Feb 1, 2024
Feb 9, 2023
POWIETRZEM MOIM JEST~ This is the Air I Breathe~ Polish
Although there is much controversy surrounding the use of certain worship songs these days, I felt the Holy Spirit leading me to sing this particular song to my son's Polish friend's grandparents.
Last year, I spent a week in Poland as part of a mission trip to the warzone area of Ukraine, and now my appreciation for Poland runs deep. This song was their Christmas present. Please forgive my mispronunciation, as I do not speak Polish.
I do not own the rights to this song. And, I would like to especially thank the brother in Christ who posted a video on YouTube which I used as the background music for this video https://youtu.be/XWAGUOYQX3Y
May God Almighty receive all the glory! Through Christ Jesus alone!
~Lyrics in English~
This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence
Living in me
This is my daily bread
You are my daily bread
Your very Word
Spoken to me
And I... I'm desperate for you
And I... I'm lost without you
May 31, 2022
Why Africa? An Unforgettable Calling!
I was gazing at my African keepsakes when I started pondering as to how to write a story about my profound love for Africa. “Why Africa?” I began to wonder. “What was it about this particular Continent that had personally captivated me so? Was it the rusty color of clay dirt? The bitter smell of a burning kiln? Or was it the simple but hard life that oddly flooded my heart with peace?” I wondered these things as warm tears filled my eyes. Deep down, I knew the reason I treasured Africa.
My love for this particular Continent began during a childhood that was decorated with both times of trial and times of peace.
My heart was still tender when God first introduced me to Africa. One day, a television commercial aired in between the cartoons I had been watching. The commercial featured graphic images of children who were surviving on only dollars a day. Instantly, God’s love for the least of them filled my heart. I ran to my mother’s side to ask if we could give some money to one of the children on the television. She said “no.” So, I came up with another plan. I demanded that my mother have another child, but not just any child. I wanted my mother to give birth to one of the impoverished children from Africa. My mother tried to explain that my request was impossible to grant. But how do you describe such a thing to a small child? I was so upset at her reply that I refused to speak to her. I kept silent for an entire week!
As I grew in stature, that precious childhood calling continued to nudge at my heart. In my early teenage years, I shared my strong conviction with my mother and new stepfather. “Someday, I’m going to become a Missionary,” I announced. “I’m going to own an orphanage in Africa where children will always have a place that makes them feel provided for, nourished, welcomed, and loved!” Immediately afterward, I began caring for children within miles of my own doorstep, children who had also come from broken homes.
At age eighteen, that same urgent and undeniable desire to go to Africa inundated my heart once again. Being Catholic at the time, the obvious decision was to enroll in the Catholic Church’s version of the Peace Corp. For months, I drove an hour south of my home to participate in a program that trained laypersons in mission work overseas. Finally, I was going to Africa, or so I thought. One day, the head Priest revealed my two-year assignment. Imagine my confusion when after months spent learning about Africa I was selected to go to Papua New Guinea. Papua New Guinea wasn’t what I had envisioned. Instantly fear of the unknown gripped me tight. Since there was no way to change my assigned country, I resigned from the Lay Mission Helpers Program. Africa would have to wait.
Five years later, I graduated from college and officially began my long career in Social Work. By this time, I had been working with vulnerable children for years. As a Social Worker, I mostly cared for those who had been raised in unstable homes, like me. This career was not only deeply wounding, but it was also healing too. Over the years, I remained in the social work field. Meanwhile, I held on tight to the hope that one day God would use me to ease the aching heart of a despairing child in Africa.
On July 28, 2000, at age 29, God orchestrated a short-term mission trip that allowed me to experience Africa firsthand. In the months prior, I had moved back home to save money. $3,300 for one trip was a lot of money and I simply couldn’t afford to pay rent while saving such a large amount. My parents graciously allowed me to live with them, rent-free.
Africa turned out to be even more of a surprise than I ever could have imagined. We first landed in Johannesburg, South Africa. As I wandered around the large airport, I noticed that the stair railings were all freshly polished, shiny, and gold. The marble floors also looked glistening and brand new. As I tried to take in my new surroundings, an unexpected disappointment suddenly gripped me.
