Life's Defining Moments

We all have events that we would call defining events or life-changing events in our lives. This week is a defining week in my life.  This week mirrors Mother’s Day week of 1972. That week was the terrible end to an 8-week ordeal.  Mother’s Day was on Sunday, May 14^th, 1972.  My dad had been in intensive care for six weeks following open-heart surgery.  We went to the hospital to see my mom and bring her little gifts we had made, my two sisters, my little brother, and I.  Grandma and Grandpa took us up that day.  But we couldn’t see my dad.  Children under the age of 16 were not allowed in Intensive Care, so six weeks had gone by with no visits.  Beth and I tried to sneak in, but we were caught and chased out many times over those weeks. Mom taped snapshots of the four of us by his bed, to remind him that he had to come home, that we were waiting for him.

He was 34, and had been in great health; he was a swimmer, a boxer, and had the strong body of an athlete.  He could do push-ups with one hand, diamond push-ups, and push-ups with claps between each one.  He could hold us on his hands while lying on his back and lift us high in the air, even me at 11years old. He worked two jobs to support us, but he still went to church with us on Sundays and spent time with us when he wasn’t working.  He was a believer in the possible, and he made me believe that I could be anything that I wanted to be, even if I was a girl. 

Eight weeks earlier, the phone rang one cold March night.  I was sitting in the kitchen at the table doing homework.  It was my dad’s work calling for my mom.  They told her that my dad had had a heart attack and was being taken by ambulance to the hospital.  She thought it was a joke.  It took a few minutes for her to realize it was true.  My grandparents came right over, (they only lived a mile away), and grandpa went with my mom to the hospital while grandma stayed with us.  That began the journey that ended on May 15^th.

Mother’s Day, May 14^th was my dad’s last full day on this earth.  It seemed like a normal day, at least as normal as it could have been under the circumstances.  We kids had no idea how serious the situation was.  I was the oldest, at 11, Beth was 10, Kim was 4, and Jimmy was 3.  How could we begin to understand?  Beth and I knew his kidneys weren’t working, that something had gone wrong during the surgery and they wouldn’t start.  We knew they had to bring in a special doctor and a new machine that did something called peritoneal dialysis, but we had no idea what that really meant, except that the machine was cleaning his blood because his kidneys weren’t working.  Truly, we thought they would start working soon, and all would be well. Back then, there were no kidney transplants, no answers beyond what was being done.

And so, we spent Mother’s Day afternoon at the hospital, visiting with my mom until it was time for her to go in with dad, 10 minutes every 2 hours.  I stayed with her when the others left that day.  We sat in the waiting room, watching the black and white TV and talking to other family members.  My other grandmother, my dad’s mom, was there, too.  Her birthday had been the Thursday before, just like this year.  There was tension between family members, so she was in a different waiting room.  My aunt or grandpa took me home later that evening.

On Monday, May 15^th, I got up and got ready for school.  Grandma Marian was staying with us.  It was a beautiful Spring day.  We had PE (we called it gym then) at the end of the day.  Kickball.  I was chosen last.  Not unusual, I am not very athletic.  But that day, I kicked a home run.  I don’t know why, but I remember I wanted to tell my dad.  After school, we went to Uncle Bill and Aunt Sandy’s house.  They lived around the block from us, and Aunt Sandy was making spaghetti for dinner.  Their house was full-they had four children between the ages of 4 and 6, all four of us kids were there, too, and Aunt Carol was there with Julie.   Yep, 9 kids, 7 under the age of 6, and 2 women.  It was chaos.  After dinner, Aunt Carol was going to take Beth and me home.  I thought that was weird, since we only lived around the block.  Aunt Carol has always been very sweet and has hated any kind of bad news.  She had been told not to tell us anything, but we were trying to guess.  I remember asking if there was a surprise, and she said “kind of”.  She smiled, but now I know that smile was a defense mechanism.  She loved my dad, too, and had no idea how any of us were going to move forward.  I thought she was taking us home to see dad, that he had been released from the hospital.

