Happy Birthday, Micah

Today is my baby's birthday and he turns 31, at approximately 6 pm tonight. I think that was the time, because I remember watching the evening news in the hospital room in between contractions. Wow - 31 years ago. As I look back on it now, it almost seems surrealistic that it has been so long ago - because I remember giving birth to him like it was yesterday. It was a difficult birth, like my other two, but worse, as they had to turn him inside of me, because he was facing the wrong way. That feeling you can't possibly understand unless you go through the same thing.

Right before I had Micah, his dad and I traveled to Minnesota so we could get married there. My pastor at the time would not marry us, mainly because of his dad's legal standing, and because I was 9 months pregnant, I wanted to do this before I had the baby. The ride was incredibly bumpy and we spent all day, into the night, in the car with Jason and Leah in the back seat very tired and cranky. When we got there, we first went to the courthouse in downtown Minneapolis right before they closed, to obtain a marriage license and then we stopped at a phone booth in a grocery store parking lot and tried calling all the churches in the area to see who would marry us, but no one would without weeks of pre-marital counseling. We were about to give up, when the last preacher on the phone said he would marry us that night.

So around 9:00 that night, we drove to the minister's house and with Jason and Leah sitting on the couch in his living room, me 9 months pregnant and big as a beach ball, he married us. I couldn't stand very comfortably because I was having contractions all day, but I managed to stand there until the "ceremony" was over. I learned many years later that not only was the marriage certificate falsely stated, the preacher even lied on it to say there was an adult witness, when there was none. I imagine all he cared about was getting paid for his services. In any case, I had been praying that I would be married before the baby was born and that the preacher would marry us in Jesus' name. Because God is faithful, those prayers were answered just as I prayed them - even though I was undeserving.

Leaving the minister's house, we checked into a flea-bag motel in not such a great part of town, but I was too tired to care at that point. I fed my kids and put them to sleep and I followed. Around 1:00 am, I woke up with a start, got up and walked to the bathroom and when I got there, my water broke - all over the bathroom floor. It kind of freaked me out because that hadn't happened with my other two and I frantically woke up my now husband and kids and we piled into the car to go to St. Paul Ramsey Medical Center. After I was admitted, their dad took the kids back to Madison and I was left alone in a city where I knew no one, in a unfamiliar hospital to have my baby alone.

All day I labored and I remember this one male nurse who was especially mean to me, but it didn't dawn on me just how mean until about a month later. As I said, it was a difficult birth, but Micah was born that evening, and after a day in the hospital, their dad came back up to get me. I didn't have money nor insurance, and I couldn't pay the hospital or doctor bill, so I left as soon as I was able. It turned out that I should have stayed longer, because I came down with a uterine infection that made me very sick.

Back at home, some time later, I received a letter in the mail and when I opened it, there was a flyer  that was published by a neo-nazi group, that spoke of how evil and corrupt inter-racial marriage and babies were, condemning and vowing to wipe out both. It was sent anonymously from Minneapolis - St. Paul, and I realized then, that the male nurse who was so mean to me, must have sent it. It was frightening - I thought someone was going to come and kill my children and I. That type of racism I never encountered before. I certainly encountered racism, from both blacks and whites - but not to that level. I didn't rest easy until many months after that, but I'll never forget that as long as I live.

I never have understood why people hate each other for their religion, culture or the color of their skin. Stupid, does not describe it for me. It goes beyond that - beyond ignorance and beyond belief system. If you really study it out, we ALL - every single one of us - ultimately descend from the same nation, race and people - from Noah, his wife, their three sons and their 3 wives. It wasn't until the Tower of Babel that people were dispersed to different parts of the world at that time, but even so - we still all come from that one family.

So I said all that to say, I love my children - regardless of their color, regardless of their father and regardless of how difficult my life has been. They and my grandchildren are everything to me. In fact, after God, they are at the top. No one else comes even close. And so, when one of them has a birthday, I reflect on all that I went through when I had them and as I raised them. It wasn't easy. In fact, it was incredibly hard - both by my incompetence and by others. But God made up the difference and today, all three of them have become fine adults and parents who I am so proud of.

So, yeah - if you ask me, was everything I went through worth it? My answer every single time will be unequivocally yes....

