for Ashes

Isaiah 61:2-4

(2) to proclaim the year of the Lords favor and the day of vengeance of our God to comfort all who mourn (3)and provide for those who grieve in Zion to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor (4)They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations

  Shelby M.

 

 

What Does Easter Mean to You?

Edith Burns was a wonderful Christian who lived in San Antonio , Texas. She was the patient of a doctor by the name of Will Phillips.. Dr. Phillips was a gentle doctor who saw patients as people. His favorite patient was Edith Burns.
 One morning he went to his office with a heavy heart and it was because of Edith Burns. When he walked into that waiting room, there sat Edith with her big black Bible in her lap earnestly talking to a young mother sitting beside her.. Edith Burns had a habit of introducing herself in this way: "Hello, my name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?" Then she would explain the meaning of Easter, and many times people would be saved.
Dr.. Phillips walked into that office and there he saw the head nurse, Beverly . Beverly had first met Edith when she was taking her blood pressure. Edith began by saying, "My name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?"Beverly said, "Why yes I do."Edith said, "Well, what do you believe about Easter?"Beverly said, "Well, it's all about egg hunts, going to church, and dressing up." Edith kept pressing her about the real meaning of  Easter, and finally led her to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. After being called back in the doctor's office, Edith sat down and when she took a look at the doctor she said, "Dr. Will, why are you so sad? Are you reading your Bible? Are you praying?"
Dr. Phillips said gently, "Edith, "Your lab report came back and it says you have cancer, and Edith, you're not going to live very long."Edith said, "Why Will Phillips, shame on you. Why are you so sad? Do you think God makes mistakes? You have just told me I'm going to see my precious Lord Jesus, my husband, and my friends. You have just told me that I am going to celebrate Easter forever, and here you are having difficulty giving me my ticket!". Phillips thought to himself, "What a magnificent woman this Edith  Burns is!"
Edith continued coming to Dr. Phillips. Christmas came and the office
 was closed through January 3rd. On the day the office opened, Edith did not show up. Later that afternoon, Edith called Dr.. Phillips and said she would have to be moving her story to the hospital and said, "Will, I'm very near home, so would you make sure that they put women in here next to me in my room who need to know about Easter."
Well, they did just that and women began to come in and share that room with Edith. Many women were saved. Everybody on that floor from staff to patients were so excited about Edith, that they started calling her Edith Easter; that is everyone except Phyllis Cross, the head nurse. Phyllis made it plain that she wanted nothing to do with Edith because she was a "religious nut". She had been a nurse in an army hospital..She had seen it all and heard it all. She was the original G.I. Jane. She had been married three times, she was hard, cold, and did everything by the book. One morning the two nurses who were to attend to Edith were sick. Edith had the flu and Phyllis Cross had to go in and give her a shot. When she walked in, Edith had a big smile on her face and said, "Phyllis, God loves you and I love you, and I have been praying for you."
Phyllis Cross said, "Well, you can quit praying for me, it won't work. I'm not interested."
Edith said, "Well, I will pray and I have asked God not to let me go home until you come into the family." Phyllis Cross said, "Then you will never die because that will never happen," and curtly walked out of the room.
Every day Phyllis Cross would walk into the room and Edith would say, "God loves you Phyllis and I love you, and I'm praying for you."
One day Phyllis Cross said she was literally drawn to Edith's room like a magnet would draw iron. She sat down on the bed and Edith said, "I'm so glad you have come, because God told me that today is your special day"
Phyllis Cross said, "Edith, you have asked everybody here the question, "Do you believe in Easter but you have never asked me."Edith said, "Phyllis, I wanted to many times, but God told me to wait until you asked, and now that you have asked." Edith Burns took her Bible and shared with Phyllis Cross the Easter Story of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Edith said, "Phyllis, do you believe in Easter? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is alive and that He wants to live in your heart?" Phyllis Cross said, "Oh I want to believe that with all of my heart, and I do want Jesus in my life "Right there, Phyllis Cross prayed and  invited Jesus Christ into her heart. For the first time Phyllis Cross did not walk out of a hospital room, she was carried out on the wings
of angels. Two days later, Phyllis Cross came in and Edith said, "Do you know what day it is?" Phyllis Cross said, "Why Edith, it's Good Friday."Edith said, "Oh, no, for you every day is Easter. Happy Easter   Phyllis!"
Two days later, on Easter Sunday, Phyllis Cross came into work, did some of her duties and then went down to the flower shop and got some Easter lilies because she wanted to go up to see Edith and give her some Easter lilies and wish her a Happy Easter. When she walked into Edith's room, Edith was in bed. That big black Bible was on her lap. Her hands were in that Bible. There was a sweet smile on her face. When Phyllis Cross went to pick up Edith's hand, she realized Edith was dead. Her left hand was on John 14: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also." Her right hand was on Revelation 21:4, "And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, there shall be no more death nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away."Phyllis Cross took one look at that dead body, and then lifted her
face toward heaven, and with tears streaming down here cheeks, said, "Happy Easter, Edith - Happy Easter!"
Phyllis Cross left Edith's body, walked out of the room, and over to a table where two student nurses were sitting. She said, "My name is Phyllis Cross. Do you believe in Easter?"

My Journey Home - Part 6

                     by Shirley B.

 

You never know where life is going to take you next.  After all the knock down , drag out fights, that Mr. and Mrs. A. kept having, including this last one where she intended to kill him, they decided to try and work things out in their marriage.  We were all going to get back in church again, since we had long since stopped going, and Mr. A. was going to sell out his construction and building business to his partner and we were all moving to Colorado when it was all said and done.  Hotchkiss, Colorado, here we come!! 

Before we left for Colorado that year, one Sunday morning my sister took me by the hand and we marched ourselves down to the front of the church when the altar call came.  There we accepted Jesus Christ as our Lord and Saviour.  We didn't know all the details for sure of what it all meant,  only that He promised to save us and help us.  That sounded awful nice to the two of us at that time.  Things moved quickly and soon we were on our way to Colorado to become fruit ranchers.  Mr. A. had bought two ranches with hundreds of acres of apples of all different kinds on them. There were peach trees and pear trees and ten acres of cherries.  To these two little girls, it was like going back to the farm again.  Just that thought alone made us happy.  We were not city kids for sure. It wasn't long before we had a huge garden planted waiting for the harvest.  For a very short while,  everyone seemed to be at peace in our house and Mr. and Mrs. A. tried harder, it seemed, to be kinder to my sister and I.  My sister was 12 and I was 10 right about this time. 

Things were that way for close to a year I guess before everything started to slide back to the old ways again.  Mrs. A. was a hairdresser by trade and often fixed the hair of neighboring ladies of the area that she came to know.   As the relationship between Mr. and Mrs. A. began to erode again,  my sister and I were the most convenient recipients of their rage again .  I can only suppose that these beauty appointments Mrs. A. had , often became gossip sessions,  because it wasn't long before the life history of my sister and I was common knowledge around town. 

Hotchkiss was a small town of about 600 people at that time, so it didn't take much to get the word out.  So my sister and I began to fight more and more in school as the kids teased and picked and made fun of us about the things they learned about us.  We were odd to them anyway.  We talked funny.  "They're from Texas you know,  and they have a funny accent".  "'What accent?!  is what we wanted to know".  Anyway, the cruelty and beatings soon started all over again.  Mr. and Mrs. A. were fighting constantly. 