So, after dinner, she took us home.  In her car.  Around the block.  When we got there, the driveway was full and there were cars parked in front of the house.  We had to park 2 doors down, in front of Mrs. Turner’s house.  When we entered the living room, there were so many people there, my grandma and grandpa, Uncle Bill (my mom’s brother), Grandma Garver (my dad’s mom), Grandpa Garver, Grandpa Lewis, our pastor, and I think my dad’s sisters and brother.  My mom whisked Beth and me upstairs into her room before anybody could say anything.  She sat us on their big, King-sized bed and told us.  She said daddy was gone, that his heart had stopped.  He tried to live, she said.  He fought to live.  He had had 9 cardiac arrests that day.  But his heart gave out and he was with Jesus. She tried to stay strong, but tears came rolling down her face.  I don’t know how long we stayed up there, but when we came down, most of the people were gone. 

The rest of that evening was crazy.  Plans were being made; phone calls placed, people coming over, and then quiet.  Finally it was just the five of us, something that would become normal for us in the coming days.  I think we were all numb.  The next day, mom had to finalize some arrangements.  They would begin showing my dad at Walter’s Funeral Home on Tuesday evening, so during the day, we had to find dresses to wear.  We didn’t have anything suitable, so Aunt Sandy took Beth and I out shopping.  They don’t make black dresses for little girls, especially in the Spring. We looked at a million stores and tried on many dresses, which was torture for Beth, who hates to shop and didn’t get along very well with Aunt Sandy. We finally found some blue dresses that would have to be okay because they were the darkest ones available.  They came from Hudson’s, a store we never shopped at because it was too expensive.

That evening, mom took us four into the viewing room alone, before the crowds came.  We went up to the casket and Kim and Jim both cried.  Jim, especially. He screamed.  I understood why.  My dad, a very fit 5’11” 180 lbs man had lost nearly 90 lbs over six weeks.  His body was emaciated and his face looked terrible.  They put so much make-up on him to try to cover the ravages of the past six weeks, but the effect was that he looked like a monster. His perfectly fitted suit, bought at Christmas by my mom (32 waist, 42 coat) hung loosely, even though I know they had pinned it in the back.

Tuesday night began a long week of viewing at Walter’s Funeral home and the Funeral service at Salem United Church of Christ.  The burial was at Toledo Memorial Park Cemetery.  Today, I can close my eyes and remember.  I can see the people, the funeral home, the church, the cemetery, my dad in the casket.  I remember the smell of the funeral home, formaldehyde and flowers (there were so many flowers).  I can feel the darkness of the church nave where my dad’s casket was open before the service.  I can see the endless line of cars at the funeral, as he was so loved by so many people. I can feel the fear and sadness.  I can still watch, in my mind’s eye, my mom’s stoic demeanor that week in front of others, and hear the heart-wrenching sobs from her bedroom at night.

My life and the lives of my family changed that day.  It was a defining moment, a life-changing event.  I learned what it meant to trust God and to believe that He is Good even when the circumstances are not.  I learned that people made assumptions that weren’t true:  That we were all ok, that we got over it, that we had plenty of money.  My dad had a very small life insurance policy, after all he was young and healthy. I learned that what you see on the outside is really never what exists on the inside, behind closed doors.  I learned what it meant to struggle by watching my mom, who always put us first.  I learned my faith from watching her depend on God and call on Jesus.  And eventually I learned that we would all be ok, that we had purposes to fulfill and we would go on. 

Many times over these years I have found myself missing my dad.  Graduations, birthdays, Christmases, family vacations.  My wedding day.  The day my sons were born and each milestone of their lives.  I believe he knows all these things, and I know I have carried him with me along my journey.  I am certain he would be proud of  me, and I know that we will be together again, in paradise.

This week of 2017, 45 years later, mirrors that week of 1972, at least in dates and days. And I am still learning to trust God for all my needs every day.  I am so thankful for Godly parents that have stood as my example of how to live, love, and have faith in my Savior. That event, 45 years ago, changed my life.  I have never feared death, and have been able to make it through difficult places because I already knew the worst thing that could happen had already happened.  I knew, from that event, that one day my life on Earth would end, too, but I also knew that meant I would be reunited with Christ and with my loved ones who went before me.  My job, from that day forward, was to make a difference while I am given the opportunity.

