Her Mother Named Her Eunice Fancheon. Really.

The sound of a lawnmower this morning reminded me that there's still life outside these four walls. It reminded me that life goes on regardless of what it looks like on the inside.

Florida is hot and humid as usual, but I've been in life-saving-air-conditioning since I've been here. My mom's apartment has two bedrooms for her and my brother, and so my bed is in the living room right under the fan, so it's quite comfortable. I'm situated directly adjacent to my mom's bedroom with her door open, so I can hear her call. I also listen as she quietly speaks to others she perceives are in the room. Sometimes she describes to me what she's seeing and at other times, she lays in bed silently looking around as if to watch a play designed just for her.

I wasn't planning on coming here quite so soon because I just had knee replacement surgery and I'm in the very painful recovery phase. But when my brother told me that my mom was asking for me, I changed my plans and flew down within 2 days.

What I saw when I came into my mom's bedroom was a small, frail  figure of a woman who was coughing and breathing with much difficulty but smiled and cried a bit when I told her who I was. That didn't last very long however, because ever since, she has no idea who I am. When I first tried explaining to her that I was her daughter and she gave birth to me, she looked confused and asked, "Down here?" pointing to her bottom. I said, "Where else?" and we both laughed. She thinks I'm Sharon's sister or friend and speaks of Sharon, who is her daughter, but that she is not here. She often wonders in amazement how I know so much about Sharon. After the initial shock of her not knowing who I am, and crying like a child who lost her mommy in a strange place, I resigned myself to the fact that I no longer am my mom's favorite daughter as she so proudly used to tell others. I am now a nurse or a worker who makes her meals, helps change her diapers and who sits next to her trying to engage her in conversation, while her son who usually looks after her (and who she recognizes) is away for a week of respite.

I'll be going back home on Saturday. Initially, I was going to see how she was doing, because if death was imminent as we supposed, I would change my ticket and go home after the funeral. The Hospice nurse has since explained to me that Alzheimer's patients progressively get worse, but it could take days, months or even years and that there's really no way of knowing. She also said my mom isn't at the point of "active death" yet; it could suddenly change to that point, or take much, much longer.

I thought "active death" was an interesting term. I guess it's like the birthing process but in reverse. When a baby is ready to be born, the mother's body prepares itself to push the newborn out; when a person is about to die, all body parts and functions slow completely down, causing the body and mind of that individual to eventually stop working, ending life. I was in the room when Rachel delivered Cody, and I was in the room watching my dad slowly dying in Hospice. The first comes with great joy. The second, with great sadness. They're on opposite ends of the spectrum, but on the same timeline of life. What we accomplish between the two is really all that matters.

My mother's legacy is that she lived a quiet, simple life and rarely spoke unkind about anyone. There were those she liked and those she disliked, but they would never know that she disliked them. She taught me to be kind, which I still struggle with, and always, always, be the bigger person and apologize first in an argument. I taught that to my children and still use that philosophy when I teach others. It's actually a biblical principle, but I don't think she ever knew that. My mother is and was long-suffering, quiet and very slow to anger - the polar opposite of my dad - who, unfortunately, I took after most. She had many, many friends and that in itself was a testimony of her character. Except for a few stragglers, they have all preceded her in death, and the past couple years have been extremely lonely for her because of that. Absolutely everyone who knew my mom, loved her.

And so, I'm preparing to leave in a couple days and I have no idea how I will say goodbye. I huddle up in a ball and cry like an infant when I think about it, because I know I'll never see her again. How can I wrap my mind around that? Her and I have had a tumultuous relationship as long as I can remember, but the bottom line is she's still my mom and I love her very much - I always have - even when I thought I didn't. I guess I never imagined this day would come, even though I know time and age stops for no one. It's not something you can prepare for like a trip to Europe. It's inevitable, unavoidable and permanent.

My decision to return home was an agonizing one - should I leave or stay a little longer just in case? It's all become much easier now, because she doesn't know that I'm the Sharon she is still waiting to see...

Long, Lost Ones

Sometimes, I like to watch the TLC Channel because there are a few shows I find interesting. One of them is called, "Long Lost Family." This is a reality show that features two families - one is a parent looking for a child they gave up for adoption several years ago, and the other is an adult who was given up for adoption, looking for his/her birth parent. It's an incredibly emotional program and I end up weeping uncontrollably every single time I watch it.  I really can't imagine giving up a child for adoption and the incredible agony it must cause. But seeing the joy and relief of these families reunited for the first time in many, many years, is a beautiful thing. 

I've thought about why this affects me so strongly, and I realized that I too, have long, lost children, however, I will never get to be reunited with them, in this life, anyway. Ashamedly, I had two abortions when I was a young woman. I was never taught that there was anything wrong with it, although innately, I knew that there was and I regretted both of them before I ever found out the moral implications.

