For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways; – Psalm 91:11

It’s been almost five years since “Episode One,” about how getting rear-ended on the highway led me to meet a young lady and give her a book. Here’s the original version of that story:

There’s Got To Be an Easier Way To Get Readers

I was once again on the road, headed for Louisville. This time I was in a car we had recently bought, and I was still getting used to all the new (to me) high-tech stuff. In 20-20 hindsight, I probably should have spent a lot more time studying the manual before doing a road trip. I had already stopped at the dealership on the way out of town, so their expert could help me get my phone connected to the system and I could get the GPS on the (bigger) screen for my trip. He did bunch of clicks, backtracked, tried a slightly different combination, and finally got the GPS up on my screen.

“Do you need to show me what you just did?” I asked.

“Na,” he said, “you’re all set.”

SPOILER ALERT: I was not all set!

I had driven for less than an hour before stopping at a fruit stand to buy some good (amazing) Michigan fruit to take back to friends and family, who have been stuck buying the week-old stuff in the grocery stores. When I got back in the car, I noticed the GPS was again not showing up. I couldn’t duplicate what the kid at the dealership had done, and finally, frustrated, I thought, Forget it, I’m going old school. I disconnected the Bluetooth, figuring I’d just use the GPS on my phone the way I always had.

But the moment I plugged the phone in to charge it, the GPS popped up on the screen – Bluetooth-less! Go figure.

Eventually I got pretty good at the high-tech guessing. Unfortunately, when I got a phone call that was now coming through the car speakers, the GPS map didn’t show on the screen until I hung up. I also couldn’t get any music on the fancy-schmancy music system without losing the map. This was going to be a long trip …

I occupied my ADHD mind with prayer, which was helpful for the first couple of hours. (There’s always plenty to pray about.) But just when I was starting to be concerned about getting sleepy, a call came in from an old friend. I decided to answer it, since I had about 80 miles to go before my next exit.

We talked, we prayed, we talked some more, and I finally said, “I think I’d better hang up, I might have an exit coming up soon.” I wasn’t sure the GPS would still “talk” to me when I wasn’t seeing the map.

Just then, I noticed the two lanes dividing, and assuming the right one must be an exit, I moved to the left lane.

Wrong.

By the time I realized the left lane was the exit, I was heading into a curve – going about 60 mph! I braked as quickly as I could, but not quickly enough. I skidded off the pavement, into the gravel, and over a small sign, accompanied by a lot of grinding noise underneath.

So much for the new car.

I got out to examine the situation, expecting the worst. There by the side of the road was a large sheet of blue plastic, a few smaller chunks of blue, and what looked like black plastic grating. I walked around the car to see where they had come from. Oddly, I saw no damage whatsoever. I also noticed the big chunk of material was a slightly different shade of blue from my car. Stupidly, I thought, Did someone in another blue car make the same mistake here? Again, I circled the car. Again, I saw no damage. All four tires seemed fine, and I saw nothing dripping from the engine.

In my prayers earlier, I had asked for my needs to be met that day. Well, I now had enough adrenaline in my system to keep any drowsiness at bay for the remaining four hours of the trip. Which turned out to be a little more than four hours …

After taking a few minutes for my breathing and heartrate to return to as close to normal as possible, I drove a little farther, stopped, and again got out to check the tires and under the car. Still okay, just a slight dripping, I figured from the AC. But of course, my writer’s imagination was creating scenarios of a gasoline leak, causing the car to catch fire and explode, etc. Dang.

This seemed like a good time to try the new (to me) voice system. I pushed the “talk” button and said with as much authority as I could muster: “Find the nearest car repair shop.”

“There’s a Midas 9 minutes away,” the cheery voice replied, then added, “Let’s go!” as the GPS map adjusted to show a new destination. (How can she be so calm at a time like this?)

It seemed I had more to pray about now. Even getting my oil changed, I’d experienced what I call the “We-couldn’t-help-noticing” modus operandi of auto mechanics. I could just imagine what they’d tell me now – a female, alone, far from home, at the mercy of “experts,” with some yet-to-be-disclosed damage, and still a bit shaken.

“Well, ma’am, you’ve punctured the rear-wheel distributor, and alternator fluid is leaking. We’ll need to cap the carburetor, adjust the placebo, and replace the occipital differentiator. We can get to it a week from next Friday, and it’ll be about $4000.”

Lord, please let me find someone honest. – Or make them be honest!