The summer I was 12, I was determined that I would have new clothes to start school this next year.  So that summer I spent getting up before daylight and going out to the orchard to do whatever needed doing. Sometimes, it was mowing between the trees with a big brush hog mower pulled behind a tractor , or with a blade mower to mow under the trees when they were loaded down with fruit.  I often went up the mountain to the water maze that the farmers and ranchers used to direct the flow of water from melted snow coming down off of the mountain to flow to their farms.  From there you had to walk every foot of the ditches to the ranch with a shovel to clear out rocks and debris that would block the flow of the water.  I loved it.  It was a peaceful time to be able to do these things by myself.  When the sun went down,  I went to the house for supper, or to cook supper if it was my turn and then do my chores there before going to bed and get up the next day and start again.  Mr. A. taught and used me to drive a tractor, pick fruit, thin fruit, irrigate the orchard and garden, and plant fruit trees.  All these different things and more, but I didn't mind.  I liked being out of the house as much as possible and by myself.  Besides, I had a goal I was going for. 

At the end of that summer,  I had about $25 that Mr. A.  had paid me.   It really wasn't much for all that I did that summer,  but it would buy me a couple of new dresses and shoes and socks for school.  Mrs. A. still didn't like spending money on us . So I safely tucked my money into my barbie wallet and put it under my mattress each day.  Finally, the day came to go shop for my clothes and I went to retrieve my money and lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found.  I was in a panic but it didn't take my sister and I long before we realized who was to blame.  By the look on Mrs. A's face when she said,  " You must have left it someplace or lost it".  We knew and Mr. A knew too,  because I never took the wallet out from under the mattress .  He calmly told Mrs. A. that he was the one that was going to take us shopping for school clothes this time and off we went.  He bought each of us, my sister and I, a couple of new dresses and shoes, and brand new bobbie socks.  We hadn't had new bobbie socks in so long and we were overjoyed! 

Things were reaching a fever pitch in the family and tension was always so thick in the air.  A few days later , when we got up in the morning to prepare for the first day of school,  the new bobbie socks were nowhere to be found.  Believe me, my sister and I weren't letting this one go unnoticed.  We were both boiling mad. When Mr. A. came into the house to see what all the fuss was about,  we gave him an earfull and soon he was just as mad as we were.  Mrs. A. denied knowing where the socks were.  So we went to school in our new dresses, but with old socks that were so loose that they slid down into our shoes when we walked .   That afternoon, when we got home from our first day at school and walked into our bedroom,  Mrs. A. calmly walked in and without a word, threw our new packages of bobbie socks onto the bed, all the time smiling at us  and then walked out.  Why?  For the life of me I don't believe I have ever understood it.  It wasn't long after that , when she also walked into my room and tossed my barbie wallet on the bed.  It was empty of course.  But she never said a word.  She knew that we knew but also that there was nothing we could do about it either.

Living in Colorado, the winters were often cold, and we heated the house with a coal furnace that was kept in the basement.  The coal bin had to be shoveled full every morning so that the house would stay warm during the day.  This was the job of my sister and I.  We took turns.  It was hard work to shovel that much coal every morning before school but we were in trouble if we didn't, because Mrs. A. was there during the day and didn't want to be cold.  Also,  when the hot air from the burning coal came through the vents up into the house, it would leave soot at the vent opening.  There was no way to avoid it. 

 One day Mr. and Mrs. A. decided to go out on the town.  I was suppose to clean the kitchen and floors and cook supper, which I did.  But when Mrs. A. came into the kitchen,  she saw soot had collected beneath the vent where the warm air came up from the furnace.  When she asked if I had cleaned the floor of the soot, I said yes.  She flew into a rage, accusing me of lying, showing me the soot, which was very hard to see since it had recently been washed up.  The next thing I remembered, I was on the floor and she was kicking me in my back and ribs, when my sister ran into the room.  My sister was fourteen by now, and growing fast.  She'd had enough as she stepped between me and Mrs. A. and got me up off the floor.  I could hardly breath.  Mrs. A. ordered us both to the bedroom as she retrieved her huge leather belt and buckle.  I was to strip down and wait for her there.  When she came to the room,  my sister stood between her and me and didn't move , despite all the threats from Mrs. A. of what she was going to do to her.  When Mrs. A. began to swing that belt, my sister reached up and stripped it from her hands.  I don't know who was more shocked, my sister and I, or Mrs. A. , but as Mrs. A. turned and left the room, the threat was heavy in the air, and she didn't have to tell us that it wasn't over yet.  When Mr. A. came home later , thinking that all was well and they were going to eat supper and then go out on the town,

the air was heavy with tension.  As we sat at the table across from Mrs. A. , and believe me she was throwing daggers at us with her looks ,   my sister was steaming mad, and me, well, I was having trouble just taking a breath through the pain in my rib.  Mr. A. suddenly started cussing and demanding an explanation of what was going on.  That was the cue for my sister and she let the words fly.  Then  Mr. A. grabbed me and lifted the back of my shirt where he could see the huge black and blue bruises on my back and side  and hauled off and slapped the living daylights out of Mrs. A.  Sis and I ran from the room to our own rooms. 

Things calmed down quickly for some reason.  We never knew why, but they made up enough to go ahead and have their evening on the town.  I don't know what Mrs. A. told Mr. A. that night.  But that night set off a terrible sequence of events.  That night..  Mr. A. went into my sisters' room and raped her.  He left her with the threat that if we told Mrs. A. , she wouldn't believe us anyway , and would take it out on us,  and if we did tell,  the same thing would happen to me, her little sister.  What could we do?  The only thing we knew to do was to circle the wagons , so to speak, and try to never let Mr. A. catch us alone without the other .  He had finally stepped over the line from always snooping and spying on us, to acting out his perversion.  I was twelve,  and my sister was fourteen.  We weren't going to stand still for this much longer.  We had to do something, but what?   So we began to plan for the time we could work and save our money and run away from there.  But things took a strange turn shortly after this incident.  Mr. and Mrs. A. were getting a divorce  and  of all things,  the courts were going to let Mr. A. have custody of my sister and I! 

It was strange,  because there were so many emotions mixed in our relationship with Mr. and Mrs. A.  Both love and hate, if you can imagine that.  But we had been with them longer than anyone else in our lives and I suppose that hope lives eternally in the heart of a child that their parents love them and care for them,  or that someone does somewhere in this world.  It's a very confusing feeling for sure.  One thing that was happening to me , was that I wasn't afraid  as much as I was before.  For me, I could see a time when I wouldn't be at their mercy anymore.  Not Mr. A. or Mrs. A.  I knew it would be a while for sure, but the time was coming.  Until then, somehow, my sister and I were going to survive this and eventually be done with it. 

Understand, these are my words describing my feelings as I look back to that time.  As a child of twelve to thirteen years old , it was more or less summed up in one word.  Hope.  Again, looking back, I believe it was the Lord that gave that to me and to my sister.  In Isaiah 43 verse 2,  The Lord says : "When you go through the sea, I am with you.  When you go through rivers, they will not sweep you away.  When you walk through fire, you will not be burned,  and the flames will not harm you."   My sister and I didn't know about a personal relationship with Jesus Christ,  but I know now that Jesus Christ never , never, forgot that we were His kids.  We belonged to Him.  Isaiah 49: 25 tells me that He will contend with those that contend  with me....   There is a day of reckoning coming,  for Christ always keeps his promises.  And amazingly enough,  I am not looking forward to the day that judgement falls .

God has given me the grace and strength to forgive both Mr. and Mrs. A.    The day that He led me to witness to Mr. A.  , which I did after arguing with the Lord about it for a while,  was the day I knew that I had really forgiven him all things he had done against my sister and myself.

That day, Jesus set me free .

 

However,  the divorce became final , and my sister and I were left alone with Mr. A.  How would he react?  Could we protect ourselves from him if we needed to?  .........

To be continued........................