The One Percent

I don't know why, but I forgot to publish this when I wrote it - in December, 2015. I thought I would post it now, and even though Christmas is long gone, feelings of the one percent tend to linger on. So for those of you who find yourself alone today, or any day for that matter, and it's sometimes so overwhelming, all you can do is cry....this is for you.



I was walking Bobby yesterday and saw some people packing up their car with Christmas presents. I imagined that they were traveling to someone's house to celebrate the holidays. I have always loved the Christmas season, and everything that goes along with it. When my kids were small, I enjoyed watching them barrel down the stairs or down the hall, in their pajamas, to open their presents with so much excitement. I liked to make a breakfast casserole or something special for later that morning. It seemed like a magical time, and one that I never thought would really change. But change does come, of course, and this time with more blessings: grandchildren! I didn't think I could love anyone more than my children, but then these little beings came along and have literally changed my life. It's such a joy to be with each of them and see how they are so much like their moms and dads - it's like I'm living my young motherhood again, but this time with so much less stress and so much more fun.

So it's Christmas Eve and I would venture to say that ninety-nine percent of the folks reading this today are spending time with family or friends or a combination of both. Like my home was in the past, a lot of noise from the kids' excitement, and the adults' laughing, talking and arguing. I'm sure this same scenario is going on everywhere people are celebrating Christmas Eve tonight.

But then, there are those one percent. Those people who are absolutely alone in the world, who may not have family or friends to spend the holidays with, or maybe, never at all. It's those business execs or company owners who put all of their energy and focus into their businesses, and have left out personal relationships. It's those widows or widowers who have no children or whose children choose not to see them. It's those elderly in nursing homes who still have their minds, but are lonely and depressed because all of their friends and family have passed on. It's those men and women I see walking, biking or pushing grocery carts down the sidewalks with every earthly belonging they own, going back and forth in a meaningless venture, maybe trying to find a place to sleep that is warmer than the one they were at the night before. These are the folks who I'm thinking about tonight. They are the ones Jesus loves and wants to fellowship with and wrap His arms around so they don't feel alone. I don't know what it feels like to be literally all alone in the world. I'm sure it's an awful feeling I don't ever want to feel. But for those who are in this situation, my heart goes out to them. To you. And now for once in my life, I feel a fraction of what you may be feeling and I wouldn't wish this on my enemy. I realize even more tonight how blessed I've been my whole life and how I've taken so many things for granted.

I'm all alone for Christmas for the first time in more than 40 years. That's a long time. Of course I have Bobby here with me, but it's just not the same. It's not the same without laughing children and arguing adults. Not the same with no music or tv blasting and someone yelling to turn it down. Not the same when your voice echoes because there's no one to listen to what you're saying, except Bobby. And he agrees with everything I say, so it's not at all challenging. The saving grace of course, is that Jesus is always with us. Even when we don't feel Him. He said in His Word that He would never leave us or forsake us, and I unequivocally believe that. I just have to be reminded of it every now and then, like tonight, as I'm feeling like one of the one percent.

I'll be fine in the morning. A new day always changes my perspective. It brings some light onto a situation that the night before may have seemed so bleak. But tonight, it's just you and me, Jesus. I need to lean up against You and cry... and feel You wrap me up in Your arms...

A Stockton Reprieve

As I was walking Bobby today, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful it was outside. The sun was shining, there was a light breeze and the temperature was in the upper 60's. In February. Yes, I have to admit, I do love that there is no snow, no ice and no freezing rain here. It does get cold and it does get wet and sometimes it's wet and cold - but nothing like you experience in Illinois or Wisconsin. This has been a nice switch for winter - I think I like it. Now in Florida, it was similar during this time of year, but the humidity level canceled out any pleasantness I could find. The humidity there is like a furnace - hot or cold - it's always humid. That's great if you like taking several showers a day, or if you enjoy being in a constant sauna - I didn't. When I left, my lungs gave me a standing ovation with a huge sigh of relief, and I even welcomed the ridiculous Wisconsin winter in exchange.

I noticed on the walk that some of the trees were bare, several had some leaves and others were fully green. I thought that was interesting. The leaves did fall for a month or two, but I see that they're already budding and most of the trees, never lost their leaves. The birch trees in the courtyard (my favorite) are bare, but I would guess with this warmer weather, they'll be growing in no time. I attached a few photos of my walk and the trees below.