I saw a couple of car repair shops on the way, but I instinctively passed them by and went to the one where I was being directed. I’m glad I did, because the most interesting part of my trip was about to transpire …

Prayer: Lord, trusting You has been such an adventure. Even when circumstances seem out of control and I have royally messed up, You’re working out Your plan for me. Thank You that I can trust I won’t leave this world a moment before it is accomplished. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Today’s post is a continuation of the story I started yesterday. https://seekingdivineperspective.com/2024/08/18/last-minute-invite/

Ali, my unofficial “grandson” and a groom-to-be, had called to invite me to his wedding – which was a week away! The following day his mother Nasrin, who now knew a lot more English, called me to see if I was coming. I told her I was, but I needed to know what women were going to be wearing. Would they be wearing head coverings? Nasrin said some would but assured me there’d be others who wouldn’t.

Later, knowing I had some formal dresses in Louisville, I asked her via text if there were any traditions regarding colors. For American weddings the only hard and fast rule I knew was that no one wears white except the bride. (Of course, American weddings are also planned months or years in advance … )

The answer came in a voicemail from the groom’s sister Sophie, who was about twelve by now. Now calling me “Grandma Ann,” she said she missed me SOooo much, that she and the bride were going to wear white, and that I should wear white, too, as “family.” I was a bit surprised, but I trusted Sophie.

I only had one white dress, the one I had worn to our “golden anniversary” party the summer before. It was knee length and distinctly not Middle Eastern. I sent a picture, and Sophie’s next voicemail said, “Ohmygosh, that is stunning, and yes, you should definitely wear it!” So, again taking the advice of a twelve-year-old, I checked that concern off the list.

I learned the time and location of the wedding through a “virtual invitation.” The border of flowers gave me an idea for a gift that I tucked away in my mind.

By Saturday noon I had driven as far as Indianapolis when the AC in the car started acting up. Since it was 95 degrees, this was not a good thing! I rolled into Louisville just in time to visit Ali’s business before they closed. The groom was not there, of course, but I was helped by his employees. They were friendly young men, and when I told them why I was in town, they said they’d see me at the wedding.

I left the auto shop in time to pick up one of my granddaughters and get to Hobby Lobby before they closed, to buy some silk flowers matching the ones on the invitation.

Sunday morning, I was awake at 4:30. Unable to get back to sleep, I got up at 5:30 and made a wreath for the bride and groom’s new home that matched the border on their invitations. I planned on taking a nap later that day, but before I knew it, it was time to head out to the wedding.

As the other women arrived at the venue, I was in awe. They looked absolutely gorgeous. Each one was draped with multiple layers of brightly colored fabrics, some embroidered, some with beads and sequins. They were wrapped in satin sashes and gold belts and adorned with opulent jewelry. With long, flowing black hair completing the look, these women were dazzling. They reminded me of the book of Arabian Nights my sister and I enjoyed so much as kids, when we would leaf through the pages of colorful illustrations, trying to decide which of the ladies had the most beautiful dresses.

To be honest, I was intimidated. But there were three women who were very friendly and seemed genuinely interested in who I was and how I knew the family. We got acquainted over the dinner of exotic foods the guests had brought. Toward the end of the evening, we exchanged contact information, hoping to get together after I returned from Michigan for the winter.

When I was ready to say my goodbyes to the family, the bride opened my gift. Although she didn’t speak much English yet, a little gasp and smile of delight said all that needed to be said.

As I turned to go, I jokingly told Ali, “Pray my phone doesn’t die before I get home.” After taking so many pictures, I was hoping I had enough battery left for the GPS to take me back.

Ali responded, “Text me when you get there, so I’ll know you made it OK.”

“I am not texting you on your wedding night!” I laughed. But bless his heart, he seemed so concerned, I promised I’d text his mom.

The next day, looking through the pictures of that special occasion, I once again found myself distracted by the elegance of the women there, and once again I felt like a mousy little old lady in comparison. I cropped myself out of all the group pictures except the one of me with the bride and groom.

I guess I was about due for a reality check…

The next time I was focused on Scripture, I was in the book of I Peter. As I read/recited the familiar verses, one passage fairly jumped out at me, and I laughed as I felt the Lord’s “smacking me upside the head” with the verses I knew so well.

Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. – I Peter 3:3-4

In other words, as impressed as I was with the glamorous, the Lord looks on the heart. I don’t need to compete with the exotic beauties I encountered at a Middle Eastern wedding, I just need to have “a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.”

Of course, that in itself is enough of a challenge for me! But thankfully, He will help me with this aspiration, because this is the one He cares about.