Extraordinary Ordinary Ways

It has been a while since I have written, but this morning I was reminded of how I see God's hand in my life and the lives of others.  So often, I ask and I hear others ask, "Where is God in this situation?"  Or, "If God is real then He will do something amazing in my life."  The temptation that faces us all is to ignore the great and amazing ordinary blessings we receive each day.  In my life, God works miracles that others call coincidences or chance.  I know better, and I see the hand of God moving and working in the ordinary events around me.

I have been reminded of this in my time with Him this week, as I have been praying for others and asking why.  Sometimes the why just isn't answerable, which is difficult for we mere mortals to accept. We want to see the big picture, to have all the answers, but they just don't always come to us.  I believe that is what true faith is, hanging on even when the answers seem inconceivable or incomprehensible. As Hebrews 11:1-3 says, "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. ² For by it the men of old gained approval. ³ By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things which are visible."  Those things we hope for should not be earthly things, but heavenly qualities, such as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, and godliness.  These are the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23) that we hope for, not because we hope without knowing if we can have these qualities, but with the assured hope that salvation through Christ offers.  He is our certain hope, and His promises are sure to come to pass.

But God often chooses the unlikely people and unlikely ways to get His work accomplished.  He chose the lowly, throughout the Bible to accomplish great tasks, people like Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David, Esther, Rahab, Ruth, and Mary.  These were not great leaders, but humble, faithful people who chose to be obedient and to see God work in their lives, sometimes in simple ways, sometimes in miraculous ways.  It was through their obedience, humility, and faith that God brought about His purposes.

So what extraordinary ordinary occurrences have I experienced?

First and foremost, salvation through Christ's shed blood at the cross.  I am a sinner, big time, yet He chose me.  He forgave me and still forgives me everyday and loves me in spite of who I really am. That thought alone will bring me to my knees.

Second, loving, Christian parents and family, who were faithful to teach me about God's love and His redemption through Christ.  My parents took me to church every week, bought me my own Bible, and taught me the lessons of the Bible.

Third, a mother, who, when she lost her husband, raised four children faithfully before the Lord, sacrificing her own happiness for ours.

Many times, grace and healing of me and my loved ones, from the time I was hit by a car on the Anthony Wayne Trail at age 8 to the healings my mother has experienced.

Meeting my husband, who has been such a blessing in my life.  An ordinary story, but an extraordinary outcome.

My career, for which I know I have been called. Teaching gives me the opportunity to touch the lives of children, some who need Christ.

My sons, Jonathan and Christian, who were blessings to me from the moment of conception.  God continues to work in their lives, blessing them with opportunity and success.

There are so many ways that I see His hand,  in the sunrises and sunsets, in the gorgeous Italian fields, abundant with crops, all around me; in dear friends who share my joys and sorrows; in my brother and sisters and their children in America; when I go home, the natural beauty of America, and in her people who are so diverse.  I see God in the people I meet, and I know He loves them.  My prayer is that I can be His reflection to those around me, that He will curb my sharp tongue and convict my judgmental heart, that He will soften me and mold me to be more like Him. I want to continue to see Him in the ordinary, extraordinary people and events of my life.

My challenge to you.....find Him, not in the huge, miraculous ways the world looks for Him, but find Him in the ordinary, humble ways that He has always shown Himself, and rejoice in your blessings.

Living in Truth

Blessed Resurrection Day!  It has been a long time since I have written; nearly a year.  I have been busy with life, adjusting to an empty nest, and working on a Master's Degree in Educational Administration and Leadership.  It has been and eventful year, with many changes.  This weekend, I learned that there must be more changes in my life, and these changes will be based on God's truth.  They will not be easy, but I believe they are necessary.  Felix and I are are choosing to release some cultural and family traditions in order to be more in line with the Word of God.  We know this will not be popular, but we aren't aiming for popularity.  Thankfully, our sons are understanding and will stand with us.  So what have we learned?