I finally met Pastor Haney this morning after service. He's a kind and soft spoken man, and an excellent preacher, so I feel very blessed to be sitting under him. We had a really nice, long talk and I learned some things I hadn't known before. We talked about Judaism and how Hebrew has different historical variations, and other topics regarding my own heritage. He has a great love for the Jewish people and has been to Israel several times. One day, I would love to make that trip myself.

I've also noticed that I must have reached the age of "maturity." Or maybe I should say, "Senior Citizen." I was in a little carry-out restaurant yesterday and I sat with three men - young men - who I would describe as "thuggish." You know what I mean. They were talking about their wives or girlfriends and how and what they should do about Valentine's Day, laughing and cutting up. One of the men started to swear, caught himself (I assume, because I was sitting there), and used a non-swear word to describe his frustration. I smiled to myself. When my food was ready, I got up to leave and I turned and looked at these three guys and said, "You know what? The things your girlfriends or wives really want, is your attention, your love and your respect." And I looked down at the one who was sitting next to me who was married but was flirting with a customer, and I said, "And, NO CHEATING." Their responses were so funny. They said, "Yeah, dude - she's right - I told you, blah, blah, blah..." and I chuckled to myself as I left. They were so respectful of me as I sat there, and I'm sure it's because of my age. I laughed when I thought about it. I could have been a mother to one of them.

Tonight, as I came home from church, it was dark and I was walking Bobby in front of my apartment, and a guy came driving up with his stereo blasting and I just stood there with my back to him watching for Bobby to do his business. When the guy turned his car off and got out, I asked him, "Do you...?" "WHAT???!! Oh man!! I didn't see you standing there! Man, if I knew you were there, I would have turned the music down! Man, I'm sorry!!" I told him that was not a problem and apologized for startling him and said I was just wondering if the Super Bowl was over yet. He told me it was and kept apologizing and then asked to be excused as he brought his food up to his apartment. I had to laugh again. The thing I find so funny about this, is that these guys are probably and usually up to no good, but obviously, I've gotten to the age where they see me as their mother or grandmother and just like they wouldn't be disrespectful toward them - they don't want to be disrespectful toward me. It's actually refreshing and I love it!

Stockton has won a reprieve with me.

Prayer Does Change Things

I've been meaning to sit still and write for some time now, but something always gets in the way. I'm positive I have ADD and I've had it all the while I was growing up. But of course in those days, they didn't label behavior like they do today - they just said you were a bad kid. Yeah, I guess I was that too. 

Last week, we had the Landmark Conference at church and it was incredible. In the 35 years I've been in church, I've never experienced what I felt at this conference. There were moments when it felt and sounded like what I imagine an earthquake would feel like and I just looked around with my mouth wide open in awe. One of the nights, I was sitting next to Sis. Mahaney and we both looked at each other in complete awe and unbelief. It was so powerful. It's something that's difficult to explain  - it just has to be experienced. I borrowed a clip from someone who put it on Facebook and I copied and pasted it here for those of you who would like to see it, to get a small idea of what it was like. I hope you can open this link - if you can't, let me know and I'll text it to you. If you can't open it as you click on it,  save and paste it into your browser window and try to open it that way. You really can't see it, but the church was packed, in excess of 5,000 people, all worshiping the Lord with our awesome choir. 

