Table of Contents

Introduction

Part I –My Faith Journey

Preface

Childhood

My Grandmother

My Mom and I

New Friends, Family Camp & Family Time

New Church, New Direction

Part II –Treasured Blessings

Teaching Opportunities & God’s Provision

Remarriage

Jake

Back to Teaching

Caleb

Todd

Retirement

Reflection

Acknowledgements

My Journey

Beyond

Being Catholic

Connie Limmex

LIFE SENTENCE Publishing

“I put all my faith in the Lord, and what He wills will be my desire. Come what may it’s all beyond my power—even to understand so I don’t worry about anything.”

Sumner Gordon Lind

February 20, 1944

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

Jeremiah 29:11

INTRODUCTION

Writing this book has been an incredible journey of faith and obedience. The Lord instilled a desire in me to tell my story long before He provided either the courage to believe in this call, or the time to put the words down on paper. Even as I felt the prodding of God’s hand, I doubted the worth of my story. I hoped and prayed for clear affirmation, and God lovingly provided.

As I began working on the book, I remembered some early attempts at writing my story and was determined to find my previous work. However, I was not able to locate the specific notebook that held my first efforts.

Eventually I prayed, which I should have done in the first place. Within minutes God led me to look with a more open mind. I had been searching for the wrong notebook.

When I found it, the number of years that had passed since that first entry surprised me. It was dated May 5, 2007. Today is October 10, 2011. I truly felt God’s desire for me to proceed in earnest and complete the task He had nurtured within me for these years.

Even more of a blessing was the lone word written at the top of the first page in that first notebook: Beyond! Over the years, as I prayed about writing my story, the title transformed from Beyond to Beyond Catholic to My Journey Beyond Being Catholic. The latter title finally settled clearly in my mind and peacefully on my heart.

I do not presume to know what being Catholic has meant to anyone else or that my choices in regard to the Catholic Church are right for everyone. I only know where the experiences and relationships God ordered in my life and the longings he laid on my heart have taken me. As I write, I have a clearer picture of how patient and deliberate God has been in pursuing my heart. His faithfulness, for which I am thankful, is beyond my comprehension.

I pray that this story of love, grace, and blessings, which God has unfolded in my life and led me to share, will be a blessing to you wherever you are on the journey he has designed for you.

PART I –

MY FAITH JOURNEY

Sumner Letter, Feb 20 1944

PREFACE

Sunday, June 4, 1944, on an island in the Pacific, a B-25 bomber pilot turned his thoughts from the realities of war to the beauty of the day, the God who created it, and his lovely young bride back home. He penned a letter to his wife, professing his love for her, his great faith in God, and concerns he had should his life be lost defending his country. Four days later his plane took part in a mission to destroy six Japanese destroyers. Heavy antiaircraft fire made certain he and his crew never returned to the island.

The pilot’s name was Sumner Gordon Lind, my mother’s only brother. God’s provision placed a copy of this letter in my possession over forty-five years after it was written. The words Sumner wrote more than ten years before I was born, touched my heart and secured a meaningful place in my spiritual journey. But I am getting ahead of myself. The journey that led me beyond being Catholic began long before I had read the letter. It began where I have my first clear memories of being Catholic: as a shy little first grader attending our church school.

Chapter 1

CHILDHOOD

Decades ago I sat quietly at my desk amidst a sea of navy blue jumpers and sky-blue, button-down shirts—one of almost forty boys and girls. As was typical of Catholic schools at that time, most of my teachers were nuns. I remember flowing, floor-length habits with pockets so deep the nuns’ arms disappeared in them, and head coverings that created fodder for our imaginations. As with any school experience, I had good years and not-so-good years, with the teacher playing a key role in determining which was which. My years in first and second grade illustrate this clearly.

First grade had ups and downs. The class was very big, and the job of keeping order, along with teaching us to read, add and subtract, and memorize our catechism must have been a daunting task for my teacher.

Unfortunately, the method of discipline and manner of teaching that first year left me with a lack of confidence in the classroom. There was little room for error, and punishments given were often rather embarrassing. Even now, as an adult, I tend to be timid about raising my hand unless I am sure of an answer.

Second grade was a different story. I cannot document my academic progress, but I did experience a nurturing environment. My teacher was a warm, motherly woman who taught us to sew, enjoy messy art projects, and sing Christmas carols in German. I remember loving school and spent many Saturday mornings in the classroom to do extra sewing.