“Now, therefore, fear the Lord and serve Him in sincerity and truth; and put away the gods which your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. ¹⁵ If it is disagreeable in your sight to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves today whom you will serve: whether the gods which your fathers served which were beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Joshua 24: 14-15

The second part of this passage, verse 15, is often quoted by Christian families, ours included.  In the context the whole chapter, this verse is calling God's people to live differently than the pagan nations, to  cleanse themselves from pagan traditions.  I have read this passage many times, but never thought of myself as having any pagan beliefs.  And I don't.  But I have been following pagan traditions that have become culturally acceptable.  Of course, I did not know this.  Oh maybe I had heard somewhere, in the past, about the incorporation of pagan customs into Christianity, but I did not fully understand how repugnant these customs are to our God.  I believed that it was okay, because I certainly did not worship anyone or anything else, and that God's Grace would cover my ignorance.  Besides, these traditions have meaning for me, for my family, and for our culture that have nothing to do with paganism.  And those are the lies.  Lies that help perpetuate wrong traditions and beliefs.  Fear plays into this, too.  Fear that I will be different, weird, outside of the norm.  Fear that, in letting go of the tradition, I will also let go of so many sweet memories.  Yet, in His love and mercy, God reveals truth and redeems memories.  I can and will trust Him!

Are you curious?  Do you want to know the traditions I am referencing?  It begins with Easter....the word Easter.  It was originally derived from the name of the Babylonian Goddess Ishtar, which was pronounced Eeeestar or easter.  She goes by many other names in other cultures, including Astarte, Innana, Aphrodite, Semiramis, Eastre, Hora, Ashtar, Astar, Isis, Ostara, Freya, Kwan Yin, Kwannon, Demeter, Nut, Hathor, Isis, Inda, Diana, goddess of the morning or dawn, and she is known as the Queen of Heaven.  She is typically the mother goddess, goddess of love, war, and fertility.  How could she have so many names?  In the Genesis, Nimrod, son of Cush and great-grandson of Noah, marries Semiramis.  Together they build the Tower of Babel and institute themselves as deities to be worshipped.  When the tower was destroyed, people were divided by the confusion of languages, hence the multiplicity of names.  When you study the worship instituted by Nimrod and Semiramis (Ishtar), it revolves around a divine conception by Ishtar from the rays of the sun (Nimrod), which was the dead Nimrod.  She gives birth to Tammuz, who becomes her consort, calling him the reincarnation of Nimrod.  As part of the worship, young virgins were brought into the temples to have sexual relations with the priests on the altar.  When they conceived and gave birth, those "sacred" children were sacrificed the next year, when they were three months old.  Eggs were dyed in the blood of the babies and given to women as an amulet or charm for fertility.  The rabbit was her animal and the symbol of fertility.  She returned every year with baskets of eggs to give out to young girls.  There is much more, if you research the myths surrounding the worship of the sun god and his goddess, but this was enough for me to be convinced that Easter is not what I am to celebrate.

Easter is not the only Christian holiday that has been defiled by pagan traditions.  Christmas, too is full of pagan symbolism, including the Christmas tree.  Of course, December 25th was the birthday of the sun god, so even the day is not the day of Christ's birth, which probably would have been around the time of the Feast of Tabernacles in September.

How could these pagan beliefs and traditions have made their way into Christianity?  As Christianity spread, many of these traditions were incorporated in order to help people accept the new religion.  They have become traditions with no basis in the Scripture.  Then, when Constantine incorporated Christianity as the dominant religion, he made it illegal to practice any of the "Jewish" feasts.  Thus, the feasts established by God in the Old Testament have been lost, along with their meanings, for Christians.  As a Christian, I have found each of the 7 Feasts of the Old Testament, the feasts that God established as permanent remembrances and celebrations, point to Christ...The Spring feasts point to His first coming, the Fall feasts to His second coming. 