For over two decades, I had anticipated those poor-stricken images I had seen on the television as a child. Never had I imagined that the airport would be structured just like one of our shopping malls back home. Now, I was staring at novelty shops that were overflowing with expensive souvenirs. With every step I took, my heart sank deeper still. This certainly wasn’t the underprivileged country that I had always envisioned. As we continued to make our way through the airport, I couldn’t help but gaze at all the fair-skinned people. “Had I just flown thousands of miles to see a place that appeared even richer than where I lived back home, a place full of people who looked just like me?” I wondered.
Disappointment had just begun to overwhelm me when our next airplane arrived. Soon we were on our way to Nairobi, Kenya. From Nairobi, we took a small commuter plane to Mombasa. As we flew over village after village and unpaved road after unpaved road, that hope-filled smile returned to my face and a warm feeling returned to my heart.
Once we landed in Mombasa, our large group of travelers split into small groups. One by one, we crammed into the back of small buses with no seats and nothing to hold on to. “Hold on,” the driver ironically called out. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.” He wasn’t joking! We laughed and hollered with joy, with every single pothole. With such excitement in the air, no one cared that we were crashing into one another and bumping heads. This only made us laugh even louder.
Soon we arrived at the village of Kikoembero. We were warmly greeted by hundreds of people with full-face smiles and a song in their hearts. After formal introductions, our leaders decided that we should turn in for the night. I was still so excited to finally be in Africa, that I simply couldn’t fall asleep. So, I stared out of the worn piece of plastic hanging from the door frame. With such a large opening, I could peer straight outside.
Right away, I noticed one particular man. He was sitting alone at a wooden picnic-style table under a single light bulb where a swarm of mosquitoes had gathered. The “night watchman,” as he was called, had a long barrel shotgun by his side. I desperately wanted to stay up all night, chatting with him. I had so many questions! Yet, I had a feeling that I should wait until morning. And, so I did.
The next few weeks were filled with excitement, joy, work, and learning. Although it has been almost twenty years since then, surprisingly, I can still clearly remember those early conversations. One morning a group of young children gathered by my side. I could tell that one specific child was drawn to me. Yet, unlike the hundreds of children back home, this child wouldn’t latch on. He wouldn’t even touch me. So, I asked why. The young group of boys shared their beliefs. “We were told that if we touch a white person, we will bleed.” They all nodded in agreement. I smiled as I bent down and extended my hand. “That is not true,” I said. Then, I stretched my hand out a little further. Each child took turns shaking my hand. A few days later, to their surprise and wonderment, that same group of boys watched as I welcomed a little girl about their age onto my lap. This was the same child that no other person in the village would touch for fear of contracting lice, scabies, and gangrene. God was turning everything this small village knew and believed on its head. And soon after, He would do the same for me.
First God orchestrated that a group of young women walked for miles to obtain water for us to use. These girls carried heavy buckets of water on their heads, just so that our group of travelers could take a sponge bath and have clean clothes to wear. Wow! I wasn’t used to such an incredibly loving and sacrificial gesture.
Next, God prompted the women in our host village to cook a special banquet for us. The villagers made sure to offer us the best food they had. It was only after we had eaten, that we learned about the meal we had enjoyed. This particular food was usually only cooked on very special occasions. The villagers even gave up their only animal, a rooster to add meat to our stew. Unbelievable!
Then, a few days later, God sent a child from another village to reach my heart. The small child asked me if I’d take a walk with her. I immediately said, “Yes.” As we walked along the unpaved clay dirt road towards her home, the sweet child proudly spoke about her life. A smile remained on her cheeks the entire time.
Then, as we neared her home, we stopped for a moment. To my surprise and wonder, out of her scarcity, this innocent child offered me a priceless gift. A single piece of fruit!
While these moments offered more love than I could have imagined, still the memory that I cherish the most consists of one extraordinary man. Our host village and the surrounding villages were filled with Muslim believers and my travel companions were all Mormon. I was still a practicing Catholic at the time. So, in reality, none of us were following the Jesus Whom I know today. Now that I too am walking hand in hand with my Savior, this particular story is even more precious to me.
Each day, God orchestrated that a Christian man walk five miles just to speak to me. Minutes into our first conversation, the man said, “I am the only Christian in my village. It’s so nice to have someone to talk to about God.” Every day for weeks, the Christian man appeared by my side. Although I mostly answered his questions about what it was like to live in America, deep down, I knew that there was something special about him. I felt an unfamiliar peace and comfort in his presence.