Prayer: Lord, in my perpetual search for divine perspective, I am so grateful for Your patience. Help me to be beautiful in the ways that matter to You and not get distracted by envy. In Jesus’ name, amen.

At that time the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’ – Matthew 25: 1,6

“Ali,”* was only fifteen when his family arrived in the U. S. as refugees from the Middle East. His father, “Mosen,”* knew a fair amount of English, but his mother, “Nasrin,”* struggled with it. They also had a little girl, “Sophie,”* five years old, who understood some English and was picking it up quickly.

I was part of a group from our church who “adopted” this brave family and had the privilege of guiding them through their journey. At the same time, we experienced a little of their culture, too.

Over the next few years, the other members of the church group moved away, until I was the only one left. I continued to help Nasrin learn English and study for her citizenship exam, and whenever I came to their house, I got to see other members of the family as well. When all four of them became U.S. citizens, we all celebrated together.

I eventually became an honorary member of their family. Nasrin called me “Mom,” Sophie called me “Mama-Grand,” and the guys called me “Miss Ann.”

I saw the family move out of their bare-bones apartment to one slightly bigger, then to a modest house across the river in Indiana, and finally to a nicer house, where they live today.

Mosen was in the business of repairing cars, and after Ali graduated from high school, he decided to skip college and follow in his father’s footsteps. When Mosen asked him if he wanted to go to trade school, his reply was, “Why? You’ve already taught me everything I need to know.” Ali now owns his own car repair business in Louisville with seven employees working for him. Between not requiring appointments and charging much less than the competitors, business is booming. Ali recently made a down payment on a beautiful house on some prime property, and during a visit to his home country, Ali became engaged to a lovely woman and celebrated the betrothal with family there.

It seems at the ripe old age of twenty-two, Ali has achieved the American Dream.

Before I left to go up north for most of the summer, Ali and his mother kept asking when I would be back in town. They wanted to know, in order to set a date for the wedding when I would be sure to come. (I am, after all, the grandmother of the groom. 😉 ❤ ) Deeply touched, I told them, “Just let me know when you set the date, and I promise I will be there.”

I had been in northern Michigan for less than two weeks when I noticed I had missed a phone call from Ali. I sent him a text, asking him, “What’s up?” Of course, I already knew.

(Sort of.)

As expected, he texted back, “I wanted to invite you for my wedding …” Not as expected, he added, “… on the 23rd of this month. I just booked my hall now.”

“A week from today?!” I texted, thinking that had to be a typo or something …

Ali simply texted back, “Yes.”

Of course, my first thought was, No way! I asked if anyone had RSVP’d yet and was told they were calling and texting about 100 other guests the next day. Apparently, I was the first one to be invited. I told him I wasn’t sure, but I would let him know the next day.

I was astonished that they were expecting that many people to be able to drop everything and come to a wedding. But then I reminded myself that I am not a part of their culture, and maybe this is the way they do it. Most or all of the other guests were close by. Sure, they were American citizens now, but who says they can’t have a wedding according to their own traditions?

Suddenly one of Jesus’ parables came to mind, along with things I had learned about ancient Middle Eastern weddings.

In Jesus’ time, the groom would go and prepare a place for his bride, and when it was ready, he would come back for her. Until he came, the bridal party would watch and wait for his return. When he appeared, there would be a grand celebration before the bridegroom took his bride away to their new home.

In the parable five bridesmaids were wise and had their lamps full of oil to light the way to the banquet hall when the bridegroom came. The other five were foolish and hadn’t brought enough oil. When the groom was delayed, they ran out, left to buy more, and were locked out of the party.

Before His death Jesus told His followers that He was going to prepare a place for them – the Church being His bride. He used this parable to warn us to be prepared for His return. Missing out on His wedding feast – eternity in heaven – would be far worse than missing a party!

Ali had been preparing a home for his bride. The month before, he had gone to his home country to be officially betrothed, have the betrothal party there, and make legal arrangements for her to come to the U.S. Like the bridal party and guests in the parable, Ali’s family and friends in America knew a wedding was coming, they just didn’t know the exact date yet.

Now that I thought about it, I had known a wedding was coming, too … Duh.

Going to this wedding was very doable. Unlike the bridesmaids with their lamps in the parable, I had six whole days to get ready! Six days to cancel my obligations for the weekend, get back to Louisville, and do what I should have already done – get a gift and figure out what to wear to a Middle Eastern wedding.