In all fairness, many of the nuns teaching at that time were not trained educators. They were in charge of a large number of students and responsible for their academic development as well as their religious training. Whatever the method, their intentions were for our good, and my twelve years in Catholic school included many capable, caring, and dedicated teachers. I recollect numerous fond memories from these years.

I recall the joy of gathering around the reading table with the tales of Dick and Jane and the excitement of learning to read, winning the spelling bee in third grade, and almost making the eighth grade softball team. Well, that wasn’t exactly one of my favorite memories, but not being particularly athletic, I was proud of coming close.

My friends and I played countless games of four square and jump rope during recess. Christmastime brought the excitement of splendid concerts and a treasured visit to a nursing home where we sang Christmas carols in German. We shared beautiful church services for Christmas, Lent, Easter, and other Holy Days with candles, incense, and moving music. We learned about the saints and were treated to a yearly visit from someone dressed as St. Nicholas with bags of oranges, peanuts, and peppermints for all.

Especially impressive were two sacraments that punctuated my elementary school years: First Communion, with pretty white dresses, long veils, and new rosaries, along with the excitement of tasting our first host; and Confirmation, with a rare visit from the bishop who anointed us as adults into the church. Each of these warranted a large gathering of our entire extended family for a celebration with food, fun, and gifts. This was all part of growing up Catholic, and being Catholic felt good and safe and acceptable.

Over the course of my years in Catholic school, I learned about God and Jesus’ sacrifice for us, and the need to follow the teachings and laws of the church. The rules were clear and consistent: always wear your chapel veil in church; go to Mass every Sunday; follow the Ten Commandments; say your prayers; memorize your catechism; go to confession; don’t eat meat on Friday; and so on. I knew these rules and accepted them without question as part of my life.

During college I let church attendance slip, but I never sought out any other religion. My belief in God had not wavered; I was merely living selfishly. I returned to my Catholic roots later by marrying in the church, raising my young children Catholic, sending them to Catholic school, attending church regularly, and singing in the church choir. I thought I would be Catholic forever, and that was just fine. God knew better.

1st Communion

My First Grade Picture

Chapter 2

MY GRANDMOTHER

Exactly when my spiritual restlessness began and my heart opened to the Lord’s work in me, I don’t know. I do recognize now that He graciously revealed many of the stepping-stones along my journey toward a personal relationship with Him. Specific people, events, letters, and experiences led me in a direction I had no idea I needed to travel.

My maternal grandmother was one of the first people the Lord used to draw me to Himself. Her message was not delivered with specific words but through the example she lived out before me.

Grandma was one of the few significant people in my life who was not Catholic. She was raised Methodist; her father was actually a Methodist minister. My dad told me my mom’s conversion to Catholicism was most difficult for my grandparents, a fact never made known to us as children. We just accepted that Grandma went to a different church, except on special occasions when she would join us. Where Grandma attended church didn’t matter to me. All I knew was that I loved spending time with her, and fortunately, she was an integral part of our lives.

Grandma lived alone in a small, modest apartment about a mile from our home. She had lost her son, Sumner, in 1944, when his plane was shot down during World War II. She lost her husband in 1957. For over thirty years she lived in the same apartment until, at the age of ninety, she fell and needed nursing home care. We were about the only family she had.

I am thankful my parents faithfully included Grandma in our lives. She joined us most Saturday afternoons; she shared our tasty roast beef supper and stayed into the evening hours. On Sundays Grandma would return for dinner at noon and stay through the evening. We often watched football or baseball or played some cards together. As we got older, homework demanded some of our attention. There was a peace to the day, and we could always cuddle with Grandma when we needed a break.

Late Sunday afternoon, my dad and Grandma faced off in their weekly game of Scrabble, a friendly but serious competition they thoroughly enjoyed. We would order pizza and spaghetti—with a burger for me because I was a picky eater—watch 60 Minutes and Bonanza, and then take Grandma home. What lovely, carefree, comforting days those were.

Grandma often visited our house during the week. We would find her watching a favorite soap opera, particularly General Hospital or One Life to Live, with my mom when we returned home from school. She babysat when Mom and Dad needed her, sometimes for a week when they traveled with friends. We feasted on Grandma’s specialties of grilled cheese sandwiches, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and her calm, loving presence.

