MIRACLE # 6 -- WHEN I REPENT... HE RESTORES.

 This photo was taken 8 months after miracle occurred.

This involved Steve again, but the income and outgo was truly aimed at me.  He was used by the Lord to open my heart towards Him and trust Him even more.  I definitely was not a "Father" lover, yet ...  a basic Father follower, obeying when instructed. I tried to stay out of trouble as much as possible.  That was my goal.

God had, of course, stepped into my life very strongly a number of times  since my day of salvation, but, pushing nine more years, I was still never sure whether I was truly cared for and loved; instead, I felt I was put up with.  Since I was raised  with a "watching for exits" mentality, this New Life  hadn't broken into my heart on a regular basis.
 

February 12, 1975, I had a day off work.  My job had begun at an office in early January and, after my first paycheck, I had left my friend Susie's home and moved into an apartment. It was all coming together beautifully.  BUT I needed time to go to the utilities company and run some apartment-related errands and that was the first day I could, since the locations were open only during the business days and our “normal” work hours.

The night before, my son, Steve, who had just turned 2 on January 17th,  began whining and pulling his ear.  I refused to take it seriously, because I had chores to do and places to go and I couldn't risk losing that time.  I, basically, ignored him.

In the morning, I took him to Karen, the babysitter, told her his ear seemed to bother him and I'd be back when I was done running around.

I arrived at Karen's about 4:00.  She said he seemed to have a pretty high fever, but she didn't have a thermometer.  I touched him and he did feel hot, so I called a doctor's office.  I told the receptionist my son had a fever and he needed to be checked.   The receptionist, sounding annoyed, said, basically, it was OK to bring him in, but to get there as soon as possible, because they closed at 5:00.

I hurried.  When I walked in, a nurse had me take him to a room, and she took his temperature.  IMMEDIATELY, she started tearing his clothes off, hollered at another nurse, and they piled ice into a children's bathing tub, and forced him in, spreading the ice all over his body, him screaming, of course.  I was wide-eyed and didn't know exactly what was going on.  Finally, one of them said that his temperature was 105 degrees. They were anxious and working hard; I was horrified and felt that the "awful mom" had surfaced.  After about half an hour they were able to dress him ... he had been one unhappy boy! ... and the doctor gave me very clear instructions and, at the end, said that if I did everything carefully and correctly he would probably have the temperature drop much closer to the normal range in 24 hours.

When I got home, about 5:30, I put him in his pjs and laid him on the couch.  I hugged him and knelt down and cried and told the Lord I was so sorry I hadn't paid attention to Steve and hadn't tried to take care of him the way I should have, that I had put my errands first and ignored him.

Then I went to the kitchen, just a few feet away, and started cooking dinner.  I'd glance at him every few seconds, and he was sleeping.

An hour after coming home, having  been given a thermometer when leaving the doctor’s office,  I took his temperature.   I looked at it.  I took it again.

It was normal.  98.6.  NORMAL!

My life changed.  YES, Steve had been healed of allergies and iron deficiency the previous August, only a few months earlier, but neither of the consequences while going through that phase had been “my fault”.  It was simply life.  This one, to a significant “degree”, WAS my fault.  And, yet, God ... my FATHER ... stepped in to bless my heart, to let me know that I WAS His daughter, that He cared for ME.

I honestly don't know if Steve even recalls or knows this story.  But I have never forgotten a detail.  Why?  Because my heart began to be healed from fear of a Father -– any father -- and then taught how to rely on and love Him.  It didn't happen overnight, during that one short time, but the seed was planted deeply and solidly into my heart ... and, as stated before, MY LIFE CHANGED.

Since then I have grown to love -- and trust, and appreciate, and respect -- my Heavenly Father so much I can hardly wait to see Him!

 

CHARLES AND SANU WEDDING

I'm a week late sharing about this wonderful event.  I was one heavily involved, extremely happy lady.