https://www.facebook.com/susana.miraflor/videos/10206667207852772/

A week before the conference, I sat in the main sanctuary on Sunday night and listened to Micah preach. He did a fantastic job, as usual, and I know I'm biased, but I've been told by others he's an anointed preacher, and that night was no exception. I'm so proud of him. You know, I believe God has a sense of humor - and He likes to orchestrate situations to complete His will, regardless of who we are and what we've done. Because of some really devastating mistakes I made, as well as some mistakes that were thrust upon me, I was shunned and just about dis-fellowshipped when I was pregnant with Micah. It was very humiliating and as I look back on the past, it most definitely was the darkest time of my entire life. When Micah was born, I wasn't allowed to dedicate him in a church ceremony, like I did with my first two. My pastor dedicated him in a small, private ceremony with just a handful of people there, but I was determined that my child would be dedicated to God. Even though I was a huge disappointment to God, myself and others, He showed His mercy and grace to me during that time, and He blessed me nonetheless. He held me up when I did't deserve it, and carried me when I couldn't put one foot in front of the other - however, I never stopped praying to Him. I felt that if I did, then I would lose the only grip I had on God and the life I so believed in, so I held onto Him for dear life. He's the One Who was my perfect Husband and Father to my children, and stood by me as I raised them all of those years. So when I look at Micah today and see him preaching over the pulpit, teaching or doing anything for God, I always remember those dark days. God turned my son's disadvantaged start to life, into an honorable husband and father, and one who loves Him with all of his heart. That always makes me smile. The adversary's design for my life and the lives of my children, was one of poverty, depression and defeat -- but God had other plans. He knew that He would be able to use my children and myself one day, for His Glory - and that's exactly what He's done.

I texted my kids the other day and said this, "In prayer this morning this scripture came to me and I want to share it with you, being that it is exactly how I feel...'I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.' 3 John 1:4." I couldn't have said it any better. That is truly my greatest joy.

How in the world did I ever come to know the Lord Jesus Christ? That's a good question - especially since I was raised Jewish. I think I've told this before, but it always bears repeating. When I was about 6, an old, black man came to our house (we lived in an all-white suburb of Chicago) to paint it for my dad. I think one of my dad's friends  recommended him as a painter. I was outside playing and he happened to see that I was struggling with my breathing because I had asthma. He begged my father to let him pray for me, and my father politely said no, that they were Jewish and I didn't need prayer, but the old man was very persistent. My father finally agreed and the old man directed us to stand in a circle on the driveway, holding hands, with him and I in the middle. When we did this, he laid his hands on me and started praying really loud and in a strange language I never heard before, and my parents were embarrassed, rolling their eyes, while my brothers and I just giggled because we didn't understand any of it. I will remember that until the day I die, because I believe that man prayed for my soul - I was never healed from asthma - but it wasn't until a few decades later that I remembered him and realized it was that old man who had a hand in my salvation. That's a long time to wait for an answer to prayer, but the prayer was answered in God's time - and without the old man ever knowing. So, when I get to heaven, I want to look for him and thank him for not only what he did for me, but for my offspring as well. I believe, that prayer goes way further than what we could ever comprehend. Bro. Grant used to teach, "Don't say, 'all I can do is pray.' Say, ' I will pray because that is the most I can do.'" So if you should ever ask me to pray about something for you, please know that I take it very seriously. I know God hears and answers prayer. I know this because He has answered mine and has been right beside me for over 35 years...

Soapbox on Stockton

The worst traffic in Madison, Wisconsin is the Beltline at rush hour. It gets to be crawl and go and sometimes a dead stop if there's an accident. The interstate, I-90, which runs along the outskirts of Madison and some small cities surrounding it, sometimes gets to be equally as annoying. But in the large scheme of things, that turns out to be a minimal inconvenience compared to driving in other cities.

I'm thankful I learned to drive in Chicago when I was 16. It was scary learning to drive on the Dan Ryan Expressway back then, but it's nothing compared to the traffic here. Los Angeles is the worst traffic I have ever seen. Those people are insane, cutting you off between lanes, motorcycles flying down the perforated line between lanes (which just about gave me a heart attack when it happened to me) and motorists being just plain rude - even more rude than Chicago motorists, if you can believe that. But I'm talking about Stockton drivers - not Los Angeles ones today. It's as if every single person is late for an appointment, driving like a maniac and cutting you off for no reason. Not that I've never done that myself, mind you. I have - many times. But then, I am an ex-Chicago driver. I guess I just notice it more here than in Madison - maybe because Madison has limited highways and mostly city streets, where racing is not conducive. I don't know. But it does remind me of driving on the crazy roads in Chicago.