Piece of cake. … Right?

More importantly, someday, Jesus, our Bridegroom will return for His Bride – us.

Just as I shouldn’t have waited until I knew the exact date to get ready for Ali’s wedding, we really shouldn’t wait to be getting ready for that Day! We don’t know the day or hour, and by the time we find out, it will be too late.

It could be today or a hundred years from now – or a thousand years.

We should all get ready now and stay ready.

Prayer: Lord, we know You’re coming back for us someday, maybe today. Give us hearts that wait in eager expectation for Your return, even while serving You in any way we can until that Day arrives, in Jesus’ name, Amen.

*(Not their real names)

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. – Psalm 23:4a

“Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” I’m sure when I was hearing that “true-ism” as a child, the adults who taught it to me believed it wise and profound. But the truth was, words could and did hurt – they hurt a lot!

Unflattering nicknames assaulted my self-worth when I was a preadolescent at the country club pool, where we “privileged” kids spent most of the summer. (Funny, I didn’t always feel that privileged…) Those nicknames launched me into a decades-old battle with body image and a 12-year eating disorder.

When we grow into adults, especially as Christians, there is an expectation of a certain amount of maturity. That expectation includes the hope that what malicious people say about us will run off our backs like rain off a duck. Sadly, this isn’t always the case. Even at the tender age of 71, I still have to remind myself almost daily of the humbling of words a former pastor of mine:

“You won’t worry so much about what other people think of you, once you realize how seldom they do.”

I think I was in my thirties when it had come to my attention that I had been the subject of some serious gossip. Although outwardly my reaction was, “Who cares what they think? I know I haven’t done anything wrong.” But inwardly, I was bothered by the talk, maybe because having people think I was guilty of some gross sin would damage my witness, but no doubt also because I just didn’t want people to think I was anything besides the pure, righteous woman I fancied myself to be. Sometime during that season, I had a profound dream that I remember to this day:

I was in a place that was very unfamiliar to me in my waking life. It was a dark, noisy, smoky, crowded bar, and I was trying to leave. There were numerous people packed together between me and the door, and I wondered how I would ever get out of there. This was definitely not an environment I felt comfortable in!

At one point a fight broke out. Some strong-looking, drunken men started throwing punches, and I was sure I would be hit and injured, maybe even knocked out. I must have said a hasty prayer, because I felt the presence of God. When I opened my eyes, I saw a bright spot in that dark place. It was a soft glow, lighting a narrow path from me to the door. I took a step, bracing myself for whatever blows would land on me.

But as I took one cautious step after another on that bright path, I experienced an unexpected peace. Although the fighting around me continued, there seemed to be an invisible shield between the violent men and me. Fists that flew my way stopped abruptly, inches from my face, as though hitting a glass barrier, and I walked on, untouched.

Maybe words can’t hurt us. They certainly can’t harm us, unless we allow them to. Although I was strengthened by the obvious message of that dream, in order to live it out I needed to remind myself continuously to stay on the narrow path (Matthew 7:13), walk in the light (I John 1:7), and have faith in the Lord – that faith being my invisible shield (Ephesians 6:16).

When David set out to kill Goliath, he declined the King’s offer of armor. Shielded only by his faith, unlike others who had fled the giant, he ran confidently toward him. And as we all know, he swiftly won the battle. As a warrior, he no doubt spent much of his life “walking through the valley of the shadow of death.” But even as civilians living thousands of years later, we can look to the God-inspired words he wrote and take comfort and courage from them.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for giving us everything we need to protect us from the world’s attacks. Thank You for Your patience with us, as we repeatedly let ourselves be distracted by the empty threats and accusations of the enemy. Help us keep our eyes on You and our feet on the narrow path, in Jesus’ name. Amen

“And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all …” – Mark 16:17, 18a

It was fall, 1991, and my usual “cold season” had started already. In those days I was still struggling to keep my immune system strong, but year after year, when autumn came, with it came a steady stream of colds that lasted until spring.

That night I had a particularly horrible bout. I had all the symptoms – runny nose, raw throat, congestion, cough, headache, fever, yadda-yadda-yadda…

I was desperate to get some sleep. So, like any normal red-blooded American, I took drugs. Specifically, a “multi-symptom” liquid containing every imaginable cold medicine, plus alcohol. I never drank, but that night I just wanted to be knocked out and escape the misery for a while.

The escape lasted for about four hours, and at 3:00 A. M. I was wide awake, all the symptoms having come back with a vengeance.