Over the weeks, I began to wonder, “What kind of love prompts a person to walk five miles to speak to a stranger?” Looking back now, I can see how God was using each person in this village to plant a tiny seed of hope in me. Through each smiling face, I had seen that God’s love for me was much more than I could’ve imagined-enough to last a lifetime.
After only a few weeks of visiting Kenya, my fellow travelers and I left for Tanzania. Under the guise of a safari tour, I found an even deeper appreciation for the people of Africa.
The first night we arrived, we took a short walk from our hotel room down the street to a food stand. As we took in our new surroundings, once again, my heart grew with excitement. So, the next day, we ventured out a little further. As we approached the downtown area, I took a moment to notice all that was happening in our new environment. One instance grabbed my full attention. A group of heavily armed men wearing military uniforms was trying their best to guard a small cluster of young boys. The boys were holding tiny clear bottles filled with a milky white substance. The look in these children’s eyes reminded me of the many drug-addicted eyes I had seen back home. Curiosity overwhelmed me. So, I asked one of our guides to explain what I was seeing. For the first time in weeks, the joy that I felt turned into unimaginable sorrow. “Children are the only ones small enough to fit down the long dark holes. They are sniffing glue to avoid feeling scared as they obtain Tanzanite,” our guide said. I had no idea what Tanzanite was, and I was too afraid to ask. I cried myself to sleep that night.
The next day, our group participated in a sightseeing tour. Since this wasn’t my cup of tea, I decided to take another opportunity to get to know the locals. As God would have it, I made quick friends with a local member of the Maasai tribe.
Before my trip to Africa, I had spent weeks learning Swahili. I didn’t know that I would need to speak the Maa language too. So, I enlisted the help of an interpreter to aid in the conversations I would have with my new Maasai friend. Once again, I had so many questions! Thankfully, my new friend was all too happy to share his Maasai life with me. “We must kill our first lion at age fifteen. It’s a rite of passage.” He said. “Our children learn to drive a 3,000 lb car at that age. Then, they try not to kill anyone on the road.” I replied. We both laughed. “We knock out teeth to make ourselves more attractive to females.” He said, anticipating my reply with a smile. “We spend thousands of dollars at the dentist. We even go to bed at night with whitening gel on our teeth just took look more attractive.” I responded. We both roared with laughter as our eyes filled with joyous tears. This back and forth sharing continued for hours. Even with all of our differences, not before long, this stranger felt as close as family!
As my time in Africa came to an end, I began to dread my return home to the states. Sadly, my arrival back in Los Angeles was even more of a rude shock than I had expected. I cried for weeks every time I saw a Starbucks Coffee shop or watched as clean water flowed from a showerhead. I couldn’t help but think, “We take so much for granted!” And, each time I glanced at a photo from my mission trip or caught a smoke-filled whiff of the hand-made straw hat that was given to me as a gift, I broke into a terrible fit of tears. “Why had I returned home?” I kept asking myself. At one point, I became so depressed that I phoned my godmother, hoping that she’d talk me off the ledge. She did. I spent the next decade deeply missing Africa!
Then in 2008, at age 38, through a bitter trial and subsequent and utter surrender to Jesus Christ, God began to heal my shattered heart. Afterward, I felt led to walk away from a life of comfort. Instead, I devoted myself to a life of prayer and service to the poor. Since I knew firsthand what the radical welcome of Christ meant to a broken and lonely heart, I couldn’t wait to joyfully share the gospel with those who had been rejected by their families and pushed to the margins of society.
Back then, I was financially successful in the eyes of the world. And, in America, good citizens aren’t supposed to turn away from successful careers and affluence. Even if you have great faith in God and a hugely sacrificial heart, you are not to quit climbing that company ladder for any reason, especially a spiritual calling! So, I knew that I would receive some pushback for this decision. Even so, I pressed on and became a full-time volunteer Missionary!
Since then, God has used me in amazing ways. First, He immersed me in the struggles of my neighbors. Next, He sent me to those in power to warn them to come down from their thrones. Then, He used my arms to embrace those who were isolated and lonely. Finally, He used my legs to walk alongside those who were walking alone.