BACKGROUND INFO

Sanu arrived with her Bhutanese family from Nepal February 25, 2011.  I was at the airport meeting them and also had been responsible to put their home together, which was a real  challenge.

Sanu's family and I became "family".  I love them dearly, and they love me, too.

Charles and I had met a few months earlier when we were both at an apartment helping others who had recently arrived.  He had been involved in the missions department at his church, and had become friends with Sanu's brother, Kharka, who had arrived a year earlier.

==============================

 The Wedding.  

Charles and Sanu are special.  Charles, in his late 20s, was waiting on the Lord for the woman God had chosen for him.  Sanu simply wanted to walk as God desired.  They had been family friends for about a year, and suddenly realized God desired them to be with each other.

To be at a wedding that brought both cultures together was a real treat.  Charles' family was very kind and accepting of Sanu's; and vice versa.  That was a true blessing.

So, here are a few photos.  It will give you an overview.  All that counts at this moment

AND FINALLY... THE BLESSING FOR ME ...

May see them this weekend; will be back late tonight from their honeymoon.  They flew out to S.F., CA., and then drove north on Hwy-101.  I've loved part of that area for many years.  I expect Sanu will be a bit overwhelmed by the views out there.  Since they left Nepal last year, she hasn't been anywhere but Omaha, except to Missouri to meet Charles' family.  AND in Nepal they were very limited in any kind of travel.  For her, now, life has changed.  I'm looking forward to hearing her stories.

PSALM 50:1

THE MIGHTY ONE,

GOD THE LORD,

SPEAKS

AND CALLS THE EARTH

FROM THE RISING OF THE SUN

TO ITS SETTING. 

MISSING MY DAD

@@@C@@@@

CLYDE HAROLD LEE -- and me

My sister, Niki, called in September, 1983, to tell me that my Dad had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and wasn't expected to live more than three months. As she was hanging up she said, "Write a poem for Dad. I know you can." 

I left for work, driving about 20 miles to Oklahoma City, and on the way I saw sunlight "swords" cutting through the clouds, which lifted me out of the heavy dumpiness I was feeling. Before I reached the office I had the majority of the poem running through my head. That very day, I sent the poem to Niki and she put a photo of Dad with it and framed it and gave it to him. He kept it until he died, and it was given to me after his memorial service. I've had it on a shelf for twenty eight years -- same old scruffy frame, same old paper.

Now, for most of our years, Dad and I had a pretty intense, frequently angry and violent, relationship. We rarely saw each other or spoke or wrote for most of the last twenty years of his life.

Dad had been raised in a violent and addictive family.  When the Great Depression hit, his poor family became poorer.  He had to quit school after 8th grade, because he needed to work any way he could.  I've been told that he, as a teen, hit the freight trains, trying to get quick jobs or stealing what was needed.


I honestly think my dad had good intentions. However, with no proper upbringing and all the stress, he entered alcoholism, among other "evilistic" behaviors -- fighter, womanizer, thief -- as a young man.  I didn't know him well as a young girl, because my parents weren't married until I was 3-1/2 and went back and forth between their families in Portland and Tacoma, either together or separately.  Back in 1945, when I was born, that was extremely unusual and most certainly not acceptable, socially or otherwise.


The physical abuse began when I was 5.  He was drunk and he and Mom fighting and I'd end up in the middle.  When I was 7 and babysitting my sisters [3 by then, 2 to come], both Dad and Mom would come home drunk and "discipline" me for not doing a good enough job.  I was one angry, bitter, fighting kid.  And, so disappointed to have a Dad like him.  And so desiring for him to have life turn a good way.  I DID see him wanting to do better, and he would try for a while -- and then a binge would hit him, and my world would fall apart again.


During graduation, May, 1963, in Klickitat, WA, I was a salutatorian, speaking for a few minutes.  My Dad showed up right before the ceremony and sat in the front row -- and was so drunk he could hardly stay on his chair.  When I was speaking, I could see him slumping, starting to fall to the side aisle. I was embarrassed... and furious.