I thought, I know I’m probably not supposed to do this, but at this point I don’t care. I took a second dose and was knocked out for a few more hours.

A few days later, the monster had subsided a bit, but in the meantime, I had noticed something else unusual. Suspicious and a bit apprehensive, I bought a home pregnancy test kit.

It was October 31, and pulling the kit out of the bag, I said to Marty, “Well, honey, it’s Halloween. You wanna do something really scary?” He turned an appropriate, ghostly pale.

As you can probably guess (Why else would I be telling this story?), the result was positive. Just to make sure, I showed the stick to Marty and asked if he saw a pink line. He said he did.

“So, does that mean we’re having a girl?” asked my adorably oblivious husband.

Later, I had a thought that turned my joy into anxiety: I had taken all those drugs and alcohol the other night, when unbeknownst to me, I was already pregnant! Though it wasn’t yet the size of a kidney bean, I had already potentially poisoned my baby! Of course, I wouldn’t know whether that knock-out medicine had done any harm for a long time. How would I survive not knowing something that important for nearly nine months?!

About a week later, I was at my children’s school, making apple pies for a fundraiser with a group of other moms. Denise, a woman I was vaguely acquainted with approached me.

“Annie …” She seemed hesitant to continue, maybe trying to put what she had to say into words. “Is … anything going on in your life right now?”

“Well,” I said, smiling, still in awe of my situation, “I just learned I’m pregnant again.” Then curious, I wanted to know, “Why do you ask?”

“Last week, the Lord woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to pray for you.”

I let that statement sink in, then felt compelled to ask, “Do you remember what night?” She thought a moment.

“It was Tuesday,” she said, “at about 3:00 in the morning.”

About the time I was gulping down my second dose of “poison.”

“And you prayed for me?” She smiled and nodded.

“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. (And thank YOU, I added silently.)

From that moment, I decided I was not going to spend nine months stressing out over whether this baby was going to be something it shouldn’t be because I did something wrong. I turned my child over to the One who created her in the first place, knowing that He’d had her all along.

Later I was to stand up to a doctor who warned me that at my age there was a greater chance of having a child with Down’s Syndrome. He wanted to give me a test to determine if this were the case with my baby.

“So … if the test comes out positive, what can we do about it?” I asked. I knew what the “answer” would be for some women, but he knew that was not an option for me.

“Well,” he said hesitantly, “you prepare yourself for it.”

“I’ll prepare myself now,” I said. “And if the baby’s normal, it’ll be a pleasant surprise.” There was something else I needed to say that I felt needed saying. I had done a little research, read some statistics. “What are the chances that I would have a Down’s Syndrome child at my age, anyway?”

“For 40-year-old women, about one percent,” he confirmed what I had read. At 38, I wasn’t concerned.

“I’ve read that the test carries a risk of miscarriage. Is that true?”

“A slight risk,” he answered.

“So, let me get this straight … You’re asking me to take a test and risk miscarriage, because there’s a one percent chance of something I can’t do anything about anyway?!”

The doctor put up his hands in surrender. “Oh stop it!” he scolded.

(No, you stop it, I grumbled silently.)

Flash Forward: I did not have the test. Kelly did not have Down’s Syndrome. That doctor did not deliver her. In fact, I delivered her (Duh.), with the help of a different doctor.

And the Lord delivered me from the poison of fear, with the help of a lady named Denise.

Prayer: Father, thank You so much for speaking to Denise, for her obedience, and for prompting her to tell me about it. Thank You for Your patience with us, as You tell us again and again not to worry and we do it anyway! Help us to trust You more and reserve our emotional energies for what You’ve called us to do for Your kingdom, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:2

Three years into our marriage, Marty and I moved to the little vacation town of Onekama, where we had met, where we were married, and where we had numerous friends … in the summer.

That first fall, as one by one the families we knew headed back to their winter homes, I had just one friend who was a full-time Onekama resident: Georgine.

Georgine and I had been in the chorus for a musical in Manistee the summer before. We had carpooled to rehearsals and had got to know each other while driving to and from the theater.

But now Georgine was battling cancer in a hospital in Grand Rapids. I wanted to visit my friend and sing some songs with her, in the hopes that some music would cheer her up. This is how one day I found myself taking a road trip with Georgine’s mom.

Even before being a mother myself, I knew that “when Baby Bear hurts, Mama Bear hurts.” So, that day as we took the three-hour journey, I let Mama Bear pour out her hurt in a detailed account of her daughter’s ordeal.