Speaking of highways, this thought just crossed my mind: when I was 17, I remember coming home from seeing my boyfriend on the south side of Chicago (which was and is mostly black), around 1:30 in the morning. A white girl driving on the Dan Ryan, coming off the ramp from an inner city neighborhood, in the middle of the night. It was raining and I wasn't speeding, but all of a sudden, the police were behind me with their lights flashing. They had me pull off an exit in a dark, secluded area and made me get out of my car to show them my license, which was in my wallet. They took my wallet and saw my boyfriend's picture in it and started to ridicule me because he was black: they were two white officers. They wanted to know why I was on the south side, and because I was very young and naive, I told them. I began to feel uneasy, standing out in the rain, waiting for them to give me my wallet back. I was a pretty tough kid back then and looked forward to a good fight, which felt like one here, but my good sense kept my mouth shut as I endured their smug racism. When they decided they were done, I was told to get home, where I belonged, which is what I did as fast as I could. I realized many years later, that God was protecting me that night. It would have been very easy for 2 men to overtake a young girl, especially in a dark, secluded place. He really did have His angels watching over me that night.

Stockton, in fact, reminds me a lot of Chicago. I live in a large apartment complex that is gated, which is a new experience for me. Almost every home in this city is protected by a fence around the perimeter of one's property. I've never seen anything like it. Fences back up to the neighbor's fence and it goes on like that around the block, so they're all self-contained. And to keep "undesirables" out, complexes like mine and even mobile home parks are gated and you have to know the code to enter through the gate. (Hmmm, there's a sermon in that...)  In some neighborhoods, there are even bars on the windows and doors, which would be a real drag to look out from - but I guess it keeps the bad guys away. People also keep big dogs outside to ward off anyone who would dare break in their homes. At night, the weather is cool and the sky is clear and I can hear sirens from miles away, up and down the main street near where I live. It doesn't look like Chicago, but it sounds like it from where I'm standing. Loud cars screeching, sirens going off and dogs barking in the distance, is what I hear on a nightly basis. There are moments when it's quiet and peaceful, but then I wonder what's wrong - something's not right somewhere.

I've also noticed, well, it's hard not to notice, the number of homeless people there are in this city. In Chicago you just assume there is a large number of homeless people because the city is so large and expensive to live in. Stockton is about the size of Madison - maybe a little bigger - but you see far more homeless here than in Madison. It could be that the weather is mild through the winter here -I don't know, but maybe that's why. The homeless population in Venice, Florida was large too. I think down there the reason would be the weather and the fact that it's also an expensive place to live.

But what I encounter here, bothers me a whole lot. It bothers me because in this day and age and with all the countless services our cities provide, there should be no or very few homeless people. They seem to have fallen through the cracks of a system that's obviously not working well enough. It frustrates and angers me that this situation exists and I long to take them all home with me, give them warm soup, wrap them up with love and give them a place to rest. Alas, I am one person, in a one bedroom apartment on a fixed income - realistically not even that far from the position they find themselves in. Actually, this could happen to any one of us. People are way too quick to judge those they don't understand or can't relate to, but my response to them would be to thank God you have a place to rest your head after a long day, warmth, food and love from other people - you're very fortunate. Others may not be so fortunate. For a myriad of reasons, they've found themselves on the street just trying to stay alive, eating out of dumpsters and smoking discarded butts in ashtrays or on the sidewalk. I'm sorry for them. I'm sorry that they need help with their addictions, mental health and personal issues that they're not getting help for. I'm sorry we as a nation aren't do more to help them. 

The homeless are old, young, women and men - it doesn't matter - there's no discrimination with that here. Usually, they are riding an old bike piled up high with bags, driving down the sidewalk. Or they have "borrowed" grocery carts and carry their belongings in those, pushing quickly down the street, and I wonder where all these people are going. I hope there are shelters around, although I have no idea if there are, because it can get very cold here at night. I imagine they find shelter in old, vacant buildings (I've seen a lot of those), under bridges or anywhere I guess, that provides some privacy and relief from the rain and cold. 

I can hear in my mind what some of you are saying at this point. "Get a job," "Get an apartment," "Do SOMETHING for yourself and stop expecting a hand-out from someone else!" The reality of the situation is that many of these folks are seriously addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, have mental health issues from veterans to young people who were viciously abused and so many other reasons that you or I would have no clue about. I personally don't believe people should just sit around and collect welfare or disability if they're able to work, even if it's a minimum-wage job; they should be made to work. However, there are scores of others who don't even have the wherewithal to apply for these services, much less sit around on a comfortable sofa watching television. That's the population which needs our help and not our sarcastic criticism. Until we find ourselves in a similar situation, we have no right to judge them. 