Recently, God orchestrated an incredible experience. In the day and time of the world in which we now live, it has become commonplace to connect with strangers over the computer. One day, God placed a desire to swing the door of my Facebook page wide open. Remarkably, this one gesture would lead me all the way back to Africa. Through God’s Holy Spirit, I was about to tap into a massive population of young adults who desperately wanted to know more about my LORD and Savior.
One by one, young adults were sharing their incredible stories of survival and endurance with me. Many had been raised in orphanages much like the one I had dreamt of owning as a child. Once again, true love of life was on display! I saw the joy I had once seen in person shining again through the faces of those who rushed to my side. And, while their heartbreaking stories left me feeling emotionally raw and on my knees immersed in prayer, still my heart filled with gratitude for the unbelievable gift I was being offered; love so inescapable, grace in action, and joy of heart. Thank You, LORD, for creating Africa! Amen.
Post Script: As I wrote this story, my heart truly began to long for Africa. So, I reached for my Africa photo album. I had just begun to flip the pages when I discovered a handwritten letter. The letter was written just days before I left Kenya. Written in both English and Swahili, the letter read,
“Dear Minister.
Goodbye minister.
If you really love us,
remember us dear.
Do not forget us dear.
We will meet again.”
"Mgeni mpendwa.
Kinaheri Mgeni.
Ikiwa unatupenda sisi,
Utukumbuke sisi mpendwa.
Usitusahau tutakutana tena. "
I had a strong feeling that I was to include the contents of the letter in this story. So, I began to type. A few days later, while reading my morning chapter of the Bible, my eyes welled with tears. The pages of my Bible had fallen open to Ezekiel, chapter two. In this chapter, God is calling Ezekiel to rise and receive his commission. God’s Spirit had entered Ezekiel for a purpose, to make him a minister. With tears overflowing, I immediately began to thank God for not only allowing me to minister to Africa, but for also allowing Africa to minister to me.
May 20, 2022
May 19, 2022
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 9, 2019
Oct 23, 2019
FREE ADVANCE COPY OF APOLOGIES FROM A REPENTANT CHRISTIAN II
Blessings brothers & sisters,
I am looking for TEN people who would be willing to write a short and honest Amazon book review for me.
The book is my personal testimony. It takes approximately 2 1/2 hours to read cover to cover and there are pictures! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CBP6FDI
For each person who writes a review, I will offer a FREE ADVANCED copy of my next personal prayer journal. That means you will have a brand new Christian book MONTHS BEFORE it has been released to the public.
Thank you in advance for your help! I truly appreciate you and I will be praying for you.
Sep 20, 2019
August 26, 2013 Journal Entry: The Vital Role of a dad in the home
Father God
Almighty,
I am sorry I have not written in so long. For the past two
months, I’ve been trying my best to follow close behind each step You take. I want to thank
You for how You’ve softened my heart and allowed me to continue to follow You.
Unbelievably, I think LeeRoy has begun to follow along too.
Just
a week ago, I started hearing about a
Christian camp that offers the “ultimate father-son outdoor adventure!” Like so
many times before, You used timely, anointed voices to guide me. One recent
morning, seemingly out of nowhere someone began sharing just how much she loved
the camp. A few days later, I found myself pulling over to the side of the road
to help out a stranger who I thought needed
assistance. The vehicle happened to be part of a caravan heading off to the
very same Christian camp. Soon after, my husband offered me a portion of our federal tax refund. By the time he handed me a check, I
knew You wanted our family to attend. So I quickly ran the idea by my husband
who halfheartedly said yes. With that, I took action right away and booked
LeeRoy and Travis’s first father-son weekend trip.
In
the days leading up to their weekend together, I watched as my husband readied
his heart for the outdoor experience. Thankfully, all it took to spark his
interest was a few videos and a web page that read: “We’ll be sleeping on bunks
in genuine covered wagons while enjoying
great food, teaching times outside under the stars, and lots of manly
activities.”
Soon,
LeeRoy was packing his bag, carefully checking off each necessity: flashlights, blankets, warm socks, sunblock, and bug spray, lots of bug spray. I smiled
tearfully when I noticed my husband carefully packing his camouflage Bible. It
had been a while since LeeRoy had held
the Holy Bible so tenderly in his hands.