Chemotherapy had been a nightmare. The first chemo shot had resulted in hours of uncontrollable vomiting and “dry heaves.” Mama Bear wept, recalling how she had watched helplessly as her daughter had suffered, seemingly to the point of dying – or wanting to. That day we were making a point of getting to the hospital early, in hopes of having a good visit before the dreaded second shot.

But when we arrived Georgine was in tears.

“I tried to tell them to wait, but they wouldn’t! They insisted on giving me that stupid shot!” she sobbed in frustration. Her mother was visibly upset, and I was wondering how soon the ordeal was going to start.

Glancing down, I saw a large glass bottle by the bed with a clear, pink liquid dripping into it from a tube; apparently, Georgine’s lungs were filled with fluid. I averted my eyes from the unpleasant sight and back to my friend and tried to smile as I greeted her. Georgine seemed both glad to see me and apologetic that I had come all that way just to witness her distress.

But so far, the worst thing happening was the anticipation of a looming trauma. I got out my guitar and asked Georgine if she’d like a song; she said she would. Her mother stood by her, seemingly holding her breath, and I determined that we were just going to make the most of our visit for as long as we could.

As I began to sing, I saw a slight smile on Georgine’s face as she closed her eyes and took in the music. Before I knew it, I saw her lips moving, and soon a soft soprano voice joined mine.

As I kept playing, we sang “Amazing Grace,” “This Little Light of Mine,” and other old, familiar hymns and vacation Bible school songs we knew. Georgine’s voice got stronger, and from the corner of my eye I noticed the fluid was flowing more steadily into the glass jar. I realized that the more loudly Georgine sang, the more her lungs would pump it out, and the more it was cleared away, the stronger her singing grew, pushing out even more.

It was practically gushing by the time Georgine was singing “O Holy Night.” It wasn’t even close to Christmas, but according to Georgine’s mom, she’d sung that solo every Christmas Eve at her church, so I’d decided I wanted to hear it for myself.

At one point, I realized some members of the hospital staff had gathered in the doorway to listen. We could sense the presence of God, and His light seemed to envelop all of us.

I don’t remember exactly how long we stayed, but it was a long visit, and by the time we left, everyone’s spirits were up. Georgine never had any reaction to “that stupid shot,” and Mama Bear was definitely happier and more relaxed as we drove back to Onekama.

When our friends are sick, we pray for their healing. Sometimes those prayers get answered the way we want to see them answered. Other times, not so much. But the child of God is never abandoned, and even when we “walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” we know we’re not alone. Georgine went to be with her Savior a few weeks after that visit. Although many people were disappointed, there was no doubt that the Lord had been with her throughout the journey. Even along the dark road she was on, He gave her occasional bursts of light, glimpses of heaven, right up to the moment she received her ultimate healing. That day at the hospital I was privileged to witness one of those bright spots, a kind of “rest stop” in the race. As we worshiped our Savior and Friend and just basked in His presence for a little while, we could look forward to the day we’ll be with Him forever.

Prayer: Lord, this life can be very hard, as You well know. Thank You for not being a distant, unconcerned god. Thank You, not only for what You suffered for us, but for being with us in our own trials, reminding us in so many ways, that even though the road is hard, we’re not walking it alone. Thank You for Georgine and all the “cloud of witnesses” who have made that journey and are cheering us on as we still struggle toward the finish line. Help us to finish well, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. – Psalm 90:12

Time is precious, and my need to prioritize continues. Lately the Lord seems to be “helping” me in a very humbling way, a way characteristic of people my age and older.

I’ve started forgetting things.

Case in point: Just before the weekend of the Kentucky Derby, Marty and I took a long walk in the late afternoon. Since the weather was hot, I made us a big salad for dinner. We ate together and watched some Derby activities on the local news. (Here in Louisville, Derby is bigger than Christmas.) At some point Marty fell asleep next to me. A little while later, he asked sleepily, “Weren’t you going somewhere tonight?”

I realized, YES! It was Thursday, and I had just missed my church home group. I was momentarily upset with myself. Then I was puzzled, remembering that I had prayed earlier, “Please help me remember what I need to remember, and help me forget what I need to forget.”

So … what happened? Was it somehow more important that I spend that evening with my husband doing mundane things at home? As embarrassing as such blunders are, if I truly trust the Lord, they shouldn’t throw me into a panic. I have to believe that if the Lord had wanted me to go to home group, well … I would have remembered to go!