As Felix and I learned more about the pagan traditions and their original meanings, we were heartsick to know that we had fallen for the lie of the enemy.  We want to live righteously, but how can one live righteously and practice these customs?  Therefore, we are leaving tradition behind in favor of truth.  The Bible contains many verses about cleansing the temple of pagan gods, and being true to God, many more than I could list here, so we will cleanse God's temple, our lives, and try to establish new traditions full of the richness of God's blessings. We will always love and honor others who choose differently, knowing that we too were misled, and that it took the Holy Spirit and Scripture to open our hearts to live in the truth.

Forty Years, Still Missed

I can hardly believe that it will be forty years on May 15th.  I can still feel the warm sun from that day, smell the spaghetti Aunt Sandy was making for dinner, and see Aunt Carol driving up to the curb to pick us up.  That was a day that changed my life and changed the lives of the rest of my family as well.  That was the day my dad died. May 15, 1972.  I was eleven years old when I woke up on that day, and a child.  I became an adult by bed time.

Over the years, I have marveled at how I can find myself in tears so quickly when thinking about my dad.  People often say that it gets easier to accept the loss of a loved one over time.  The truth is that our lives go on, and we push the memories back so that new memories can be made, so the longer you live without someone, the further back the memories and the pain of the loss are.  But suddenly, unexpectedly, something happens that reminds me of my dad.  Or some life event occurs that brings him to mind.  I always think of him on holidays, but the times I have missed him most have been the milestones in my life; high school and college graduations, my first dance, my first date, giving me away at my wedding.  Every time I hear the father-daughter dance at a wedding, tears form in my eyes.  The birth of my boys.  Oh how I wish he could have known my husband and my boys!  He would have loved them so, and he would have been a great grandfather!  This week, it has been watching Christian, my youngest, that has evoked memories of my dad.  In so many ways, Christian is like my dad.  His love of sports, his love of the outdoors, camping, fishing, and the fact that he will soon be leaving for the Air Force, much like his grandfather.  Speaking with Jonathan on the phone or on Skype also reminds me of my dad.  Jonathan tends to be stubborn and opinionated like his grandfather.  He also never meets a stranger, which was also like my dad.  Everyone loved him.  Or didn't because he would not keep his opinion to himself!  

My dad was a good man and a great dad, but he was not perfect.  Oh no, we argued often, because I inherited his stubborn, opinionated nature. Nonetheless, I always knew he loved me and that he thought I could do anything....well anything except sports.  That was Beth's realm.  He encouraged us, but not the way children are encouraged today.  No babying, no self-esteem concerns; oh no, he told it like he saw it and expected us to do better.  He always told us we could do better, try harder, work harder.  I think that is why all four of us are so driven, and why we all went to work very young.  I am thankful for his belief in me, because it was one of the memories I held on to when I became discouraged.  

My dad and my mom gave me a solid Christian upbringing and modeled a loving relationship for me.  I am so thankful for their example.  The heritage they gave me is priceless and precious.  I always knew my dad loved my mom and he loved us children.  He worked two jobs to provide for us, and he spent his time away from work with the family.  I can still see him sitting in our pew in church, grinning as Beth and I sang in the children's choir.  Now I realize he was probably laughing inside because I cannot carry a tune at all, but he never let on.  I can see him on that last Valentine's day, opening the gift Beth and I gave him...a pitiful, hand sewn (without a pattern and literally sewn by hand with a needle and thread) blue and white calico checked necktie.  He said he loved it and he wore it!  We buried it with him three months later.

My dad died 40 years ago May 15th, and I still miss him.  He left behind a young wife and four little children, who grieved deeply for him for years.  My mom picked up my dad's responsibilities and raised us, fulfilling their legacy.  That legacy lives and loves because of the example they set.  Four children, all married only one time.  Beth and Patrick Errington, married 31 years this coming August.  Kim and Jon LaRou, married 26 years this past February. Jim and Christine Lewis, married 25 years this past March.  Felix and Lorri Vallone, married 24 years this coming April 30th.11 grandchildren, 10 living and one passed on in 1993.  All successfully employed or in school.  I know my dad will be with  us in spirit as Jonathan  commissions into the US Army and graduates from Michigan State University May 4th and 5th, and he will be with us in spirit again when Christian graduates from Vicenza High School on June 10th and leaves for the US Air Force September 11th.  I will think about him on those days, and wish he could see these fine young men who love their family and who love the Lord, my sons and his grandsons, that are part of his legacy. Yes, 2012 marks the forty year anniversary of our loss, but I know he is with the Lord, and that he is grinning from ear to ear with pride over his family, his legacy.  And I know, we will one day be together in paradise.  I love you, dad.