The
original idea was for LeeRoy to spend some time with both of his boys. However,
our older son had chosen not to attend. So this past weekend and for the first time, Travis found himself captivated by
his dad's undivided attention. Because I was not there to carry all the weight
of parenting, our eight-year-old was finally able to see how vital the role of a dad can be.
There
was no cell phone service deep in the Sequoia Forest. LeeRoy and Travis had to
hike to the top of a mountain and use a payphone to check in. My husband didn’t
know that he had to bring quarters, so our calls were kept short.
“Hi, Mom! Guess what? I shot a real gun! A 22
riffle! Okay, here’s Dad.” My heart began to race.
 |
| Travis shooting his first 22 rifle |
“You
did what?” I said as my husband got on the line.
“This
place is great! We’re having such a good time!” LeeRoy said with almost a
giggle.
“You
. . . you let him shoot a gun?” I stuttered into the phone.
“Ah,
he was safe. Don’t worry. Okay, gotta go,
honey. Times up on the phone. Call you later. Oh,
wait. Travis wants to say goodbye.”
“Bye, Mom. Love you. Call you later.”
Then,
the phone went silent. I sat there motionless. Happy they were okay, while also
feeling as though I had lost complete control of the situation. I thought about
how I had never allowed Travis even to use a
water gun in the pool. Now suddenly, he was shooting a real gun with
bullets!
A
few hours went by. I prayed every minute. “Please, LORD, I trust You, but,
please bring Travis home safe. Soon, another cryptic call. “Hey, Mom! Guess what? We played dodgeball.”
Ah,
the ease in my heart started to return. “Thank You, Jesus,” I said under my breath. “Oh Travis, that’s so great. You
love dodgeball.” I replied.
“Yeah!
We played with real bows and arrows
Mom!” My heart sunk, and my face turned pale. “Oh, and dad shot me twenty feet
into the air off of a big balloon they call the blob! I belly flopped into the lake.” Travis added.
“That’s
great honey,” I said trying to mask the
utter horror I was experiencing inside. “Can you put your dad on the phone?” I
said as the pitch of my voice rose higher. Travis handed the phone to my
husband while I tried to remain calm. I told myself, “They are at a Christian
camp. Dads who love their children sanction
these activities.”
LeeRoy
began to speak. He sounded peaceful and happy. He proudly explained how he had
launched Travis twenty feet into the air from an inflatable bounce pad. “Some
of the other dads even asked me to launch them too.” He said. Then he shared
how he and Travis were enjoying milkshakes and campfire worship time together.
Unbelievably, when LeeRoy and Travis returned home yesterday they mentioned
that they had both made a few new Christian friends and said that they were already
planning to return next year. Thank You, LORD, for enlightening and enlivening
my heart.
 |
| Father/Son Adventure Camp 2013 |
Jun 30, 2019
God's Spirit Leads me on in the Power of God's LOVE
Yesterday, God led us to the local fairgrounds. Just inside the gate, I started to smell the wonderful aroma of all the BBQ food. Odd enough, nothing sounded good to me. So, while my two boys chowed down on some slow grilled meat, I held off on eating.
For awhile, we walked along inside and out of several buildings. Soon, I began to crave a cup of coffee. Inside one exhibit building, I noticed a woman drinking a cafe latte. "Where did you get your coffee?" I inquired. "Outside the double doors, to the left, three canopies down." She replied with a smile. Right away, I shared my intentions with my husband. "Honey, I'd like to get a cup of coffee," I said. Then, LeeRoy, Travis, and l walked over to the coffee food booth together.
Once there, I met a man named Brian. Brian handed me my cup of coffee and while he did, I shared that I would be praying for him. I was surprised when the stranger, paused for a moment and leaned in. So I continued on, "Since God brought us to this area four years ago, I have noticed a lot of murders and suicides." Brian looked stunned! "I'm not from here." He replied. "I live in Bakersfield. And lately, I've had a recurring nightmare. In my dream, I die from a gunshot wound. This scares me as I have a child on the way. I even told my mother last night about my dream. She told me to pray." I smiled. "This is exactly how God works," I said. "I'll be praying for you, Brian. Please don't worry." I said one last time as we all smiled and slowly walked away.
Then, in my heart, I said the first prayer of many for the stranger who had handed me a cup of delicious fair coffee. "Please LORD, protect Brian and his family from harm. In Jesus' name. Amen. "
Jun 25, 2019
Proverbs 16:18, Sadly, one day the Silicon Valley too will Fall.