In my defense, I’d like to point out something that should be obvious once you think about it:

The older one gets, the more experiences we’ve had, the more memories we have, and the more data resides in our brains. This is a good reason for younger people to be more tolerant of their elders’ forgetting things. These kids may forget less than their grandparents, but they have a lot less to forget. (That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.)

In my younger days, I wanted to do anything and everything. I crammed so many activities into my schedule that I was in a constant state of frenzied activity. That is, until I burned out, got sick, and had to cancel a bunch of things until I could recover. Even then, I would invariably jump back into things prematurely, often bringing on a frustrating relapse.

“My brothers, this should not be.” I don’t know anywhere in the gospels where Jesus was described as franticly busy. He knew the Father’s will and did it, with no time wasted on useless activities. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all do that?

As with most important battles, the struggle to know the will of God and do it is waged in the mind. In recent years I’ve come to appreciate the importance of giving my mind over to the Lord early and often. Romans 12:2 is a wonderful verse that describes this commitment:

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is – his good, pleasing, and perfect will. (Romans 12:2)

I’ve found as I get older it becomes easier to “test and approve” what God’s will is. But there are still times I’m not quite getting it. And that’s where senility come into play. (*eye roll*)

If the Lord has whispered to me that a certain activity, while good, is not the BEST use of my time, and I haven’t heard clearly enough to cancel, I may find, as I did the other night, that it has “slipped my mind.” This concerned me for a while, especially considering my age and already scatterbrained tendencies. But when I have prayed and given my mind to the Lord, including my memory, I should trust Him with it. That means I don’t have to beat myself up for forgetting something. I can assume I was supposed to forget.

I’ve often thought of “what I ought to forget” as including the hurtful and counterproductive, the painful memories, and certain minor issues I tend to turn into major ones. But I’m starting to consider that they also could include lesser things that compete with the most important (not necessarily the most glamorous) duties. If I keep asking the Lord to clear out the mental clutter, I have to trust that He’s doing that. No one said the world would agree with those priorities or admire me for it!

Here’s another obvious observation:

The older we get, the less time we have left. They say life is like a roll of toilet paper; the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes. If my time is short, I don’t want to squander any of it doing what’s not-quite-His-will, then backtracking and doing belatedly what I should have been doing in the first place.

So, young people, the next time an older person forgets something, before you roll your eyes at their stupidity, you might want to consider that that thing you consider so important and unforgettable just might be something God considers a lesser priority. Or just plain silly. Better to use your critical thinking skills determining His plan for your own life and making sure you yourself are on track. In a few blinks of an eye, you’ll be old, too.

By the way, after forgetting my home group, I remembered that after postponing going north “for a few days,” Marty had decided now the trip was so close to the time he usually goes up for the summer, that when he got there, he’d just stay. So, while he usually goes north just a week or two before I do, to get the family summer home opened and functioning, this year it will be a lot longer. Since it hadn’t yet sunk in that we were going to be apart for nearly a month, the Lord allowed home group to slip my mind, so I’d spend the evening with my husband. I’ll have plenty of time to spend with my home group when he’s in Michigan.

Prayer: Lord, as I get older, may my desire to please You outrank everything else, including my pride. Help me hone in on what really matters. Don’t let lesser things – even good things – drown out Your voice. I give You my mind today, casting down imaginations and every argument that exalts itself against the knowledge of You, taking every thought captive for You.* In Jesus’ name, amen.

*II Corinthians 10:5

[Jesus said] “But so that we may not offend them, go to the lake and throw out your line. Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth, and you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for my tax and yours.” – Matthew 17:27

When I was growing up, there were two things I dreaded about becoming an adult. One was having to wear a girdle. Yes, kids, back in those days, women wore girdles, and they were complicated. The metal clips that connected those pelvic straightjackets to ladies’ stockings struck fear into this bobby-socked kid.

The other source of dread was the thought of paying taxes. Seeing my father spending hours at his desk, filling out form after form, made my little head spin. I could tell he was not having a good time, and I wanted nothing to do with those stacks of paper that had no pictures on conversations on them. (And what good is paper with no pictures or conversations? 😉 ) Even when I became an adult with my own bank account, balancing my checkbook was enough of a challenge, thank you very much.

It’s been said that the vast majority of what we fear never happens, and I’m happy to report that this was the case with me. The advent of pantyhose came just in time to save me from having to wrestle with girdles and clips. And after marrying an engineer with excellent organizational skills (Yes, opposites attract.), I have yet to do taxes. Furthermore, praise God, since our oldest child is a CPA, I am optimistic about the odds I will never have to.