You might think this could be trying, especially for my dad, to have his mother-in-law around all the time. Not so. My dad and Grandma developed a close relationship. The bond served to fill some of the void in each of their hearts. My dad’s mom had been placed in an institution when he was two. His older sisters raised him, and he never really knew his mom. Grandma gave him a chance to have that mother-son relationship. And Dad, with his company and assistance, was able to fill a void for Grandma in the absence of her son.

Being with my grandma was pure pleasure for me. First of all, she made me feel like she loved being with me! Her voice on the phone, or her manner when I showed up on her doorstep, was always laced with joy. In addition to her cheerfulness, she was the most patient person I have ever known. I only remember her raising her voice once, but it was to my brother!

Grandma was disciplined in taking care of herself, particularly in respect to her eating habits. Even though she lived alone, Grandma cooked regular meals for herself—even liver because it was good for her. To my amazement, long after my Easter basket was emptied of an abundance of jelly beans and chocolate bunnies (we’re talking weeks later), Grandma would be enjoying a small slice of a Fanny Farmer maple nut Easter egg with her afternoon cup of coffee. Such willpower I can hardly imagine, but still try to emulate.

Grandma was also diligent in keeping physically and mentally active. She did not drive, so she walked whenever she could, often to get somewhere but sometimes just for the exercise. Grandma challenged herself mentally. She loved to read and work crossword puzzles. While in the nursing home, at the age of ninety-plus, she told me she would keep her mind sharp by choosing a letter of the alphabet and thinking of as many words as possible that began with that letter.

A wide variety of activities and interests helped fill Grandma’s days. She made pies for our Saturday suppers, darned socks, baked all of our Christmas cookies, and put together jigsaw puzzles. Grandma attended church regularly, volunteered at the Red Cross once a week, and played cards with neighbors. She tended her violets, listened to baseball, climbed two flights of stairs to do her wash, wrote letters, crocheted afghans (I still have mine), and was a helpful neighbor.

Obviously my grandma was quite a lady, and she left me with wonderful memories. I love reflecting on the many times my sister and I snuggled up against her fur coat in the backseat of our freezing cold car. We insisted she sit in the middle so we could both enjoy the comfort of being as close as possible. I treasured seeing her face light up as she recognized me coming to meet her on her way to our house. She read Little Women to us, told us bedtime stories and sang lullabies.

Once in a while we would sleep over and cuddle up with Suzy, the doll that sat between the pillows on her bed. We often shared a special lunch of chocolate pudding, bacon, and lemon sherbet with her at her apartment.

An annual shopping trip to downtown St. Paul for my birthday was a happily anticipated event. We rode the bus downtown for the day. I vividly recall the blue jumper with gold stitching and the gold turtleneck she bought me one year. We had such fun picking it out; she especially liked the Swedish colors. Lunch at Bridgeman’s with a chocolate sundae for dessert topped the day off. The best part was having Grandma’s time and attention all to myself.

Above all else, a truly endearing quality of my grandma stands out. Grandma never seemed to demand or expect anything from us. She gave and gave and gave—not only material things, but herself. Over and over I came to her saying, “Grandma, can you help me with this?” and she would if she could. I learned to sew, knit, crochet, and cross-stitch from my grandma. She helped with piano and taught me about gardening when I took that on as a special project for Camp Fire Girls. She attended every concert, program, graduation, birthday celebration, and church ceremony she possibly could. And she was never too busy to chat when I stopped by for a visit.

When I married and moved away, the connection remained. Grandma wrote faithfully, and I would respond and call her occasionally. When my daughter was born, she was Grandma’s first great-grandchild. Grandma was eighty-four at the time, and although she had traveled often, she had not gone far in recent years. Unselfishly she made the journey to see me and spend some time with her new great-granddaughter. I don’t think I really believed she would come until I saw her step off the plane. My heart was overjoyed and grateful to have her near.

What a gift that week was for all of us. Of course, she was very helpful and wonderful company, but she was also gentle about offering this new and inexperienced mom advice. At one point, when my daughter was fussy, she calmly shared these sage words: “Sometimes they just want to be put down.” She was right! How I enjoyed observing Grandma rock and sing to her great-granddaughter. Watching her board the plane for home was one of the saddest good-byes for me ever.