My Journey Home - Part 5

  By Shirley B.

 

Somewhere along the way, after the first six months or so, Mrs. A. must have decided that if she couldn't make us over, that she would break us instead.  Physical punishment became the normal thing in the house, along with groundings for weeks and months at a time.  This was at her discretion depending on how bad we were or if she thought we did things intentionally or not.  I never really understood her reasonings at all.  As far as she was concerned, you couldn't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, which was one of her favorite comparisions for us.  The physical punishment progressed to beatings and slapping our faces.  The beatings usually meant that we stripped down to nothing and she beat us with a leather belt.  She tried hard at first to make sure the marks couldn't be seen when our clothes were on  but when she started slapping our faces too,  she was at the point where she just didn't care anymore who knew.  In those days,  people pretty much minded their own business about domestic  violence and wouldn't interfere in what was considered family affairs.  Violence in this household didn't happen to only my sister and I, Mr. and Mrs. A. were just as violent to one another.  We could all sit down to the dinner table and suddenly food and fists would begin to fly between the two of them.  After a while , my sister and I realized that when this happened, we needed to find cover and find it quickly, because when they finished with one another they ususally turned on us to finish their rage.  Mr. A.  use to joke that anytime Mrs. A. wanted new clothes or new furniture or whatever, she'd start a fight,  and he could tell how much it was going to cost him to have peace and make up with her by the intensity of the fight.   Well, it wasn't very funny to my sister and I.

But along the way,  I realize now that God sent angels in the form of human beings who cared for us when they could.   One such occurence was when  Mr. and Mrs. A. were having an extremely violent fight and glasses and mirrors and windows and everything was getting broken all over the house.  My sister and I decided to leave til it was all over,  but where do we go?

Using all the childish judgement that we had,  we discussed that there was an older couple who lived a few houses down the way.  We passed them everyday when we walked to and from school.  To this day, I still don't know their names, but they had a dog named Heidi.  The dog was so nice and they were so good to that dog, we decided we would go there to their house.  So we gathered our purses and put in our hairbrushes and toothbrushes and left our house in the middle of all the screaming and fighting and walked down to Heidi's house and rang the doorbell.  When the old couple answered the door, we introduced ourselves and told them where we lived  and what was going on at our house , though you could hear the noise from where we were.  We told them that we liked their dog  and thought maybe they would let us stay at their house for the night or until the fighting stopped.  We told them we could just sleep on the floor right there in front of their fireplace with Heidi , if it was okay.  Maybe they were just too shocked to say no , so they escorted us in, or maybe Mr. and Mrs. A.'s reputation preceded us.  I don't know.  But that night, we stayed there with Heidi til the wee hours of the morning when we woke up and walked home.  All was quiet, but we could see two big piles of something in the front yard which turned out to be all of Mr. A.'s clothes.  The doors were unlocked, so we went in and went to our bedroom.  The next day, we got the feeling they never knew we were gone because neither one said anything to us.  That night, this sweet old couple gave us refuge we needed so much. 

 

I have to say that Mr. A. didn't beat on us like Mrs. A. did.  No, he had other problems we had to watch out for.   It didn't take long before we realized that he was always spying and snooping on us.  We had to constantly make sure that our doors were locked when we bathed or changed clothes, and make sure the windows and curtains were pulled well closed so he couldn't peek in from the outside or barge in on us when we least expected it.  His behavior got progressively worse and more perverted over the next few years as we grew up.

 

During the next three years or so,  life settled into a pattern of sorts.  We were never allowed to sleep til we just woke up, not even on weekends or summer vacation.  Mrs. A. woke us up early with a list of things we had to do that day and do them right or else.  As we learned to read better, she'd tape notes on mirrors and doors and walls in every room we went into.

In the bathroom on the mirror , "SCRUB THE SINK",  or "SCRUB THE TUB" OR SCRUB THE FLOOR  OR SCRUB THE TOILET.  There were notes to vacuum or wash dishes, sprinkle clothes for ironing or just for ironing, sheets to change, clothes to hang out, on and on.

It never stopped, not until the day I left to be on my own.  Work was never finished in this house.  Mrs. A. would tell us that if we were sitting down when she walked into the room, she could find something for us to do.  When I grew up and married, it took my husband years to break me of the habit of sitting on the edge of my chair, or when he would walk into the room, I would jump up and start cleaning or working on something.  He hated it but knew that was how I lived all those years. So, he got to where he'd simply walk up to me and put his arm across my chest and gently pushed me to the back of my chair to relax.  It worked.  Soon , I let go of that habit of always being prepared to jump up and get busy.

 

During that time I also learned to cook and to sew, out of necessity.  The clothes that Mrs. A. had made for us when we first came to live with them,  were going to have to last us a long, long, time it seems.  She absolutely hated buying any clothes or shoes or anything for my sister and I.  We didn't understand why.  She just did.  So those dresses were remade over and over, into skirts or shorts or whatever we could make them into.  Since she dressed us like twins,  and I was smaller than my sister,  my sister's hand me downs came to me.  However, they looked just like the ones I had already been wearing. At least then, she had to buy my sister something to wear.  It just didn't make any sense to us at all.  We never asked for anything for fear of being punished  but it was hard going to school every year.  Young children can unintentionally be cruel to others kids.  We were living in the middle of all Mr. and Mrs. A.'s wealth, but our socks were so worn that they had holes in them or were so stretched out that they slid down into our shoes.  One dress in particular, I was reminded of lately.  It was my dress of many colors.

When we first came to live in Galveston, this dress was made for me.  It was the only one that I remember my sister didn't have a matching one for.  It had so many beautiful pinks and yellows, and lavenders.  I had never seen anything like it.  But  it was so memorable that the other kids remembered it well, no matter what I made it into.  I remember that Mrs. A. said we were not allowed to come into her bedroom.  It was off limits to my sister and I.  Well, that was like waving a red flag in front of our faces.  We didn't like surprises or secrets and in our minds, whatever she was hiding, we needed to know about.  We decided we needed to find out what she was hiding in there.  So one day when she was gone, we took off our shoes and went into forbidden territory.  We went snooping. There's no nice way about it.  We went snooping.   And my goodness!!  Here was one huge drawer chocked full of socks and hosiery, packages that had never been opened yet.

Row after row of new underthings.  In her closet that went from one side of the room to the other , were some of the most beautiful clothes.  New ones too, that we had never even seen her wear. Everything was lined up and coordinated .  Under each dress sat the matching shoes to that outfit.  On the shelf above, sat the matching hat and purse to that outfit.  At one end of the closet were coats and furs with matching fur trimmed hats. We had never seen the like before in all our lives!   Our own poverty, our own nothingness, seemed somehow more glaring in the middle of all that opulence.  It really hurt us at that point I guess,  that this woman could have so much when we had so little ,  and  we understood that she really didn't care at all about us.  As I got older , I often wondered if there was a good reason she never had children of her own.  I began to think that either she was so mean because she couldn't have children or......well , maybe she couldn't have children because she was so mean.  I know that's child's logic but God is in the answer to that somehow.