52 Years Ago Today

The mind is truly an amazing thing. I can't remember what I did yesterday afternoon, but I have vivid memories from 40 and 50 years ago with no problem at all. Think of all the billions of thoughts, memories and feelings our minds contain, and it is a wonder that we can retrieve anything at all.

Today is November 22, 2015 - 52 years after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. And yet, I remember it like it happened yesterday. I was 8 years old, in third grade at Thomas Edison School in Morton Grove, Illinois.  My teacher was Mrs. Stevens. She had blonde hair and wore it in a bob, which was popular back then. I liked her as a teacher, but she had some interesting ways to discipline us. If we talked to our "neighbors," she would put tape across our lips. If we were chewing gum, she would make us stick it on the tip of our nose. She would spray us with water and smack the tops of our hands with a ruler. There were others, but I only remember these - probably because I was at the receiving end for all of them.

Of course, there were no rules back then as to how the teachers could discipline us, and some of them really did take their liberty. I had one teacher in junior high school, whose name was Mr. Zavada. For some reason, we thought he was really weird and loved to terrorize him which caused him to lose his temper to the extreme. One day, we figured out that if you threw a coin up to the ceiling, it would stick - I don't know what kind of ceiling that was, but it would actually stick up there. So most of us (naughty) kids, threw any change we had up to the ceiling when Mr. Zavada's head was turned as he was teaching at the blackboard. It became so hilarious that we all started giggling louder and louder until he turned around and then up to see what all the laughing was about. He went into a rage and threw a couple of the boys across the room, along with their desks. I think all he could do was leave, because he was too flustered to know how to handle the situation. We all probably got into trouble, but I'm sure we all felt it was worth it, just to see all the coins sticking out of the ceiling.

We were all sitting at our little, blonde desks on November 22, 1963, when over the loudspeaker, the principal announced that President Kennedy had just been shot and died shortly after that. Mrs. Stevens started crying and we sat there silent, not knowing what to do or say. After the announcement, we were all sent home early that afternoon, to watch on our little black and white television sets, the news which kept repeating the same thing over and over. In fact, this whole scenario played out every day and every night on the television in our living room. Everyone was riveted to their televisions or radios, watching and listening to the news. Even as young as I was, I remember the heavy darkness that seemed to engulf the entire country. Everyone in the world, it seemed, was in mourning. The Dallas police quickly found the man responsible, Lee Harvey Oswald, and then, a day or so later, right in our front rooms on live TV, we all witnessed Jack Ruby shoot Oswald dead. I think everyone was just stunned - to watch an actual murder right as it happened. It was surrealistic and people could not believe what was happening. My parents, like everyone else, were very upset by all of this, but it wasn't until I saw the funeral that it really struck me in a personal way.

The president's funeral was a long march down Pennsylvania Avenue in a procession with servicemen on horses and his lone casket being pulled down the middle of the street. Mrs. Kennedy, her children and the president's family walked down the avenue following the casket. This took a very long time, as it seemed to go very slowly. I don't remember where they were standing, but Mrs. Kennedy and her two children were standing on a corner in front of a building and her son, John, stood there saluting as his dad's casket passed by. That brought tears to my eyes. He was probably too young to understand all that was being done that day, but I was old enough to know that he had just lost his father, which made me really sad for him.

The assassination, the capture of Oswald, the killing of Oswald by Ruby and the funeral, all played out on TV day after day like there was no end to it. In fact, there really wasn't, because every year, documentaries, and many conspiracy theories, are televised about this very place in time and you can still feel the exact way you felt 52 years ago, as well as remember where you were when you heard the news that day. That's how much of an impact it had on everyone back then - and still does today.

"Freedom From Bondage"

I joined a ministry in church called "Freedom From Bondage." It's a class/service/ministry for people who have issues with addictions of all sorts and problems in their lives that hinder them from being successful with God and life in general. I'm not an alcoholic, nor am I a drug addict (except for the menagerie of prescription meds I take on a daily basis), but I do have some pretty intense issues of my past that still affect me today, so I decided to try this class out. Micah kept telling me that he thought this would be good for me and I wasn't exactly sure why. So I started going, and the first time I went to the class, I thought, "This is nice. Good for these folks who have addictions or problems or are in "bondage" to whatever, but I really don't think this is for me." I left that night thinking I would give it one more chance just to be generous and after that, if I still felt it wasn't for me, then I would go back to the normal services on Wednesdays and Sunday nights. That was on a Wednesday night.