When my daughter was two, I moved closer to home and could see Grandma more often. I am grateful for the time we shared. As years passed, her eyesight failed, and she could do very little. For a time, she became agitated, but later settled into a peaceful state of mind. Sweet memories of our last visits are mine forever: times when I would sit near her, talking quietly, stroking the silky smooth skin on her hand, and gently brushing her soft, silvery white hair. Though grateful to do whatever I could, I received more than I gave.

In thinking of my grandma’s passing, I recall one more exemplary quality she possessed. She was not driven by a desire for earthly possessions. I do, however, keep a few things that remind me of her: a yellow, glass candy dish she kept full of M&M’S for her grandchildren, some lovingly cross-stitched kitchen towels, a small set of English Ironstone dishes she served us lunch on, some spoons from her collection, and her Bible.

Grandma’s Bible sat on the table next to her sofa along with a daily devotional. The taped binding of that Bible struggled to hold those worn pages from totally falling apart—evidence which speaks of much time in God’s Word. I believe she read it every day. Sadly, none of that time included sharing God’s truths with me or my siblings. How I wish I might have had the privilege of reading Scripture to her as we sat together passing the time. But that was not part of God’s plan.

I might know why my grandma did not share the Bible or her love for the Lord. Maybe it was out of respect for our Catholic faith or wounded feelings that went back to Mom’s conversion before marrying my dad. Maybe she assumed we were learning all we needed at school and in church. I find it hard to understand, but I’ll never know. She did share with me by giving me a Bible of my own on my fourteenth birthday. As was her way, she respectfully gave me one approved for Catholics. Fortunately, I kept that Bible, and it was available when my journey led me to God’s Word.

I recognize now that my grandma’s life reflected the love of Jesus with a heart to follow him. Her undemanding love, great patience, example of self-control, kind ways, and perseverance to carry on were from the Lord. Surely she found her comfort and peace in Scripture passages like Psalm 62:5, “Find rest, O my soul, in God alone, my hope comes from him.”

I am overwhelmed with joyful assurance that I will see my grandma again. Because of where my personal journey has taken me, I know we will have eternity to share in God’s glory together.

Beyond my personal feelings, the Lord has graciously provided insight into my grandma’s heart for Him. He used two letters her son Sumner wrote before his plane was shot down. The first he wrote to my grandparents a few months before he died.

February 20, 1944

Dearest Mom and Dad,

I wrote a letter yesterday but because I have some news to tell, I’ll write again today. Oh yes, I received Dad’s letter yesterday and thanks ever so much. You no doubt will be able to beat me at bowling as well as golf when I return for I’ll be plenty stale.

Now the news: Your son is now a Captain. The orders finally caught up to me after following me around the country for a long time. The orders were dated Nov. 24, 1943, so you can see I’ve been one for some time but I didn’t know.

Today was Sunday and I flew an easy mission so I had some time to relax and enjoy the scenery. I had that prayer book with me and read a few passages. I put all my faith in the Lord and what He wills will be my desire. Come what may it’s all beyond my power—even to understand so I don’t worry about anything. I’ll do my duty to the best of my ability and if I must give all, so be it. That’s my philosophy so I don’t want you all to worry about me.

Bye for now—think there’s a show this evening so that will be my recreation for today.

All my love,

Sumner

My heart aches as I try to comprehend the sorrow my grandparents must have experienced at losing Sumner. His love for them and faith in the Lord are evident, both of which were sure to have brought comfort to their hearts as they faced each day without him. The second letter (mentioned at the beginning of this book) is written to his young wife, Frances, four days before his plane went down over the Pacific.

June 4, 1944

My dear Frances,

Today is Sunday sweetheart and a beautiful day it is. The sun is shining and the sky is beautiful and clear. I wish we could be together and enjoy this day—just we two all by ourselves. I just finished reading my prayer; read some verses and even sang some of the more well-known songs.

I received your letter of May 8th and also a large box of candy. Hope Barbara knows soon about the trip so you can be on your way to St. Paul. I know the folks will be glad to see you and have you with them for a while—hope it’s a long time.

Today will undoubtedly be a big day for us all over here. A big attack is planned and if everything goes well it will be a glorious day. Some of us will not return from the mission, but many of us will. I hope and pray that I will be one of the fortunate. In any event I am not afraid and am putting all my trust in the Lord. Whatever happens will be according to His wishes, and that’s all right by me. I love you my dearest darling with all my heart. Should anything happen, remember I’m thinking of you, and if God is merciful, I’ll be waiting in Heaven for you. We’ve talked this over many times so you know you’ll make me very happy when you carry on for both of us down here on earth. If I must go now, I want it to be in my ship and doing the thing I want to do. I will be very happy in that it’s my choice. So my darling, I hope you understand how I feel, and that no matter what happens, it’s for the best. These letters aren’t very cheerful to read because you become worried, but I just had to tell you how I feel and want you to feel. I love you my sweetheart and pray that you will always be as happy as you have made me.