 

Another of Mrs. A.'s issues with us was food.  She was determined that my sister and I would learn to eat something other than beans and potatoes and cornbread.  Why?  I don't know.  It sounded good to me and my sister.  Of course, we weren't really as limited as that to what we liked to eat, but she was the boss.  So meals went like this.  I liked sweetmilk and my sister liked buttermilk,  so Mrs. A. would give me the buttermilk and my sister the sweetmilk.  Mr. A. would help us out on this one.  When it was really a bad situation, he would ask Mrs. A. for something that she'd have to go to the kitchen to get for him. While she was gone, I would drink my sister's milk and she would drink mine.  Or,  if it was certain foods that one or the other couldn't handle,  I would eat hers' off of her plate or she would eat mine off of my plate.  It sounds bad, but she intentionally did this to us, and there were some foods one or the other just couldn't keep down.  For me the main one was okra. No matter how I tried, I couldn't get it down my throat.  It would automatically come back up.  It just so happened that one such time, we sat down to eat and my sister and I were arguing with one another privately about something,  and Mrs. A. served okra at that meal.  Naturally, being mad at me, my sister had no intention of helping me out on this one.  Not this time.  So I tried to eat the okra, and sure enough, I barely made it to the restroom before it came back up. My sister was right behind me and ran back and told Mrs. A. that I threw it up.  Mrs. A. accused me of doing it on purpose and dragged me back to the table for a big bowl full of okra.  Everyone else had left the table, so I just sat there.  I was miserable, and I could hear my sister crying in the other room. She liked okra and knew that if she had just helped me like we had been helping each other all along,  I would have been okay.  It looked like a standoff.  I sat there, she stared at me,  I sat there and she stared at me ,  I stared at that HUGE bowl of okra,  she stared at me.  I just couldn't make myself try to eat it again.  This was the second  try and I just couldn't do it.  No matter the consequences,  I didn't want to throw up again.  Finally,  she grabbed me up and threw me out of the room and told me to go to my room.  I thought it was over....until I came into the room with my sister the next morning, ready to leave and walk to school.   There on the dining table sat the biggest bowl of okra I had ever seen, it seemed that way to me at the time.  Mrs. A. sent my sister on to school while she made it clear to me that I wasn't going until I ate that bowl of okra, and I had better eat it quick, because if I was late for school,  I would be punished for that too.   So I held my nose and downed what I could in a matter of seconds, grabbed my books and ran for the door to get outside before I threw up again.  I didn't look back.  I stopped to throw up,  and with my face swollen from being slapped and vomiting,  I walked that long road to school that morning.  My sister had waited along the way to help me and together ,  before long we were laughing and joking and singing.  Do Lord oh do Lord, do remember me.....oh, do Lord oh do Lord, do remember me.  This was one of our favorites that came to us again and again and again.  This was also one of the things about my sister and I that Mr. and Mrs. A. disliked the most.  They seemed to get madder and frustrated even more when after punishment or a beating, when they sent us to our room,  it didn't take long before my sister and I could nurse our physical and emotional wounds for each other, and before long, they would hear us talking and laughing from behind closed doors.  I guess my sister was tougher than I was.  That was a big difference in our personalities and character.  As for me,  I hated it when they got in my face,  screaming at me at the top of their lungs,  just inches away from me.  They seldom called us by our given names.  Usually,  they talked or screamed AT us,  not addressing us by name.  I was struggling with the fear .  It seemed that they enjoyed seeing the fear in our faces.  Then one day,  I heard someone talking about fear.  They said  that when someone was trying to cause fear in you,  that they loved getting a reaction from you,  that they fed on that reaction.  I never forgot that lesson.  They said if you were the victim,  and someone was in your face,  to just pick one eye on that person, and stare straight into it.  Don't blink,  don't flinch.  Take every emotions out of your face and they'll give up sooner than later.  I was only nine years old, going on ten, so I couldn't do much to protect myself,  but I could do this.  I could learn this.  And so I did.  Mr. A. came to call this my indian face.  He hated it.   Mrs. A. hated it.  I loved it.  It was a small amount of power in my control, no matter what they did to me.  I knew that they hated this, and didn't know how to react to it.

 

So we lived this way daily.  Anger and violence was a regular thing.  One incidence was a car chase over the causeway from Galveston to Houston.  Mr. A. was having a night out with his secretary and Mrs. A. found out.  Mr. A. had already left his office , so Mrs. A. threw my sister and I in the back of her pink Impala , loaded up her gun and off we went.  We knew what a gun was and what it was for.  My sister and I were no strangers to that either.  It didn't take long before we were coming over the causeway and up ahead we saw Mr. A. 's black Cacillac with his red-headed secretary sitting close by his side.  Believe me,  Mrs. A . saw red alright!

Mr. A. must have spotted us in his rear view mirror and knew without a doubt that he had been found out and he was in big trouble, because he sped up and the chase was on. He later told us that he knew she was out to kill him.   He knew her well.  The chase went on and on through the back roads of LaMarque and Dickenson, Texas that night .  Finally, Mr. A. got tired of running I guess, and stopped by a huge ditch in LaMarque.  Everyone jumped out of the cars, including my sister and I.  We weren't going to miss this one but we didn't want to be closed in the car in case we needed to get out of there quick.  And there they were,  the red-headed secretary screaming at the top of her lungs in fear,  and Mr. and Mrs. A. fighting, rolling around in that big ditch.  She was trying to get a shot at him with the gun in her hand and he was trying to stop her and take the gun from her at the same time.  Mrs. A.  was a tall, stately woman of five feet nine or ten inches, not fat , but raw boned and tough.  Mr. A. did  manage to knock the gun out of her hand,  and it was over.  Well......not quite.   The gun had landed right at the feet of my sister and I who were standing in front of the cars by the ditch.  All was quiet,  the screaming had stopped.  As I looked back on this incident,  I found it almost funny , simply because when my sister reached down and picked up that gun,  for that one moment,  I wonder what they must have been thinking.  There we stood.  We had the gun.  We had  lots of bad memories of what these two had done to us.  Hmmmmm.....Suddenly,  Mr. A. was telling my sister, "Give the gun to me" and Mrs. A.  was hollering " NO!,  don't do it,  give it back to me!"

Oh the thoughts that went through our heads at that moment.  But still, we were just kids and Mr. A. lunged about then and grabbed the gun from my sister's hands.   What now? ........

 

By now, my sister and I were beginning to feel very unloved and unwanted and rejected over and over again.  Author, Beth Moore , wrote in her book, "Praying God's Word",  about what God's Word says about these feelings.  She wrote:   "God was pleased to make you His own.  Pleased!!  He didn't just feel sorry for you, He chose you because He delights in you!  You were never meant to get through life by the skin of your teeth.  You were meant to flourish in the love and acceptance of Almighty Jehovah.  When He sings over you,  dance!!!" 

(l Samuel 12: 22)

 

(Isaiah 49:  15-16)

Lord God, in Your Word You pose the question, " Can a mother forget the baby at her breast?"  You assure me that though SHE  may forget, You will absolutely never forget me!  You have engraved me on the palms of Your hands.  Praise your wonderful name!!!!!

 

My sister and I were about to learn who we really belonged to .  Praise the Lord!

Love Me

The Heart of a Lost Teenage Girl

Melissa Taylor

“Now let your unfailing love comfort me, just as you promised me, your servant.”
Psalm 119:76 (NL)

There was a teenage girl who seemed to have her life all together. She had many friends, excelled in school, was kind to others, and made her mom very proud. On the outside, this girl’s life seemed amazing. The inside revealed a much different story.

I am this girl. I know that looks can be deceiving.
When I was 7, a neighbor sexually molested me. When I was 8, I witnessed my grandfather falling out of his beloved rocking chair, the victim of a stroke. At age 10, my dad went on a business trip, and never returned. My parents were getting a divorce. My world seemed to get worse by the year. What would happen next?

Tired of my heartache and circumstances, I decided to ask Christ into my life - only to be disappointed. Why did I still feel guilty and dirty (sexual abuse), disappointed and scared (my grandfather’s stroke), unworthy and empty (my family was broken)? Was it too much to ask for someone to love me?