I left home the next day; had a nanny job in Tacoma for summer before college.  I saw him occasionally during the next few years, but most of the time it wasn't a cheerful stretch.  Later, I lived in other parts of the country.  I couldn't afford to travel to Washington in those days, so it was years without seeing him or the rest of my family.  He called a couple of times, but was drunk, and always screaming at me for some reason I never knew.  After I had come to the Lord I had hoped to bring our lives together somehow, but it wasn't happening.

THEN the blessing I had desired hit my life. On a Saturday here in Omaha I received a letter from him dated March 17, 1979, with the following: 

"I finally gave up my solo fight against alcohol and went to church ... I came away with an awful load off my back; I hadn't realized how heavy it was. My problems are still here, but the Lord is sharing my burden. I am really surprised at the feeling.

"Things are looking up for me now, but it wouldn't hurt for you to say a small prayer for me, I need all the help I can get."

After Niki called me in September, and Dad had remained alive, our whole family decided to get together for Thanksgiving, 1983, just to be with him, and we all hadn't met together for many years. Blessedly, I was given an airplane ticket between Oklahoma and Sea-Tac.  I could never have done it otherwise.  I had a short, but sweet, alone time with him; he was giving a Thanksgiving-eve testimony at his church and we simply sat and enjoyed each other and then someone took a photo for me. I returned to Oklahoma a couple days later.

He died May 22, 1984, living several months longer than anticipated.

 
As I've often said, I'm looking forward to eternity in heaven, partly to enjoy some TRUE time with my Dad, who I miss very much.
 ===========================================

TO DAD

We’re so much alike – you and I –

We think and we feel much the same.
When we love, it’s a deep, soul-filling love,
When we hurt, it’s with soul-rending pain.

We’re like mirrors – mirror images.

Two needn’t be close –
If you’re counting the miles –
To Share this world’s Days and its Night.
There are soul-mates
Who travel life’s path side by side
Though mountains and plains bar their sight.
 
And we’re mirrors – you and I – mirror images.

Without Jesus to keep us, we’d Die – you and I
Eternally lost from our Lord.
Our hurts closed our hearts
to the goodness of God,
And we turned our backs to His Word...

We’re SO alike – like mirrors – mirror images
 
But He reached us – He found us
And He healed our hearts –
The greatest of healings provided.
We opened our hearts to receive 
that great love,
And now He walks closely beside us.

We walk hand-in-hand,
But with Jesus between –
As He looks in our hearts, we can say
It’s not just the one,
or the Two,
But the THREE of us,
Who will love through Eternity’s Day.

Shining like mirrors – mirror images.

============================
The Peter Pollock Word Carnival choice is "Missing"

MIRACLE # 5 -- A & B -- STEVE

FYI -- these occurred nearly spontaneously.
=================
 Miracle “A” --

My son, Steve, began his life miraculously prior to and during his birth.  I was the miracle-forcing person, then, fighting the “authorities”, but truly scared beyond belief.  However, it’s certainly not the same as this next God-giving story.

We lived in Redwood City, California.  Through our Heavenly Father’s intervention, [very serious stuff going on], I left my husband, my kids’ dad.  Renae was 4 years old and Steve was 16 months.  A financial gift, from a Christian sister in our neighborhood, paid for the airplane tickets.  On May 24, 1974, we flew to Omaha to stay with Susie and her family.  We had been invited a few weeks earlier; she had felt the Lord tap her to write me.  I had no idea, when that wonderful letter had arrived, that this would come to pass, if for no other reason than absolute poverty.

Steve had very serious allergies -- all wheat and dairy products.  I could hardly afford ordinary food, let alone specialties necessary for his health.  When arriving here, Susie and her husband blessed us by purchasing what Steve needed and avoiding what he didn’t.

He was better, but not perfect.  Scrawny and skinny.  Cried nearly every night and did not sleep well.  Had never slept well, which made it tough for his mom, believe me.