When I had the first one, I was 19 years old, in 1975 - a young, naive girl who thought the world of the man she loved, but who never had the capacity to love me back. I wanted to keep the baby, but it soon became apparent that the father didn't want anything to do with the situation. Back then, abortion had just become legal, as it was around the time of Roe vs. Wade. The cost was $300 and since I didn't have the money, I asked a great uncle to borrow it and he lent it to me, knowing I wasn't telling him the truth why I needed it. I felt bad lying to him, but I was too embarrassed to be honest, so I told him something was wrong with my car and I needed it fixed. I had previously asked friends and relatives who I knew had the money to lend me, but for whatever reason, wouldn't. My uncle was very poor - he lived in a small apartment in Chicago and was a simple man, owning very little - but he's the one who, without question, gave me all the money he had, to help. That taught me so much about one's character, that I will never forget. It's not money that will destroy you, it's the love of money that will. I managed to pay him back every cent before he died, although I always felt guilty I wasn't honest with him about it.

To describe the abortion for those who have never experienced it, it was like a vacuum cleaner sucking out the insides of my body. I watched as my tummy involuntarily moved up and down and it was not only very uncomfortable, it was painful as well. Afterward, I was moved into a "recovery room" and I remember a young woman lying next to me who was recounting all the abortions she had had, which were many. She was very casual about it and it didn't bother her in the least bit, or so it seemed. It was all I could do to not cry until she left, and then I turned over and wept, although I wasn't sure what I was weeping about. I was a feminist at that age and I believed that a woman had a right to do whatever she wanted with her own body. I tried to justify it in my mind after it was explained to me by the staff that this was not a child - it was simply a fetus - and it had no real, living parts. It wasn't until many years later that I learned this was simply untrue.

The second abortion I had was in 1979, before I got pregnant with Leah. I had just moved to Madison, WI and was living in a cheap motel because I had no income. I was living off the money I made from working in Florida and hoping to get on welfare, but that wouldn't come through until months later. Even though my son's father moved me up to Madison from Florida, promising to marry and take care of me, that never happened, so once again I was left struggling on my own. I became very sick with a lung infection and the doctor had to put me on strong medication to get my breathing under control. The steroids and other drugs I took, would have caused the baby I was pregnant with, birth defects at the very least. I felt I had no other choice but to terminate the pregnancy because of that, even though I knew what waited for me ahead. And so, a good friend of mine took me to the clinic and stayed with me the entire time I was there. This one was as difficult as the first one and even though I felt as if the abortion was justified, I couldn't get past the guilt I felt, but again, not knowing exactly why. So not only was I extremely ill with the lung infection, I now had to recover from the abortion and the heavy hemorrhaging it produces, all the while taking care of a 3 year old. 

Many years later, when I first came into the church, one service we watched a filmstrip on abortion and they showed actual fetuses in buckets that were dumped in the garbage after the procedures. Seeing that shocked me and learning that this was considered sin, I had to leave the sanctuary and ended up in the bathroom with dry heaves over the sink. The woman who became my "mother in the Lord" brought me to a quiet room trying to calm me down and shared Psalms 51 with me. The whole chapter is David repenting for the sins he committed against God and how God mercifully forgave him. It took her a long time to convince me that God also forgave me, but I finally came to believe it and was thankful that He did. He may have forgiven me, but it took many years to forgive myself, and to this day, I still have a difficult time listening and watching anything regarding abortion. One of the problems with sin, is that when we truly repent, God does forgive us - but many times, the repercussions of those sins, may stay with us for a very long time or perhaps even forever. 

I've often wondered if I will be able to recognize these children in heaven. I really can't find any reference to it in the Bible, but I've asked Micah about it and he said that I probably will but may not recognize them as the babies they were. In any case, there won't be any sorrow or grief there, only joy - so if I do recognize who they are, I won't feel any guilt either. 

How wonderful is the mercy and grace of God! He loves us more than we can possibly comprehend. So now, the very least I can offer in return, is my unwavering love, trust and obedience to Him....

Wisdom

I have eczema on the tops of my hands and have been using all kinds of concoctions to heal the redness, to no avail. It flares up when I least expect it, for no reason I can think of, then fades away only to reappear a short time later. As I rub lotions and medicine onto my hands, I noticed something today. They look like my grandmother's hands when I was a young girl. I remember sitting next to her and probing the protruding veins on the backside of her hands with my fingers. I thought it was very cool that they were so puffy and wrinkly. I remember my mom also having this strange phenomenon when she got older, as her hands slowly shriveled up like the skins of apricots and had protruding rivers of blue lines on a pale background. I liked to push the blue lines down like a game, and she never seemed to mind. So now as I try to soften and heal my own hands, I realize that I too, have inherited the puffy blue rivers on a pale background. Kenni hasn't noticed it yet, but I'm sure my other grandchildren will when I see them in April. Especially Jade. She always points out every blemish on my body and asks me about it. It's her mission in life to let others know of their abnormalities and ask every question known to man.  I think she may be a doctor when she grows up, because she's very astute, indeed. She will let you and everyone around you, know what she finds wrong or out of place, and will point it out until you acknowledge her. That child is a born leader - mark my words. If she does not become a doctor, then maybe the president of our country or prime minister of another. Now Donovan and Shanti will only rub my hands, but probably won't comment on them. They just want you to love them up and be close. Jade wants to be loved up too, but she's more concerned about inspecting and reporting, than simply quietly sitting next to me. If I do try to change the subject or ignore her questioning, I hear, "Gramma, gramma, gramma, gramma, GRAMMA, GRAMMA, GRAMMAAAAA!!! That is just what my kids used to do when my mind was preoccupied and they had something they felt was very important to tell me. "Mom, mom, mom, mom, MOM, MOM, MOOOOMM!!!" That was always accompanied by a constant tapping on my arm, until I exploded and yelled, "WHAAAAAT????!!!" They always had a surprised look on their face after my response, and I could never understand why.