Not too long ago, I watched a documentary about the city of DETROIT. In Detroit’s heyday, it was the place where workers in a rising middle class, flocked to factories to build the cars that changed America’s way of life. It was a city of 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗼𝗳 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲, 𝗼𝗳 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝘁.
 |
| Today's Abandoned Michigan |
As I watched, I thought about the very specific Scripture that God had led me to read earlier that same day. The pages of my Bible had landed upon a chapter (Ezekiel 32) that spoke about how man disquiets himself in vain when he uses wealth, fame, power or pleasure in place of God. The Bible chapter spoke about the rise and fall of a city (Egypt), a city much like our own Detroit, Michigan back in its prime. And, look at Michigan now!
Today, God had me revisit this same chapter in Ezekiel. As I read, I thought about the place where we currently live. Suddenly, I was feeling choked up. "Lament (weep) for your current location which will soon see the same type of fall and destruction as Egypt and Detroit." I heard God's Spirit whisper to my heart.
 |
| Our rental's rose garden |
In God's perfect timing, He brings the chapter to life. Today, I will spend another day packing our rental home. The thought of moving again, makes me think twice about the reason we were given 60 days notice in the first place. Our family is standing in the way of the 1.5 million dollars that will be gained by selling the home we currently rent. I think about the granddaughters who stand to inherit the money. I think about our landlords. And, I think about the neighbors adjacent to the home. In four years of reaching out with meals, time, energy and love, not one person seems to have taken the Gospel to heart.
Saddened, I decide to spend a moment in the backyard area of the home. I grab a cup of coffee and slowly walk over the rose bushes I've spent countless hours trying my best to maintain. While becoming lost in thought, a dove lands upon the fence a few feet away.
 |
| Sweet Confirmation that I'm not alone |
"Where will we go, next LORD?" I wonder. "Will anyone in this area, the Silicon Valley, ever head Your warning before it is too late?" I think. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed. According to Your Word LORD, someday soon, those who admire the pomp and arrogance of the Silicon Valley will find themselves also pondering the ruin of it. It is only a matter of time because "Pride goes before destruction, And a haughty spirit before a fall." (Proverbs 16:18 NKJV)
 |
| Silicon Valley today |
𝑃ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒: 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐷𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑖𝑡, 𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑛. 𝐴𝑛𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑗𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟.
Jun 8, 2019
God uses a Tumor to save the lost?
Lord, your discipline is good, for it leads to life and health. You
restore my health and allow me to live!
~ Isaiah 38:16
When life feels uncertain
or our longings go unmet, it is easy and comforting to grasp for a temporary
fix. Yet as I have recently learned, clamoring
for attention or approval from anyone other than God can steal your peace.
Twelve
years ago, I had a cancerous tumor on my forehead. I was a busy social worker
at the time, a mom of a toddler and a teenager as well as a new wife (married
just under three years). Back then, I had the cancer removed and thought
nothing of it. No fanfare. No fuss. At the time, I was an unbeliever.
Then
approximately two years ago, I noticed the same marking upon my forehead. So I
went to see a dermatologist who stated, “there was nothing to worry about.” Still,
having experienced this rare form of cancer before, I felt certain that the
doctor was wrong. I decided to seek a second opinion. I completely ignored what
I knew to be true about God’s leading.
Normally
when God guides, He follows a very specific pattern of events. First, the Holy
Spirit speaks to me through God’s Word. Then, He speaks to me through prayer. Next,
God uses circumstances to confirm what He is saying. And finally, God uses the
counsel of other believers to validate His will.
The
same was true in this instance. God was
speaking to me through His Word. “I will heal you.” He said. What a wonderful
promise! Yet, I was restless and impatient. Rather than wait for confirmation, I
made an appointment to have the bump on my forehead biopsied. The biopsy results
were inconclusive.
Sadly,
by this time I was certain that “I was right.” Despite the encouragement and
correction God was repeating through His Word, I persisted in leaning on my own
understanding. When God said, "Behold, I have made your face
strong against their faces, and your forehead strong against their foreheads,"
(Ezekiel 3:8 NKJV), I took His Word to mean that I would be able to reason with
the Stanford surgeons. God must have wept while I continued to pursue the desires
of my own heart.