Having It All

When I was young, I wanted it all.  All.  Not that I really knew what that meant, but I knew I wanted it anyway.  I wanted my education, I wanted nice clothes, a nice car, a wonderful man, a house, a career, children.  Oh, yes, I wanted it all, and I was convinced that I could have it all too.  When I didn't get what I thought I deserved, I would cry and ask God, "why"?  Why did others seem to have it all, while I struggled?  At different times in my life, I whined to the Lord about whatever I thought I was missing, or about how unfair it was that someone else had what I wanted.

As I matured, the whining lessened, and my relationship with the Lord became much stronger.  I questioned Him less and less, and accepted the life I was given, albeit not always joyfully.  But somewhere in these last ten years, probably while I was still in the desert of my life, I learned a great lesson.  I look back now on the five years I spent living in a physical desert in El Paso, and remember the Spiritual desert I crossed, and the emotional desert I experienced while my husband served our country, in Korea, for two years without me.  It was such a difficult time, and at first, I moaned and complained to the Lord daily.  Maybe hourly would be more accurate.  I am sure He was sick to death of hearing my whiny voice asking for the same things over and over again.  I thinks somewhere in the middle of year two alone, which would have actually been year four in the desert, I began to understand.  God was teaching me to trust Him, to rely on Him, to seek Him, to find comfort, joy, love, and companionship in Him.  He knew that I needed to learn that He has it ALL.  Everything I need or want, I can find in Him.  I had been so busy focusing on the material world around me, I was missing the spiritual blessing He had in store for me.  Those were hard years, and I do not care to repeat them, but I am thankful for a loving God, who used my circumstances to teach me to trust and rely on him totally for my ALL.

Today, I know already have it ALL, and that I have had access to it ALL from the very first time I accepted Christ.  I am the daughter of the King, not a king, but THE KING!  That makes me a very special princess, and my Father loves me unconditionally.  He gives me unlimited access to His throne, to his love, to his limitless riches.  The Bible says God owns the sheep on a thousand hills, meaning everything is His, and since I am an heir to His riches, it is all mine, too.  I know now that my ALL has nothing to do with material wealth, or physical comfort, but with the much more important Spiritual riches that are everlasting.  I crave those riches, love, peace, kindness, patience, faith, joy, hope, and so on.  I hunger for my time with my Father, the King, because He always gives me of these riches in abundance.  My cup is truly filled, pressed down, and running over.  I do have it all, ALL, ALL, and I am so humbled by this and so thankful for it.

Loving the Unlovable

In every life, there is at least one person who is difficult to love.  I recognized this first as a child, when I had a relative who was an overbearing man, and hard to love.  He was a smoker and a drinker, something I disliked, and he made me uncomfortable.  It was not only me who was uncomfortable either, but also my siblings and even the other adults who knew him.  As I got older, I realized that the Lord always places those difficult to love people in our path.  I used to believe that it was so that we could shine our lights for them, but I have come to learn that it is really for us, to soften us and to make us more Christ like, because Jesus truly loved the unlovable in society.

As believers, Christ calls us to love.  I John 3:18 says, "Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth."  With actions and in truth.  Humph.  That means I have to do something and that I have to stay true to who I claim to be. That is a hard call, because it is much easier to think our "goodness" is a light for those poor lost souls around us.  The truth is, that with that attitude, I am living in sin, this sin of pride.  I have no claim to goodness, and no reason to be proud.  I am just like my overbearing relative if I think I am better than others or that, in myself, I know goodness.  I only know goodness because of the Grace of God, through Christ.  That should make me humble, not proud.  And a humble person realizes her lost and sad condition, the Grace that saved her in the midst of that condition, and then desires to serve others out of that humility, not because she is better, but because she too should still be lost.