Jesus, if you won’t fix my life, I’ll do it myself. I proclaimed.
I was able to satisfy the people in my life through my achievements, but on the inside I was a wreck. My heart was still empty and aching. The outer me didn’t seem to satisfy the longing in my heart, so I tried other, more destructive ways.

I gave into the temptation to feel loved and accepted by another person. While on an un-chaperoned beach trip, I crawled into bed with another searching-for-love soul. We were two people looking to feel complete – but looking in the wrong places. This was a friend of mine, someone who loved and cared about me. That made it okay, right?

I had dreamed of what my first time would be like. My plans had been to save myself for marriage. I had visions of my groom carrying me into our beautiful honeymoon suite and there two would become one. Instead of a honeymoon suite, I was in a run down motel room. Instead of my groom, I was with a lost high school boy. I cried. What had I just done?

A friend picked me up the next morning and we drove home. I don’t think I spoke the whole time. Growing inside of me were the bitter seeds of guilt, shame, disgust with myself, and the familiar emptiness.

After years of continuing to try to fill the emptiness in my heart with all the wrong things, I realized the truth. Jesus was there. He had been in my heart since the day I invited Him in. He was waiting and watching over me. I had to learn the hard way that He was the only One that could fill my heart completely.

I’m much older now. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve learned that there is nothing in this world that can satisfy the desires of my heart. Believe me, if it were available for purchase, I would’ve bought it. If it came from good looks and pretty clothes, I could’ve had that too. Or if it came from a human relationship, my heart would not hurt. But none of these things can do what Jesus does.

Do not be fooled by the promises of this world; believe the promises of God’s Word. You are His precious child. He loves you. He desires a relationship with you no matter what has happened to you or what you’ve done. Trust and give Him the chance to be the One who fills your heart with love.

Dear Lord, I don’t even have to ask to You to love me, because You already do. Oh God, please remind me often of how much You love me and help me not to give into what the world is offering me to make me feel better. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

My Journey Home Part 3

Heathens!! That's what our great grandmother called my sister and I, and I don't think she meant it too kindly.  Of course, she could have been referring to the Indian side of our ancestry, but somehow I think she's was talking about the fact that we were just plain wild and undisciplined.  No one had taken the time to give us any guidance concerning our behavior, and we had never been in one place long enough to get any schooling.  My sister went to school for a short time when we were in Texas , during the recovery from my accident. But me?  No, I hadn't gone to school yet, but I was about to and my sister and I were about to learn about the board of education on our behinds. 

Let me describe my great grandmother to you.  She was a small woman who wore the old prairie bonnets, long dresses with long aprons and big pockets, with work boots.  She was as tough as the day was long, but oh how we came to love her!  The farm had no running water, only a well, no electricity or any modern conveniences, and the outhouse was at the back of the pasture.  My great grandmother and great grandfather raised their own garden and their own cows.  They milked, and churned butter, canned their own foods, and did their own sewing. Everything!, and my sister and I thought we had landed in paradise!

 

However, we were about to get a crash course in the rules of the farm.  Great grandmother's main rule was that breakfast was served at the crack of dawn and supper came when the sun went down.  If you missed either one, too bad for you.  The kitchen was closed!  Her next rule was:  " You little heathens stay out of my hen house!"  If we violated that one, which we couldn't resist every once in a while, the consequences from her were bad. 

 

Now my great grandfather, he was another story completely.  Every day would find him in his overalls and boots , going out to do whatever was needed on the farm for that day.  He was an old softie , as gentle as granny was tough.  My sister and I spent that short year or so wandering the backwoods pines of that old farm, picking flowers, and setting trails to the other farms in the area.  We would rise up in the mornings, put on the shorts that granny made from the cloth flour sacks that she saved, and off to the woods we'd go, usually until it began getting dark. If great grandfather was around , he'd stand us underneath the pump in the yard to wash off all the dirt of the forest  and then he'd feed us..If  we came in late, many a time my sister and I sat at that old hand crafted table in the kitchen while he fired up the wood stove and cooked our favorite, slices of fried sweet potato. Life was good for a while.   It was the happiest of times for us. 

 

On the days we knew it was Sunday, at times my sister and I would take the trail through the woods and up the hill to the little old church there and listen to beautiful music coming from inside.  It was there that we learned that old song,:  Do Lord , oh , Do Lord, Do remember me.  This little song was one that my sister and I used many , many, times in the years ahead to lift our spirits when we felt sad and helpless. 

 

We had learned to listen to what the adults around us were saying.  We eavesdropped on all conversations.  It was a habit we had gotten into because we never knew when our circumstances would change and we wouldn't have any warning at all.  So we listened.  We'd hide under the porch outside in the evenings when granny and great grandpa would be rocking and talking about their day and we'd listen.  Granny dipped snuff, and there were times that she'd spit, SPLAT! aiming at the cracks between the boards on the porch floor, and it'd land right in the top of  our head.  We wondered if she knew we were under the porch there.  

 

Sometimes, when all the work was done,  neighbors would come in the evening .  My aunt would bring out her guitar,  someone else the fiddle, another the harmonica and the spoons.., and music would fill the air!!  We didn't really mind the switchings.  We were learning to behave ourselves a little better and even after it was over, we knew that granny loved us anyway.  We were happy . There were times when it was cool and the sun went down, that great grandpa would fire up the fireplace and granny would sit in her rocker there in front of it and my sister and I would help her take down her long, long hair that braided and coiled underneath that old bonnet.  We loved to brush it and watch it lay on the floor at the bottom.  All the years and colors of her life were right there in all that hair as it faded from the jet black of her youth into the grays and white of her old age.  Yes, this was the best of life for my sister and I.

 

However, change was in the air again.

It was towards the end of that year when we learned that our father had been released from prison.  The courts had given him custody of my sister and I, and he had gone back to Texas to get a job and arrange for a house so he could come back to Mississippi and pick up my sister and I.  We were so excited.   It was decided that my sister and I should each have a brand new store bought dress and new shoes for this grand occasion.  I chose a yellow dress with red canvas sailor shoes with red and white stripes on the toes.  Gorgeous!  Great grandma and great grandpa were happy for us but sad also because we would be going.  However, they had never had anything but good to say about our father.  They liked him.  He was a good and kind man with a wonderful sense of humor.  They also knew the circumstances of his imprisonment.

 

The day finally arrived and there was so much anticipation on our part as we waited to see the dad that we loved so much but hadn't seen in over two years.   I think most everyone has experienced a time in their lives when you feel the very air around you change and you just know that something is about to happen.  This was one of those moments.  I felt it and my sister felt it.  So we listened. 

 

We tiptoed to the front room where granny and grandpa were sitting in front of the fireplace and peeked around the doorframe to see, part of us hoping it was just that our dad had arrived.  Then we heard granny ask grandpa,  " How are we gonna tells them girls that their daddy's not coming?"  "How are we gonna tell them that he's dead?" 

 

At that point, my sister and I just lost it.  We screamed and cried and ran into the room,  not caring that they knew we had been eavesdropping .  Through their own tears they told us how our father had been on his way to Mississippi with his friend to pick us up and an 18 wheeler had veered into their lane .  Our father was dead.  That July summer I turned seven,  later in September my sister turned nine  and  that October,  our father died.  Instead of wearing our new dresses to a celebration, we wore them to our father's funeral.  We were numb , I guess is about the best way to describe it.  We were cried empty.  As my sister and I stood before our daddy's coffin, I remember thinking and asking my sister how they got daddy into that little box.  He was too tall to fit in there.  I just knew it.  He looked so peaceful in sleep but that wonderful smile we both knew, was not there . 