Weeks
went by. All the while, God’s Word was causing me to search my heart for
selfish and worldly motives. Still, I ignored His repeated tender warnings and had
the operation. The operation itself went well. Amazingly, God used the
situation to allow me to speak to the four surgeons with an undaunted and
fearless spirit.
Then the results came in.
Imagine my surprise. Benign! Immediately, I revisited the Scriptures that God had
led me to read during the weeks prior. As a result, I fell to my knees in
repentance. Then I said a heartfelt prayer, “Father God Almighty, I am sorry for
seeking from others what only You can give. I
know now the distress that comes from leaning on my own understanding. Please
forgive me for my selfish desires. Thank You for healing my body and for using
the situation to heal my family as well. Thank You for holding no record of
wrongs and for continuing to teach me to rely on You for all things. I love You
Father. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
May 28, 2019
How Speaking Persian can lead someone to Jesus Christ
I had become a regular at the dry cleaner around the corner. My husband wasn't satisfied with my ironing skills. So, each week, I'd take his work pants to the dry cleaner to be professionally pressed.
The couple who owned the business shared the same name as me. But that was not all. They were Christians too! How improbable in a city such as this, to find a business that faithfully displayed a famous picture of Jesus Christ!
One day, while visiting the dry cleaners, I noticed that a tall, middle-aged man was being trained behind the register. The man seemed kind and spoke with a very heavy Iranian accent. "Could he be among the many immigrants who have come to the Silicon Valley for work?" I wondered. "Perhaps if I learned a few words in Farsi, he'd feel welcome." I immediately thought to myself.
Then the owners, my Korean friends, shared with me that they were retiring. The long hours had taken a toll on their already declining health. The new employee was buying their dry cleaning business.
Within the next week, my friends were no longer running the dry cleaning business around the corner from our home. Yet, I was about to make a new friend.
Over the next year, I learned a few phrases in Farsi. Then each time I dropped off my husband's pants, I tried my best to speak to the Iranian man behind the counter in his native language. "Khoda hefzat konad Torah," I'd say as I'd turn to walk away. Each time, the man seemed to burst with joy and repeat, "Khoda hefzat konad." Over time, we grew close. More importantly, he seemed to be opening his heart to Jesus Christ. Then, today while dropping off my husband's work pants, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡.
My Iranian friend had asked how I was doing. Perhaps he could see that I was struggling. I shared with him how sick I had been feeling lately. "The fluid build up in my head is causing me to feel ill," I said with my head bowed low. Then, I shared with the man how I was looking forward to my upcoming cancer surgery. The man was visibly moved. "You?" He asked. Then we both remained still for a moment and just smiled at each other. That's when the man said the most wonderful words in English to me. "God bless you!" He said. My heart filled with pure joy! The man had spoken the very same words I offered to him so many times before.
The couple who owned the business shared the same name as me. But that was not all. They were Christians too! How improbable in a city such as this, to find a business that faithfully displayed a famous picture of Jesus Christ!
One day, while visiting the dry cleaners, I noticed that a tall, middle-aged man was being trained behind the register. The man seemed kind and spoke with a very heavy Iranian accent. "Could he be among the many immigrants who have come to the Silicon Valley for work?" I wondered. "Perhaps if I learned a few words in Farsi, he'd feel welcome." I immediately thought to myself.
Then the owners, my Korean friends, shared with me that they were retiring. The long hours had taken a toll on their already declining health. The new employee was buying their dry cleaning business.
Within the next week, my friends were no longer running the dry cleaning business around the corner from our home. Yet, I was about to make a new friend.
Over the next year, I learned a few phrases in Farsi. Then each time I dropped off my husband's pants, I tried my best to speak to the Iranian man behind the counter in his native language. "Khoda hefzat konad Torah," I'd say as I'd turn to walk away. Each time, the man seemed to burst with joy and repeat, "Khoda hefzat konad." Over time, we grew close. More importantly, he seemed to be opening his heart to Jesus Christ. Then, today while dropping off my husband's work pants, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡.