As followers of Christ, he reminds us in the Beattitudes, "You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ⁴⁵ that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous."  Matthew 5:43-45. He reminds us that we get rain too, that we are not exempt from the pain and sin of this world, only forgiven.  As his followers, we are to love our enemies, even those who persecute us, so that we may be children of our Father in heaven.  But oh, how can I do this?  It is so difficult to love that annoying person, but even more difficult to love the one who attacks us.  I know.  I have experienced this, and I wanted to hold a grudge against the person who caused me so much trouble.  However, within me resides the Holy Spirit, and He convicts me of that sin of holding on to wrong doing against me.  He propels me to action and to forgiveness, even when I try to ignore the Spirit within me.  He gently nudges, or loudly shouts, until I listen and move toward the Godly behavior of reconciliation or forgiveness.  That doesn't mean I have to be best buds with that person, just that I must act as Christ calls me to act. Loving an unlovable person is not easy, and in my own strength, I cannot do it. That is just the time God's abundant Grace takes over and I see myself  for what I really am, not any better than the person who has hurt me. It takes time, but forgiveness comes, through Christ not through me.


Christ calls us to love our neighbors, to love our enemies, and to love our brothers.  Brothers are other believers.  I have known a few unlovable believers, too.  Well, not exactly unlovable, but difficult to love.  You know, the folks who can never be wrong, who judge others, or spread ugly rumors in the church.  The ones who seem to enjoy stirring up trouble.  These are difficult people to love sometimes, and I catch myself questioning their motives and their faith.  Watch out!  That is dangerous ground, because I am setting myself up as the judge of my brother. Only God can judge our hearts.  We can look at the actions of our brothers and sisters and see that an action is not Godly, then we can, IN LOVE and in private, speak gently to that person after much prayer, but we cannot judge his or her heart.  God calls each of us into His body, the Church, for a purpose, even those unlovable folks, and it is our job to love them as Christ would love them.  This is our witness to the world, Jesus says in John 13:34-35,   ³⁴ “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. ³⁵ By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” If we want the world to know we are His disciples, then we must love each other in a supernatural way, through the power of the Holy Spirit.


So, what does that mean?  I have to love with actions and in truth, and in a supernatural way?  Wow!  How can I possibly do this?  The answer is, I cannot.  Only Christ can do this through me when I am submitted to him and living in His Spirit.  Oh, how I fail at this!  Each day, I am trying to love through my actions, to be truthful to who I am called to be and to what I say I believe, but when I encounter that unlovable person, I often respond in my flesh instead of seeing the person through Christ's eyes.  I believe this is why Jesus tells us the way is narrow and few will follow it.  We have a hard time "dying to self" and letting Christ lead us in His righteous path, all the while remembering that we do not deserve this great love and salvation He gives us. Each day, I have to focus on Him and allow my selfish self to be "crucified" so that I can live in the new self of Christ within me.  And I do not do this well each day.  But, I am working on it.  I am trying to submit to what Christ would have me be, and when I fail, the Holy Spirit never fails to reveal that to me so that I can be broken for my failure, ask forgiveness with a contrite attitude, and try again.  I pray that Christ continues to show me how to love the unlovable, how to forgive the unforgivable, and how to become more like Him everyday. As He places these people in my life, I know he is refining me, teaching me, and that it is all about fixing me, and not at all about me fixing them. Christ already loves them, just the way they are, and thankfully, He loves me just as I am too.

Church Lady Mafia

I am writing this for my dear friend, who will remain nameless.  Well, maybe I need to give her a name, to eliminate confusion, so I shall call her Samantha and her husband will be Steve, not their real names, to avoid any embarrassment.