 

In our happiness on the farm, I think we had let our guard down some and when this blow came,  we weren't ready for it.   We didn't have much time to get ourselves ready for the fight that was about to come.  I believe in my heart that's why God kept my sister and I together through all these things.  We could eventually lift each other up  some way.  Do Lord , oh Do Lord, do remember me..............

 

ISAIAH 43: 2  tells me:

When thou passest through the waters, I WILL BE with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

 

What a blessing it would have been to understand this Word then, because that's how we felt .

We felt overwhelmed.  The Lord has showed me now, that He was with us even then.  My God is Sovereign.  He was not caught by surprise as my sister and I were.

 

PSALM 10:14

You have seen it; yes, you have taken note of trouble and grief and placed them under your control.  The victim entrusts himself to you.  You alone have been the helper of orphans.

 

We were sure going to need that help in the months and years yet to come.

To be continued.........

by Shirley B.

 

My Journey Home - Part 2

 by Shirley B.

                                                        

I believe that hindsight is always twenty - twenty, but even more so that spiritual hindsight is even better than that.  As Holy Spirit has walked me back through the pages of my earlier life, so often He's revealed to me the whole picture that was going on around me at that particular time, and why some people and some things were like they were. 

Many times I had wondered why the only memories I had of my father were of him holding my sister, usually on his knee, talking to her and towards me, back and forth. 

When the memory of my accident came back,  I soon realized that he couldn't hold me , it wasn't possible at that time. 

Soon after I began to recover, for whatever reason, we moved back to Mississippi.  It's strange how a child's mind can remember things.  Very shortly after we moved back, things fell apart in our family.  My grandfather on my mother's side had become sick and he developed a plan to collect money on his insurance.  How? He planned to burn down his farmhouse.

As an adult looking back, I found all this so hard to accept, so as soon as I was able, I returned to Mississippi and this small town, just to put the pieces together, to dig up legal papers and such on all these incidents about my sister and myself.  I discovered that big family secrets are only a secret to the rest of the world but not to everyone in the immediate family.  My family wore their sins and their secrets like a badge of honor in the family.  They never tried to hide them from one another, only from outsiders.  So my mother's father and my mother's brother, did the deed.  My father came by to pick up the uncle that evening , not knowing what had been done,  but when the police tracked my uncle down later on,  he was with my father.  Witnesses said there were two men  and everyone agreed that my father was one of them,  even my uncle, my grandfather, and my mother.  My father was sentenced to two years in prison.  Everything was set into motion.

While my father was in  prison, he started divorce proceedings, to get out of this marriage and  filed for custody of my sister and I.   So we had no place to stay. 

 

It seems like our mother and our grandparents couldn't bear to be around us.  They stuck us in a feed shed at the back of the pasture.  I remember that winter was very, very cold.  You could see daylight between the slats in the wall and the floor was a dirt floor, no electricity or any modern facilities for sure.  I don't think they were ashamed of what they had done, it was common knowledge in the family.  They just didn't want to be bothered I guess.  Over the next year or so,  our mother would take us up and drop us off with whoever would keep us for a few weeks at a time.  Other times, she'd take us with her and I think those were the worse times. 

 

One of those times she stopped at a motel in a small town,  telling us she wanted to rest.  Just around the corner was a movie theater, so she gave my sister and I money to go see the movie.  When we got there, we realized that she only gave us enough money for tickets but not enough for anything to drink or such so we decided to go back to the motel, since it was close and we had time, and get more money.  We walked into the room like most kids of six or seven , throwing open the door and just walking in.  Surprise!!  There she was in bed with a man and neither one of them had any clothes on.  She calmly gets up and walks across the room to get some change and yells at us for being there , to get out of there.  So my sister and I slowly and quietly walked back to the movie theater. Soon we were hurt and angry.  That man was NOT our father, and as young as we were , we knew it was wrong and we didn't like it.

I remember that the movie was called, " Children of the Damned".  I believe it was later remade under a different title, but it was about children who could cause people to do terrible things to others and themselves just by using their mental powers.  Hmmmm.... well, it didn't work for my sister and I.  It turned out that our mother was selling herself.  She was a prostitute .  Later, she married the man who was her pimp.  There's no nice way to say it , but there it is.  He bought a resale shop and  they decided to set up housekeeping in the back of the store.  This store just happened to be a block away from the corner bar, and he was a heavy drinker who got mean when he got drunk.  By this time, of course, the divorce from my father was final, and  my mother was already seven or eight months pregnant from this man.  This is the man who had held me down and poured beer down my throat, trying to make me drink it.  I thought I was going to drown before he stopped, but my mother never stepped in to stop him. 

On this particular night, he was at that bar, and he was late for supper.  My mother sent me to go fetch him.  I walked that long block to that corner bar, planning on just sticking my head in and yelling for him.  That's about as close as I was gonna get to this man.  When I got there and opened the screen door, because that's all there was ,  I wanted to scream. Blood was everywhere!, and he was in a fight with someone, rolling around all over the floor.  I just turned and ran, but not before he saw me.  I ran and ran back to the resale shop and he wasn't far behind me.  I barely managed to tell my mother when he barreled in and came at us, cussing and hollering .  He was angry about many things but mostly because my mother had called him to come home.

Well, a child's love for her mother dies hard, and when he began beating up our mother, my sister and I couldn't stand it.  I was about six and she was about seven or eight.  We understood that our mother was going to have a baby.  We decided we would try to stop him.  Before I knew what was happening, my sister had climbed onto the chair and jumped onto his back and had him by the neck.  I did the only thing I knew I could do to help and I lunged for the back of his knees.  It was a good decision, though I didn't know it at the time, and down he went, face first.  We beat on him as best as our small fists could beat him but of course he threw us both off pretty easily.  But he rose up slowly and simply told our mother right then and there,  that it was either him or us.  One or the other had to go.  We thought for sure it would be him.  After all, she was safe now, we had just helped her get away from him beating her up again. 

The next morning, as we walked with our mother to the bus station, our hearts were very confused and very broken.  Our mother was not only sending us away again, but she wasn't even going to go with us or take us to where we were being sent.  We were far, far , away from the family.  We remembered that much.  As we boarded the bus that day, we heard our mother tell the bus driver where we were supposed to get off and she just turned and left.  That was it. Neither of us knew that this would be the last time we would see our mother again, except for an appearance in the courtroom a couple of years later. 

 

My sister and I ended up on the farm with our great grandparents on my mother's side.  They didn't care for our mother's ways and had never had much to do with her but this was where we stopped on this journey home.  We didn't stay long,  but long enough to get to know two people, our great grandparents,  who came to love my sister and I as we did them in that short period of time.  I believe at that time , my sister and I needed to know desperately that there was someone who cared about us, but it was such a short short time that we were there before we would be gone again. 

Looking back ,  this was when we were to become aware only, but not really know who Jesus was.  If there was only one thing I could change about this time, it would be that I knew more of Jesus, that I knew more of who was really there to help us .  Even though we didn't know much about who Jesus was, I know that He knew who we were and what was happening to us. 

I know now, that He was there with us all along, working on our behalf.  Romans 8: 28 tells us : " And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."  This doesn't say to me that he would make things right in my life so that I wouldn't have to go through these trials, but it tells me that he would take these trials and make something good come out of them. Jesus has surely done this for me.  I believe the spiritual battle for my soul began very early in my life and Jesus had already decided, " Satan, you can't have this one.  This one's mine",  but the fight wasn't over yet.........

 

Hebrews 13:  5 & 6  tells me:

5.) .......I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. 

6.)  So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.

 

If only I had known this back then because in the years to come things were not getting any better for my sister and I.  To be continued......

My Journey Home

Part  One

                  by Shirley B.