In August, Susie was visiting her family in Minnesota.  Her husband and I were at home.  One morning, the phone rang.  A friend from church was heading downtown to attend a worship and prayer convention.  She told me she would be in our area in about 20 minutes and if I wanted to go and could be ready by then, she would pick me up.

I DID want to go, believe me.  A teen from down the street agreed to watch my kids and Susie's son.  I grabbed a can of soup out of the cupboard and set it aside for lunch.  Left with a carload of ladies.

After a long time of worshipful music, praising and praying, the morning speaker stepped forward.  Before his preaching began, he said this would be the prayer time for healing.  He told us offering  plates would be passed and we could put in notes re: physical needs. 

While he was giving instruction, suddenly I panicked.   I remembered the soup can I had grabbed without reading the ingredients ... it was vegetable alphabet soup.  The alphabet portion was wheat. 

During my agitation,  trying to figure out what I should do, the Lord spoke to me so clearly.  He said, “Put a note in the plate so they will pray.”

I grabbed a pencil and quickly wrote blunt info.  Basically: boy, 19 mos., allergic to wheat and dairy.   When finishing, I was able to toss it in right on time.

When the piles of notes were delivered to the front of the convention center, the speaker stacked them up and laid hands on them and prayed.  When he finished, I knew Steve was healed.  My heart was totally assured. 


By the time I reached home he had, of course, eaten soup.  Almost immediately, I gave him ice cream.  In the next couple days he had macaroni and cheese, which became one of his favorite foods, and French toast and pancakes and, and, and....

He had absolutely no negative reactions.  And it was wonderful, of course...

... until I panicked again. I thought, “It could still hit him.  He might be vomiting and screaming at night and it will be my fault.”

Do you know God is BIGGER?    My knee-jerk reaction was a “mom” thing.  And the Lord didn’t change this to slap my hand for not trusting Him entirely.  He’s most certainly very kind!

Steve continued to eat and eat some more.   In a few days, he started sleeping, not crying, his stomach pain reduced significantly, and his skinniness was swept away.

I rejoiced ... AGAIN!!!  

How is Steve today?  Well, at 39 he eats what he wants, when he wants it.

As one song says: “God is GOOD all the time.”  Yep, I agree!

NOW -- Miracle “B” --

In August, shortly before the convention, because of his eating dilemma, he was diagnosed with iron deficiency.  They would begin the medication in September. 

A couple weeks after the allergy healing,  he was given another blood test.  Suddenly, the nurse came out, stunned.  She asked what had happened?  I asked what she meant.  She said his iron level had increased well into the normal range and it couldn’t possibly have occurred so quickly.  So, again, she asked, “What happened?!”   I told her that he had been prayed for about his allergies.  I had no idea that not only his eating sources changed, but also his blood iron level.  Hadn’t even thought of it.

But, I rejoiced ... AGAIN!!! [As did Susie’s family,  our church, and many others.]  This time because it was not only a total surprise, and not even slightly anticipated, but, medically speaking, an even more important healing.

The word “HALLELUJAH!!” truly means a lot to me!!!

SONG OF SOLOMON 5:4

   My Beloved put His hand

by the hole of the door

and

my heart was moved

for Him. 

MOUNTAIN-BASED TESTIMONY

The mountains of the Cascade Range are among the most beautiful in the world: near-perfect cone-shaped summits, deep, clear, ice-blue lakes, rushing streams, and millions upon millions of trees spread from the foothills and crowded to the fringe of the snow line.

The lives of those who dwell in the valleys and flatlands surrounding the mountains are tightly intertwined with them, economically, socially, and even spiritually, for better or worse.  Impersonal pronouns, such as “it” are not used in conjunction with the mountains, and individually, they are most often referred to affectionately as “she.”

My teen years were lived southeast of Mount St. Helens in Klickitat, Washington.  Today. she is one of the most famous members of the Cascades.  Thirty-two years ago few people outside our region knew who she was, or cared.