I am a part of a group known as PWOC, an acronym for Protestant Women of the Chapel.  I have been a member of this group for nearly 20 years, and have held board positions in the past.  I became acquainted with PWOC in Italy, during our first tour here years ago.  For those of you who have never been a part of the military, each post or base has a chapel that serves all denominations and religions.  There are usually three or four different Protestant services, but one PWOC group that draws all the women together for Bible Study, fun, and fellowship.  It is a highly organized group, with levels of authority, and a structure that goes from the local chapel to the area to the region.  For example, the local Vicenza PWOC, the area Mediterranean PWOC, and the region, European PWOC.  There are offices at each level, voted on by the women.

Well, my friend, Samantha, has been involved in PWOC as long as I have, and has held offices at several of the levels.  She is a dynamic speaker, has a heart for the Lord, and is always helping and nurturing others.  Her husband, Steve, has been very supportive of her activities in PWOC, and he knows the value of the ministry, but he jokingly refers to us as the "Church Lady Mafia."  This upsets Samantha, and I know she would like him to stop. She worries that others will have a negative view of PWOC if it is referred to in this irreverent manner.  I, however, think Steve is very funny and know that his teasing has a bit of truth to it.  In fact, I think it is a compliment.  He recognizes how highly structured we are and that, because of this, we get things done.

Really, if you want a job done right, and sometimes quickly, the Mafia is just the group to do it.  Ok, so the jobs they do are illegal and immoral, and definitely not the same as the ones we do in PWOC, but they are a highly structured organization, with tentacles that reach far into the communities in which they operate, they are in the know about what is going on, and they take care of business.  That describes PWOC to a tee.  We have a boss who is in charge; his name is Jesus Christ or Abba Father, and we have servants who have been called and chosen to act as his representatives in our communities.  We work together for the good of the Church, minister to others, and provide for needs as they become known.  We reach out to lost women and children and teach them of the love of Christ.  We disciple them and train them to take on their own leadership positions.  And, when someone needs prayer, our phone lines and computer are burning up, not with gossipy, sordid details of someone else's life, but with minimal information and lots of concern.  In many cases, we think of our communities as family, and we try to keep the family together and growing. Doesn't that sound like the Mafia to you?

Just what does the "Church Lady Mafia" do?  First and foremost, our ministry is to the women in the Chapel and the community.  We provide Bible studies for women hungry for the Word, and we reach out to women who are looking for friendship and companionship in a place that is unfamiliar.  We care for  the young wife whose husband has been deployed to a war zone, calling her to see how she is doing or what she needs.  We direct her to services provided through the Chapel, such as the men's group that does minor automobile repairs, or the MOPS group if she has young children, or AWANA and Club Beyond for the spiritual education of her children.  We pick her up and take her places, such as shopping in Nove, a highly important activity while in Vicenza, showing her all the coolest places to shop, especially on a budget.  We also provide support when she is expecting a child, and sometimes one of us will stand in when the husband cannot be at the delivery of his child.  We provide meals and child care for those who are sick and injured, or who have just had a baby.  We help each other move in and out, we cry together over sad events, we celebrate birthdays, holidays, promotions, graduations, and other important events.  We direct women to other sources of spiritual and community support when needed. We provide food for Memorial services and stand by our sisters and brothers when there has been a loss.  And we pray without ceasing for our families, for each other, for our Chapel, for our Community, and for our country.  In short, we become one another's family.  This is the basis for true spiritual community, which we are desperately trying to develop.  We love, as Christ loves, when we do this well.

Obviously, we do this so well, that Steve knows who to call on for help or information when he needs it.  He just calls on the "Church Lady Mafia," because he knows they get things done, done right, and done quickly.  While he is teasing us, he is also admiring in us women something that the men lack.  They do not love Christ any less, but they do not have the relationships that we women have, nor the organizational structure that says, when you need a meal you call Becky, or when you want a prayer warrior, you call Laura, or when you need child care, you call Patty, and Samantha knows everything about the local area, so if you need to know anything about Vicenza, you call Samantha.  He is really in awe of what the ladies of PWOC are able to accomplish through Christ.  So, Samantha, when you read this, please hug Steve and thank him for dubbing us "The Family" aka the "Church Lady Mafia!"