So long for now, darling and I pray that all will go well. All my love and kisses to you my most precious wife.

Your ever loving & devoted husband,

Sumner

Even though I never met Frances or Sumner, I usually can’t get past “My dear Frances” before my eyes begin to water. How Frances’ own tears must have fallen as she read this beautiful letter, most likely after she knew Sumner was gone. What a poignant assurance of Sumner’s love for her and his faith in God’s plan. How kind it was of Frances to share those final words with my grandparents. I am grateful for this thoughtful act, as the words granted me insight into an inheritance of faith I had not known existed.

That final letter also fostered an appreciation for the huge void Sumner’s death left in the lives of those who loved him. A strong faith, devotion to family, a fun-loving spirit, and a sense of duty are evident as he freely expresses his heart. While we did not discuss Sumner often, any comments or stories we heard portrayed him as an all-around great guy. His letters led me to understand that image of him. How their lives must have changed when he was gone. I heard that my grandpa was never quite the same after Sumner died. He had lost a dear son, his golfing buddy, bowling partner, and a friend. How heart wrenching for my grandma and mom as they essentially lost grandpa, too, even before he died in the fall of 1957.

I do not know what physically took my grandpa. My dad thought it was a heart problem. He recalled visiting grandpa and envisioned some kind of plastic bubble over him. He said the doctors had given up hope. The timing of Grandpa’s death coincided with a tragic accident which involved my sister. She fell into some hot ashes at the bottom of a neighbor’s hill and burned her hands badly. A great deal of treatment and many surgeries followed. This provided a need for my grandma’s help in our home, a blessing in disguise.

And so Mom and Grandma were left to carry on, and my grandma became an integral part of our family life. Mom and Grandma spent time together on their own also, assisting each other in various ways. Mom often provided Grandma with transportation and helped out with errands. Grandma did jobs like mending and polishing the silver. They were pleasant, helpful companions to each other with little tension or discord apparent to anyone.

What I did not witness was a close personal relationship or much physical affection. Because both my mom and Grandma were very private, more intimate interactions may have transpired when they were alone. I do believe they loved each other, and I wonder if things would have been different had Sumner lived. How they felt about that was never discussed, though we regularly visited the cemetery where he and my grandpa are buried. Actually, some of my dearest childhood memories revolve around those visits.

The cemetery is located in the shadow of a small church where my great-grandfather was once the minister. The old church has been replaced, but the cemetery retains its charm. Big, old, shade trees, a dirt road, and an antiquated water pump create a comforting spot. The journey to the cemetery took about an hour, and I remember the trips with my mom, Grandma, and my little sister as very pleasant—except for the time my sister and I were in the car and somehow put it in gear. I recall the bewildered moment I realized the car was moving and mom was rushing to save the day. Of course, neither of us remembers who was responsible for causing my mother so much grief on that trip.

Tending the gravesites of my grandpa and Sumner was a labor of love for my mom and Grandma. I don’t recall that they were emotional during our little excursions, but I was very young. Once I reached school age, they tended the grave sites without me; I was a bit envious that my sister was able to go until she too entered school. Returning to the cemetery, however, was inevitable, for Grandma would be laid to rest there, too.

At the age of ninety-six, my grandma died peacefully with Mom by her side. Her funeral was a simple service at the funeral home with immediate family. Afterward, my mom made an odd remark that caused me to wonder once again about the strain on their family relationships after Sumner died. She asked, “Do you think Grandma would have liked the service?”

Of course, I answered, “Yes,” but found it unusual for my mom to be seeking my approval. Because she guarded her emotions, I don’t know what was going on deep in her heart. It occurred to me that Mom may have felt she never quite measured up to Sumner. In light of how faithful Mom had been in caring for Grandma’s needs, the thought distressed me. Looking at my mom through this window of uncertainty was a new and not particularly comfortable experience.

Sumner Gordon Lind

Chapter 3

MY MOM AND I

My mom was an intelligent, extremely organized, thoughtful person. She would have thrived on the challenge of working outside the home, but it was the 1950s, and she had stepped out of the working world and into her expected role as wife and mother.