 

This testimony has been a long time coming for me and a very long journey.  When I prayed and asked the Lord to show me how to begin, He impressed on me to start at the beginning, just like He did and tell it all.  I can't put my story under one heading.  Yes, there was abuse, both physical and emotional .  Yes, there were three divorces I went through in the families I lived in.  I suppose being dysfunctional would cover most of it, but not all.  My father was from Texas, the youngest of 13 children, mostly men, who joined the Air Force in the 1940's and went off to war, leaving him to care for my sick grandmother. My grandmother shortly died and he quickly decided to enlist also. One of his older brothers had met someone in Mississippi on leave and had married her. This brother introduced my father to my mother, who lived in Mississippi and they married.  Too quickly.  This set off a real Hatfields and McCoys saga in our family .  My father's family considered my mother to be white trash , from a poor family who lived in poverty in the backwoods of Mississippi, who used her looks to trap our father into marriage. 

I was three, almost four years old, the time we were living in Freeport, Texas.  I had a sister who was two years older than I was and I can't tell this story without including her in it.  We were in it all together, her and I.  At that time, we lived on the upper floor of a two story apartment.  I can remember that the outside staircase was very steep. 

On this particular day, my mother was washing clothes and in those days, they would boil starch and dip the shirts in them before hanging them.  She had filled a huge galvanized tub with the last of the boiling starch and left it at the very bottom of the staircase.  I came out the balcony door to the first step and down I went.  Down two flights of stairs into that tub of scalding starch. 

My  next conscious memory was waking up in the hospital.  I could see my reflection in the stainless steel and mirror like equipment around my bed, and people gathered about me.  I was strapped up and wrapped like a mummy.  I could only see openings for my eyes and mouth and a small space where my nose was. 

My uncle had brought a basket of fruit that he was holding. I remember it had a lot of oranges, my favorite, and my last thought was,  " How am I going to eat those oranges?" 

This was the last thought I  ever remembered about this accident. God was so merciful to me in that I never have remembered the pain and suffering of the next year of my life.  I had many broken bones and burns and scars. Oh, I was aware that I had  this accident, but I never remembered the actual fall until almost 25 years later. 

 

This was the beginning of the end for an already troubled marriage.  I was to learn later , from my mother's sister, that on that day,  my mother could only stand there and scream til my father came running from the other side of the house to see what had happened.  He was the one who reached down into that scalding tub of starch to pull me out.  I was burning  and I was drowning and I was broken but my mother couldn't force herself to reach in for me. 

No one could understand it. It was a lot to forgive and I'm sure the recovery period over the next year didn't help matters .  I had to be treated very carefully.  Wrapped and unwrapped and cleaned ,careful of the burns and the broken collarbone and others things.  It's like looking back at something that happened to someone else. 

I recovered.  I still have some scars, but little by little, as I grew, they have become smaller and faded.  However, the beginning of a great trial for my sister and I had just begun,  and  our mother began to show a side of herself that we would not have believed was possible for a mother.  If there had been forgiveness and understanding on the part of both my father and mother, maybe  a lot of pain and suffering would have been avoided.  

God tells us to  put up with each other, and forgive each other . Colossians 3:13.    

God is always faithful to His Word, and forgiveness is something He commands us to do.  I believe in my heart, that if there had been this forgiveness between my mother and father,  God would have helped them make things right . 

Jeremiah 29:11 tells me that God knows the plans that He has for me, plans for good and not for evil.  However, there was no forgiveness  between my parents  for this incident and more that was to come, and there was no wisdom concerning the things of God.  Twenty five years later, when I saw my mother's sister again, she was shocked to see that I had no visible scars.  God healed me .  Where others thought there would be ugly scars,  He left none.  Isn't that just like God,  to make the wisdom of man seem foolish?  I wish that the story ended here, but it didn't and the page of life turned.

To be continued................

 

Isaiah 53 : 5

 

He was wounded for our rebellious acts,

He was crushed for our sins,

He was punished so that we could have peace,

and we received healing from his wounds.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

By Walterene Jones  

Many times in my life, especially in the past few years when I’ve felt like the whole foundation of my life was quaking and crumbling beneath my feet, I’ve seen my Faith and my Trust in my Heavenly Father growing by leaps and bounds.  God has proven himself to me over and over.  His love, his mercy, his grace and his provision has been no less than amazing. 

 

I keep two little plaques on my office wall as reminders while I work.  One says, “Faith is not believing God can…it is knowing that he WILL” and the other says, “Faith is resting in God’s love, His presence and His provision.”   Not doubting God or his ability to take care of me through the trials in my life, my flesh still wonders from time to time How, When and What if. 

 

This past Christmas my precious elderly aunt who loves flowers with a passion, gave everyone Amaryllis bulbs.  If you’ve never seen one, they are sold in little red cartons.  The little kit comes with either rocks or a very small amount of soil and instructions on planting the giant bulb in its own container.  I took my 2 bulbs to work and decided to see what they would do.  I followed the directions carefully and planted the bulbs.  I stood back and shook my head with unbelief.  More than half of the large bulbs where exposed and still above the tiny amount of soil provided and I thought “how can this thing do anything?”  But I continued to keep them watered and within days they both sprouted.  I remember leaving work on a Friday and when I returned on Monday I found a large strong stem at least eight inches high and what appeared to be an actual unopened bloom.  I couldn’t believe it.  I continued to let them have sun and I watered them as the instructions showed. 

 

Then another sprout came up just beside the first one.  Before the week was up I saw more unopened blooms appear.  My second bulb was a little slower, but it too began to show 1 large stem.  Before I knew it and to my total amazement the first plant had six beautiful huge flower blooms on it, each about the size of my fist. 

 

Then my second bulb opened up and I had four beautiful blooms also the size of my fist coming straight out of the top of the stem.  My co-workers would come by with amazement and admire my real flowers that were actually growing in my office!  I too found myself sitting there staring at the flowers and then I my eyes went down to the giant bulbs barely planted in a small amount of soil.  The bulbs produced and fulfilled its purpose even in less than an ideal and normal situation.  The Lord spoke to me and said “Bloom Where You Are Planted”.

 

With that word from the Lord I began my search and while I could not find the scripture, I found great treasures of information and spiritually nourishing morsels that gave me strength and motivation. 

 

By no means playing down or minimizing Paul’s teaching in Phillipians 4:11-13, I quickly realized that the quote had so much more depth and meaning for me than simply to be content in whatever situation I was in.  I found myself pondering the fact that I can be thankful and content for what I have and for God’s gifts and blessings on my life, but what do I do in return with those gifts and blessings?  Are my gifts and blessings blooming and producing?  God’s gifts and blessings are to be more than things that make me content or happy.   They have purpose and meaning and should bring forth blooms. 

Just like my giant bulbs that were planted in small plastic containers with a very small amount of soil bloomed above and beyond their normal one bloom each per year, I too am encouraged to know that God has planted me where I am in life and that God does not make mistakes or have judgment lapses, he has a plan and a purpose for me.  I have his promise in Luke 18:27 that says, “Things which are impossible with men are possible with God.” 

He also promised me in Deuteronomy 31:6 “Be strong and of good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them; for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”  Blooming where I am planted is a determined attitude to know (Colossians 1:10) “That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God;” 

 

In my mind’s eye I remember a photo I took many years ago when my husband and I took a drive through the Texas Hill Country during wild flower season.  We saw this beautiful hillside covered in Blue Bonnets and right in the center was one single little yellow Black Eyed Susie Daisy.  It was definitely different and small, but it bloomed where it was planted and even in the midst of the grand splendor of that beautiful Blue Bonnet field, it stood out and made it presence known.  I believe John Mason said it all when he said, “Develop an infinite capacity to ignore what others think can’t be done.  Don’t just grow where you are planted.  Bloom where you are Planted.  No one can predict to what heights you can soar.  Even you will not know until you spread your wings.”