So my revelation this morning didn't come as a surprise, but it did remind me of my grandmother's and mother's hands. I did a search on the internet once and found out that as we age, our skin gets thinner and that's why you can see the veins more clearly. At least on pale skin - I don't know about darker skin. I only know my skin, as I've had it all my life. I tried to tan when I was younger, but all I did was burn and peel - it was futile - so I became content with that. One year at camp, I sat in the sun all day with no protection and by the evening, my face was covered in severe burns. I was in so much pain for a long time afterwards, until it broke open and peeled. I've come to learn now that the spots on my arms and face are caused from the sun and they are the pre-cursor to skin cancer. In fact, I've had several of them frozen off by a dermatologist. When we were kids, no one told us not to use tin foil to attract the sun so we could burn quicker. I had never heard that you shouldn't lay out in the sun to get "color" in your skin. I know now. I wish I would have been smarter when I was younger. I wouldn't be plagued with brown spots on my face and arms like my dad had. Someone once even said to me, "Your legs are SO white!!!" Like it was gross or something. Well, I was born with them, and I can't change that, so I'm stuck with white legs, thank you. At least they don't have brown spots! I never tried to tan or burn my legs because I always wore pants or long skirts. What was the point? 

I think our bodies mock us as we age. I mean, everything changes. The hair on top of my head falls out and gets thinner, while new hair grows in wavy and wild, sticking straight out, unlike before. The places I'm not supposed to have hair, like my chin, have long strands that grow out of nowhere. I feel them before I see them, and try to yank them out with what little nails that I do have. For most of us, our weight distribution changes and parts that should be solid and firm, become droopy and  flabby, flailing about if we are caught running or walking quickly. Quite embarrassing. For some of us, our knees are the first to give out. After all, they have been holding up all of our weight for all of our lives and they're just worn out. I've had my left knee replaced and soon I will have my right knee replaced as well. Some folks have so many joints and parts replaced that they've become bionic in every sense of the word. For many of us, our backs are not as straight as they were when we were young. Sometimes, I find myself walking across the room like my father did and wondering where I went wrong. I've come to find out, my lower back feels better if I can lean somewhat forward, to take the pressure off my spine, and that's exactly why my dad walked the way he did. Frankly, if I had really believed my body would fall apart when I was older, I would have taken much better care of it. When we're young, for some reason, we think not only will we live forever, we'll do so with the same young body we've always had. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

I've been blessed with almost every inherited aspect of my father's physical ailments. He had arthritis, spinal stenosis, tendonitis, and constant pain from a myriad of causes, taking just as many medications; and I have graciously stepped into that role now that he is gone. I have to say, though, my doctor is actually helping me wean off of some of the pain medication I've been on for years, and for once in a very long time, I feel clearer in my mind and don't need to take a nap several times a day. That's a good thing. The doses of narcotics that I was on were, per my doctor, designed for someone with terminal cancer - not chronic pain. And so he is weaning me off of some of those and other meds that I've been on for years, and miraculously, I'm fairing very well. The pain is still there, but not to the extent it was, which is mind-boggling. He explained that to me as a threshold issue. The more medicine I took, the higher my threshold of pain became, and so they had to keep increasing the dose to keep up with the pain, and even though I didn't really understand him at the time, I get it now. The lower amount of pain meds I'm taking, has reduced the pain threshold I'm experiencing. Wow - that's incredible to me. 

One thing age does change for us, though in a positive way, is knowledge. We think we know everything when we're young and the older we get, we realize how little we really do know. And with that knowledge, hopefully comes wisdom. Wisdom is different than knowledge. A person can have the highest academic degree available, and be knowledgeable in many things, and yet lack wisdom. I believe that wisdom only comes through experience, and is a gift from God. We can pretend or seek after it on our own, but we will never attain it, unless we get it from the One Who gives it. In my estimation, having wisdom is worth all the bodily dysfunctions and changes that happen as we age. Even more important than that, it also makes all of those years of mistakes and regrets, mean something after all.

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...