The following Sunday night, I went and listened to the different speakers and enjoyed it, but didn't really feel anything for or against it. Sis. Butler (who is pictured below) is the head of this ministry  and she is really cool - funny and to the point and an anointed woman of God when she's preaching or teaching. I've already come to really love her - she's been a blessing to me. Someone else preached that night and it was a really good message. At the end of the service, there is always prayer and the preacher asked people to come forward if they needed prayer and many people did. I sat back and prayed in my seat as I felt the need to pray, but didn't know for what. I sat there for awhile like that and then I felt someone's hand on mine. It was Sis. Butler and she was praying for me and then all of a sudden, I started crying uncontrollably and squeezing her hands so tight that my arm hurt the next day. She knelt next to me, and I held on to her for what felt like dear life. I couldn't let go and I couldn't stop crying. This went on for a long time, in fact, most people were leaving and she stayed right where she was, praying for me as I repented and cried and repented and cried over and over again. I've been in the church for 35 years and I have never felt like this before. The only thing I can compare it to is when I realized that abortion was wrong after seeing a filmstrip in the old, old church and I had dry heaves in the bathroom sink, thinking God would never forgive me for doing that not only once, but twice. This was even more intense than that. I can't even describe how this felt. All I knew was that I was holding on to her and I couldn't let go. Sis. Butler kept praying and humbly kneeling beside me. When I finally felt finished, I kept apologizing to her for squeezing her hands so tight and all she would do was smile and tell me that it was no problem at all. She taught me another role, and actually the most important role, that a leader in the church follows, if they are a good leader: humility. She didn't have to pray for me - she could have asked another person to do that; she didn't have to pray with me so long - again, she could have asked someone else to stay so she could leave; and she didn't have to kneel next to me - she could have stood over me in an unspoken body language of superiority - but she knelt next to me in true humility. I will never forget that night, because of what she taught me and because of what God did for me.

It's hard to describe what happens when you've fully repented in prayer and knowing that God has forgiven you. It's a cleansing - a refreshing - a clearing of your mind like nothing else you can ever experience. Absolutely nothing can take its place, and you'll know when it happens because you'll have a peace of mind you've never experienced before. Now I've repented many, many times, however, I have never felt like this before. I think we should repent every day, simply because we sin every day and it just seems safe to me to cover all the bases. But when you experience the level of repentance that I experienced that night, (and I didn't know repentance had levels), its totally in a different spectrum than every-day repentance. (For those of you who aren't sure what repentance is, the bible directs us to ask God to forgive us of all our sins, both known and unknown, and then to turn away from those sins. It's a turning around from one direction to another.) What I experienced was such a desperation of emotion that it left me speechless. I just kept shaking my head in unbelief at what just happened. To top it off, the following week, Sis. Butler came up to me in service and  said, "In prayer, I feel God is taking you to another level. He said He's not done with you yet. He has a new thing to do in your life." Again, I was totally blown away and began to cry, thanking Him for His mercy and grace. How would she have known that I've been in a rut - both spiritually and emotionally? The answer is, of course she wouldn't, unless God revealed it to her. Sometimes we fumble around trying to figure out what God's will is for our lives, and then there are times like these, where He speaks directly to our hearts and makes it plain. I finally realized why I left the security of Madison and came out to California. Yes, it is because I missed Micah so much and because I wanted to spend time with him and Jasmin and of course, get to know my newest grand baby. But now, right before me, God showed me the main purpose for my exodus. Here, He has me all alone with very few distractions, in a new church where no one knows me, my past or my mistakes. Here, He can change my heart and direction and create a new thing in me, as He said. I have purpose once again, when I felt I had none. And I have direction once again, as I was drifting alone in confusion.  

                                                   Sis. Michelle Butler, my friend and mentor.

                                           Our ministry as well as others in church had outreach
                                           in Victory Park in central Stockton.

                                         Outreach at Victory Park in Stockton.