I took her for granted.  In fact, since she was out of our eyesight in our small lumber town, I seldom thought of her.  Scientists reported periodically on the volcanic activity occurring deep within her bowels; the valley inhabitants occasionally felt earth-tremors and grabbed for lamps and dishes; and we, as teenagers, derived great enjoyment from frightening outsiders or newcomers with stories of the Cascade legendary resident, Bigfoot.  However, beyond those times, when she was specifically drawn within our range of interest, she was greatly overshadowed by her sisters, Rainier and Hood, who held center stage while she danced, more or less anonymously, in the Cascade Chorus Line.

She finally gained world-wide attention on May 18, 1980, but she destroyed a good portion of herself and the adjoining neighborhood in the process.  She exploded with the force of a five megaton bomb, blowing away thirteen hundred feet of her summit, burying her lakes under tons of rock and ash, and denuding herself of billions of board feet of lumber.  Within minutes her panoramic beauty was erased, replaced by a rocky mound, colored only in varying shades of gray.

I erupted once.  Outwardly, I had been like the mountain ... strong, steady, dependable, always responsibly in place.  And, like the mountain, I had rumbled and quaked for years.  Pressure stemming from alcoholism, physical and emotional abuse, and neglect mixed with anger and hatred, churning and expanding to near-bursting, then contracting once again.  The rumbling seldom attracted much attention except from those nearest me, and even they adjusted to the tremors and noise, diving for cover only when a particularly strong quake affected them directly.

The day came when the walls gave way as the boiling mass within exploded to the surface.  With the unleashing of the pressures came emotional and mental desolation.  The result was a “mound” resembling human form, but lacking inner life and vitality ... a gray, empty shell.

After the dust had settled and the experts had assessed the situation on Mount St. Helens, the paramount question was, “Will the devastation always exist?”  In answer, scientists shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders, or raised their eyebrows, quizzically.  “Time will tell,” they said.

Time told.  As Spring unobtrusively stole across the mountain the next year, lichen, vividly colored wild flowers, and small bushes, such as fireweed and trail blackberries, pushed through the fine-sifted ashy soil. 

  There was just a little color, compared to the vast empty gray spaces, but enough to herald the beginnings of new life.

The Psalmist said, “Weeping may endure for the night, but joy cometh in the morning.”  After a long seven-months-night of weeping and pain, threatened with suicide, I awoke April 15, 1966,  and found New Life.  The ashes of destruction and desolation became the soil of hope.  Solidity, peace and creativity burst through the crust and sent their roots deep into my heart.  I watched enraptured as change overtook me –- step-by-God-ordered-and-ordained-step -- until wholeness was within my grasp.

Mount St. Helens will never be the same as she was before the blast ... not in form, or coloration, or temperament.  The radical changes forced by the eruption have left scars that will never be eradicated.  But, being the Mountain that she is, she fostered new life and is once again covered with forest, flowers, and wildlife, a monument to God’s restorative powers.

 
My explosion, generated by long-compounding inner stress, did not change me physically, as happened to the Mountain.  Inwardly, however, my emotions and spirit can never be as they were.  Some scars remain, but they are no longer livid, jagged reminders of the past.  They have faded into the background with the steady emergence of Life.

I am now one with the Mountain.  We both experienced the pain of destruction and the joy of re-formation.  We both saw that, given the healing power of God, life can return to even those most devastated.  Where she was once an acquaintance, now she is my friend.  She is a symbol of life past and present, and the hope for the future.  I will never take her, or life, for granted again.

 
====================

I realize more glacial and volcanic activity has continued, especially in the last few years.  However, not being a scientifically-oriented person, I have thought of this original eruption as a personal story.  And, yes, I ain't perfect either... but DO have "forests, and flowers, and fruit" through family, friends, and fellowship locally, nationally, internationally.  My "crater" nearly fully-filled through my Creator.