 

 

 

Little is Much
(When God is in It)
Words and Music by Kittie L. Suffield
1924

In the harvest field now ripened
There’s a work for all to do;
Hark! the voice of God is calling
To the harvest calling you.

Refrain
Little is much when God is in it!
Labor not for wealth or fame.
There’s a crown and you can win it,
If you go in Jesus’ Name.

In the mad rush of the broad way,
In the hurry and the strife,
Tell of Jesus’ love and mercy,
Give to them the Word of Life.

Refrain
Little is much when God is in it!
Labor not for wealth or fame.
There’s a crown and you can win it,
If you go in Jesus’ Name.

Does the place you’re called to labor
Seem too small and little known?
It is great if God is in it,
And He’ll not forget His own.

Refrain
Little is much when God is in it!
Labor not for wealth or fame.
There’s a crown and you can win it,
If you go in Jesus’ Name.

Are you laid aside from service,
Body worn from toil and care?
You can still be in the battle,
In the sacred place of prayer.

Refrain
Little is much when God is in it!
Labor not for wealth or fame.
There’s a crown and you can win it,
If you go in Jesus’ Name.

When the conflict here is ended
And our race on earth is run,
He will say, if we are faithful,
“Welcome home, My child - well done!”

Refrain
Little is much when God is in it!
Labor not for wealth or fame.
There’s a crown and you can win it,
If you go in Jesus’ Name.

 

 

 

Phyllis Ten Elshof

Taking On Breast Cancer

This survivor's fought the disease—twice. Here are her strategies

Phyllis Ten Elshof

Research the dickens out of it.

Some people want to hear only what they have to about a medical problem; anything more terrifies them. For me, information is power; it offers a sense of direction through something that threatens to rob me of all sense of control. My second round of breast cancer was easier to deal with, partly because of what I'd learned from the first. My work with breast-cancer support groups such as Reach to Recovery and Expressions for Women had put me in regular contact with survivors. I'd read everything I could get my hands on, crowding my bookshelves with classics such as Dr. Susan Love's Breast Book Living Beyond Limits by David Spiegel, M.D., Cancer as a Turning Point by Lawrence LeShan, and a magazine for women with cancer. I'd researched dozens of Internet sites. I knew so much about breast cancer, I was bored by it.

But like a bolt of lightning, my abnormal mammogram in May 2001 recharged my interest. I surfed the Net for information on mammogram findings, core biopsies, and treatment for recurrent breast cancer. I was back on the phone with my breast-cancer buddies. And what I learned eased the tangle of stress inside me so I could think rationally about big decisions I'd soon have to make, such as: Would I need a mastectomy in my right breast? Could I get by this time with a lumpectomy and radiation? Should I have chemotherapy again?

Lean on the professionals. 

Personal research is helpful, but it can only go so far. God gave us health-care professionals for a reason—to help guide us through a mass of information toward a reasonable solution. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer the second time, my surgeon suggested a conference at which my husband and I and various physicians would discuss my case to determine the best treatment course. I leaped at the opportunity. The conference at a nearby hospital began with slides of my cancer cells and two treatment options: mastectomy or lumpectomy with radiation. The choice narrowed after I mentioned I'd also been diagnosed the previous year with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I was in remission but deeply concerned about how breast-cancer treatment might affect my immune system's ability to cope with the cancer. With that revelation, the discussion shifted. The oncologist said he preferred getting rid of all breast tissue to avert possible recurrence. The surgeon argued for mastectomy, too, saying it would be better to do everything now rather than in stages. Within minutes, a consensus emerged. I left the conference with a clear sense of direction. My questions had been addressed. I'd been a full participant in the discussion. Everyone in that room had helped me decide a mastectomy was my best choice.

Don't settle for less than the best.

During my first round of breast cancer, a surgeon made a suggestion for which I've always been grateful. "You're so young, you ought to consider immediate reconstruction," he said. I was 48 at the time. A few days later, I met with a plastic surgeon to discuss how to rebuild my breast. He explained several options, including a TRAM-flap reconstruction (Traverse Rectus Abdominus Myocuta-neous flap—also called the "sit-up muscle" of the abdomen), in which he'd build a breast entirely of my own tissue, scavenging muscle and fat from my belly. This option required more surgery and recovery time, but the results were more natural than an implant. Best of all, I'd wake up from surgery with a new breast already in place. I chose the TRAM

See cancer as a gift.

When people ask why God would give me breast cancer twice, I often say, "Why would he give me health? One is no more deserved than another. I go on to tell them how God's used cancer for good in my life. For one thing, it's brought the reconciliation of my son and daughter. Sibling rivalry ruled through childhood, teenage years, and well after both left home. But the day we learned the spot on my hip might be metastasized breast cancer, my son and daughter reached out for each other. As I watched them embrace, tears ran down my cheeks. If this is what cancer could accomplish, I was willing. There have been other blessings, too, such as priceless memories of my post-operative care. I think of how my daughter bathed me and washed my hair in the hospital. How my mother fixed tea and fetched me pillows, how my sisters dropped off meals, how my stepdad stocked the birdfeeder to entice the finches I love to watch. How friends kidnapped me for lunch. And, finally, how my husband helped me into the car for the long ride home. All the while, I was buoyed by people who were praying for me at work, at church, and in various support groups.

But the sweetest blessing is how cancer makes me cling to God. Life can be so busy, it may take something such as cancer to teach us that regardless of how rewarding our job, family, friendships, and church responsibilities are, nothing's more precious than time we spend with God.

Live like a winner.

Several years ago, Betty Rollins wrote a book titled First You Cry. I agree—there definitely is a time for tears. You cry on the elevator ride from the doctor's office after he's put you at the top of his hit list for surgery. You cry when your husband wraps his arms around you, trying to ease the blow of a biopsy report. You cry on the phone when you're telling your kids. You cry when Mom tells you, "I wish I could have this instead of you". But there's a time to stop mourning, too, and get back to life. One way to do that is to get back to whatever it is God's called you to do. Work is therapeutic, I've found. It focuses attention on what you can do rather than on what you're powerless to control. It makes you productive and useful. And if you're blessed as I am with believing coworkers, it plugs you back into a network of daily support. Another way to get a grip on cancer is to start helping others. You can't mope around feeling sorry for yourself if you're out shopping for hats with someone about to start chemo. Or be paralyzed by worry if you're chugging off to the hospital to deliver flowers to someone who's just had surgery. The beauty of such helping, of course, is that in helping, we find ourselves being helped. But the best way to beat back the enemy is to put every fear into the hands of the God who made us, sustains us, and controls whatever happens to us. He knew I'd have cancer. In his unfathomable wisdom, he allowed it to happen for reasons that are only beginning to become apparent to me. And in his boundless grace, he's not only using cancer to bless me but to bless those around me. Will I have cancer again? Most likely. The lymphoma I have is the type that returns, and the breast cancer of nine years ago might still metastasize to other parts of my body. Even if it does, though, it won't have the power to conquer my spirit. For I know that even if cancer so ravages my body that I no longer have the strength to go on living, I'll still win the battle. As a Scripture passage at BibleGateway.com - Philippians 1:18, so beautifully says: 'I will continue to rejoice … for to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain'.

Phyllis Ten Elshof is an editor at Christianity Today International who lives with her husband in the Chicago area. This article is posted online at Today’s Christian Woman.  www.christianitytoday.com