My Iranian friend had asked how I was doing. Perhaps he could see that I was struggling. I shared with him how sick I had been feeling lately. "The fluid build up in my head is causing me to feel ill," I said with my head bowed low. Then, I shared with the man how I was looking forward to my upcoming cancer surgery. The man was visibly moved. "You?" He asked. Then we both remained still for a moment and just smiled at each other. That's when the man said the most wonderful words in English to me. "God bless you!" He said. My heart filled with pure joy! The man had spoken the very same words I offered to him so many times before.
May 22, 2019
Every day with You God is “Funfetti!”
At Travis’ first parent/teacher conference, I brought a personalized Bible with me. The Bible had his brand new teacher’s name inscribed on the cover. I was excited. A new public school filled with opportunities to share our faith.
After only a few minutes of light pleasantries, I was sure that I was to offer his new teacher her present. So, I scooted the gift bag across the study table where we sat together. Then, I shared my testimony. In return, Travis’ teacher shared her heart. “Christians haven’t been very nice to me.” She sadly replied. Her comment caused me to wonder, “Lord, have You led me to this hurting woman’s side to comfort her?”
A few days later, I surprised this same middle school teacher with a masterpiece Funfetti Cake. “Perhaps a cake made of confetti will bring her a little cheer.” I thought as I baked the homemade treat. The look on his 6th-grade teacher’s face was priceless! “How did you know that Funfetti cakes are my absolute favorite?” She asked in wonder. I just smiled and replied, “God knows!”
It has been three short years since that first meeting. In a few weeks, Travis will be graduating from the 8th grade and moving on to High School. He has learned, loved and grown in this teacher’s daily care. That’s why I decided to bookend our wonderful experience, by making another Funfetti cake. This time, however, I would include his classmates by baking cupcakes.
The three dozen cupcakes turned out beautifully. I couldn’t wait to share the sweet treat with Travis’ teacher. So after the very last candy sprinkle was carefully placed atop the frosting, I raced to Travis’ school. Unfortunately, once I arrived at the school office, I learned that his teacher was absent. In fact, she wouldn’t be returning until next week sometime. “What was I going to do with thirty-one Funfetti cupcakes?” I wondered.
I stopped for a moment and prayed. Right away, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper, “Safeway.” So, I waited until the afterschool bell rang. Then, with Travis in tow, we dashed over to the local grocery store where, for the past few years, I’ve been ministering to the nearly twenty-five employees. Travis and I cheerfully handed out all but five cupcakes. One employee hugged me so tightly that I began to choke. “I can’t believe this!” She screamed. “You are going to make me cry.” Then, she began to sob. I held on tight to her as she cried. I wasn’t expecting such a grand response to such a small gesture.
Next, Travis and I drove to the local CVS. “Perhaps a few of my friends might enjoy the remaining cupcakes.” I thought. Sure enough, each one of my friends received their goodie with joy and deep gratitude!
Oh LORD, every day with You is “Funfetti!” I thought.
Apr 18, 2019
Praising God for This Precious & Holy Resurrection Week!
Thank You Jesus for using my heart & hands to pour out on paper Your LOVE FOR US ALL!
Review by Maria Beltran
Review by Maria Beltran
Review Rating:
4 Stars
“Apologies From a Repentant Christian:
Is Jesus Christ Real? by Donna L. Young is the autobiography of a modern day
Christian who, like many of us, at one time or another wondered if Jesus Christ
really exists. Written as an admission of her sins and at the same time seeking
God's forgiveness, the book is a raw, sincere and very personal account of the
author's life and faith. Born and raised a Christian, Donna soon realizes that
her arrogance has gotten in the way of true repentance and that her being a Christian
is like living a life of masquerade. Will she find the answer to this most
complex and difficult question of faith?
Donna L. Young's Apologies From a
Repentant Christian: Is Jesus Christ Real? goes directly to the point and it is
an interesting read. In nineteen chapters of beautiful prose, we learn about
her life journey, her trials, and struggles. Speaking directly to her readers
about her vulnerability, regrets, realizations, transformation and finally
growth in her faith and life in general, her sincerity shines through. The
result is an inspiring story that will make readers examine their own lives and
beliefs. Some chapters of Apologies From a Repentant Christian contain
beautiful lyrics to a number of hymns and these are both enlightening and
inspiring. As such, I highly recommend this book to readers, both Christian and
non-Christian alike. And as we put down the book and continue with our own
journeys, face our own trials and struggles, it is a good idea to think of
Donna's experience and draw strength from it.”
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