About ten years into our marriage, we hit our first hiccup with the I.R.S. For some reason, they were under the impression that we owed them $7,000 more than we had already paid. As usual, I let Marty handle it, since he was the one with the problem-solving skills. Faith was my forte. Having been provided for (spoiled) all my life, I trusted that my heavenly Daddy would provide this time, too. I did wonder if He was going to “provide” by letting me know it was time for me to get a job, but since I was expecting our second child, and the first child was only two, it seemed like an odd season for that kind of transition.

The answer came sooner than we expected, not through employment for me, but through the job Marty already had, where he had apparently been performing exceptionally well. A day or two after we had received the notice from the I.R.S., Marty was called into the plant manager’s office and told he was receiving a promotion. His salary was not raised much, but the promotion involved his use of a “company car.” My ever-frugal husband said it wouldn’t be necessary; he had just recently purchased a new car. The boss asked how much he had paid for it, and Marty told him (You guessed it) $7,000. He walked out of the office that day with a check for $7,000 to reimburse him for what was henceforth the “company car.”

So, with perfect timing, we were able to “render unto Caesar” and get on with our lives.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for all the years You have provided for us in every way. Thank You for the way You are always bringing back memories that strengthen my faith more the more I relive them and retell them. Thanks for the security of knowing Your love is “from everlasting to everlasting,” that there was never a time You didn’t love us and never will be. May we love and serve You forever, as You deserve, in Jesus’ name, amen.

Then [Jesus] said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” – John 20:27

“He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life’s narrow way.
He lives! He lives, salvation to impart.
You ask me how I know He lives?…”

Those of you who grew up with this song are familiar with the final line: after a dramatic pause, (*drumroll*) here comes the earth-shaking answer that will convince every skeptic – “He lives within my heart!”

With all due respect to the songwriter, and acknowledging that having Christ living in one’s heart is an unbelievably awesome experience, nevertheless, I don’t know a single skeptic that would be the slightest bit impressed with that “proof,” no matter how much gusto the singer displayed.

But fear not! The Resurrection of Jesus, the centerpiece of our faith, has ample evidence. In fact, it is the most well documented event in ancient history.

Let’s look at some of this evidence. What millions celebrate at Easter, roughly 2000 years after Jesus’ crucifixion, was written down by historians who interviewed eyewitnesses, as well as a few eyewitnesses themselves.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda…

With all the enemies the Christian movement had from the beginning, no one was able to refute what these witnesses said. After all, Jesus was seen by over 500 men (and probably women and children, too, though in those days they weren’t counted.) If Jesus hadn’t been raised to life, all His enemies had to do was produce His body and they would have saved themselves the hassle of arresting, imprisoning, torturing, and killing those pesky people who insisted that He was alive.

Yeah, right ...

Here are some theories about what happened that day that turned the world upside down (or right side up, depending on your perspective):

* The disciples stole the body and made up the story that Jesus had risen from the dead. Why in the world would a band of scared-to-death men who fled the Romans want to stir up that much trouble? After Judas hanged himself, the rest of the disciples were willing to face persecution and death – for a hoax? You’d think at least one of them would have caved under torture. After all, who wants to be crucified upside down for a prank?

* Jesus didn’t really die, He just swooned enough to fool the Romans and the doctor that signed His death certificate. Let me get this straight … Jesus survived a Roman scourge (alone tantamount to a death sentence), hanging on the cross for hours, and being buried for three days without food, water, or medical attention, and then healed up enough to roll away a two-ton stone, overcome the armed Roman guards, and declare Himself risen. …ok…

*The women went to the wrong tomb. And so did Peter, John, and the others. In fact, the real tomb of Jesus has yet to be found, but when it is, they’ll find His body in there. …Mmhm…

* The 500-plus people who saw Him alive were all having the same hallucination.

… for 40 days. (Seriously?)

OR…

HE IS RISEN! HE LIVES! Believe it! Enjoy it! If you’re a Christ-follower, you can celebrate His resurrection every day.

And if you’re not a Christ-follower, what’s keeping you?

Prayer: Lord Jesus, we are in awe that You loved us enough to sacrifice Your life to save us from hell. And we are overjoyed that You are alive! Live through us every day. Help us always be prepared to give and answer to everyone who asks us to give a reason for the hope that we have.* Open the eyes of the skeptics see that You are real, You are alive, and You love them. In Your name, amen.

*I Peter 3:15