Taking care of us was important to her, and she managed our home, meals, and activities very well.

Having her at home and available to help take care of anything and everything was wonderful.

She also made time for golf and bridge with friends, which she thoroughly enjoyed.

Before marrying my dad, Mom graduated from college, worked for the telephone company, and enlisted in the Marine Corps. She shared little about her experiences during World War II, although her pride in being a Marine was evident at times.

I gained some insight through one of Sumner’s letters. My mom did not save much, but this letter was among her things when she died.

I must admit to sneaking a peek in her dresser drawer as a child and seeing the letter. I was too chicken to admit my indiscretion and ask her about it. The letter is dated about three weeks before Sumner died.

May 19, 1944

My dearest Sis,

Guess it’s time for me to get my pen full of ink, rub down my arm and get in the groove with a letter to you. (It’s a perfect day for letter writing—what day isn’t, for the weather is lousy with rain coming down in buckets.) In reality it comes by the buckets, for as soon as it starts to rain we place our pails at the ends of the tent so the water drips into them and presto, water for washing. How’s that for efficiency? Or is it laziness. Well, what’s the difference as long as we get the water.

Sorry to hear that you lost your stripe, but anyway you can say with pride, I was a PFC once. You’re probably at least a Sgt. by now and maybe in Officers Training which I certainly hope you get. As time goes by and war goes on who knows, you might even outrank me, heaven forbid. How are the Marines treating you? I’ll bet your social life is really buzzing. Who’s your new boyfriend now or what was the name of the last “Wolf” you got rid of?

I am sending a picture of my crew, which was taken some time ago in the Admiralty Islands. Landed up there one day, and a Navy Commander snapped our picture and sent the prints to us. The “Straggler,” as you know, denotes our straggling all over the country, being the last to arrive. The lad—Jack—dragging his fanny over gives a little colour. By now our “baby” has many more bombs on her as we’ve accumulated as of today 215 hours of combat time.

Speaking of Jap atrocities, I imagine you read the article in “Life” about the captured prisoners on Bataan. Well, bringing it a little closer to your back door on our recent landing at Hollandia and Tadji, we captured several Jap prisoners. One of the prisoners at Tadji relates this story about an American airman who parachuted down at Tadji. He was a radio operator. Upon landing, he was immediately captured and tied to a stake and beaten until sundown. In the evening, he was brought before the commander and tied up outside his tent for the night. Next day he was given some rice and beaten until late in the afternoon. Then, mind you they made him kneel down, and they beheaded him with a sword taking six strokes to do it. The Jap showed them the place of burial and upon digging, they found the remains, the body and head detached. That’s our opponent—nice guys—eh what.

That’s all for now Sis, write me when your time isn’t too occupied. Bye for now.

All my love,

Sumner

What a letter! The writing hops from light-hearted details to supportive brotherly concern to newsy information to gruesome war story to good-bye. Reading about Mom losing her stripe was a revelation for me. As my mom was a “by the book” kind of person, that information disturbed me.

Fortunately, my dad was able to explain the circumstances. As he tells it, Mom felt compelled to question the actions of a superior, and he did not take kindly to her words. I can only guess how devastating the consequences were for my mom. How I wish she had shared more of her life experiences.

I loved my mom, and we got along fine. Because she liked things just so, however, I did try her patience with piles about the house, clothing strewn here and there, and drawers stuffed so full they were hard to open. We didn’t share any interests, as bridge and golf did not appeal to me.

My mom supported my pursuits in music and dance but did not really understand them. I do fondly remember her helping me with my homework. She would help me study for tests, proofread papers, but she was especially good at coming up with titles for poems or stories.

During my senior year, my mom and I were in the midst of a strained period in our relationship—not unlike many teens and their parents. I do not think any one thing precipitated the tension between us. The lack of a close personal bond and the ability to talk through the emotions, problems, and questions that plague a teenager contributed to our difficulties.

I wrote a piece that year and did not ask her to proofread or ask for her help with a title. The story revolved around a teenage girl at odds with her parents as she sought answers to life questions that overwhelmed her heart. As the story reflected the state of my own heart, I hesitated to share it with my mom. These two excerpts express the girl’s inner thoughts as she takes a walk on a cold October day:

What is life? What am I doing here along with billions of crazy mixed up people? People who fight wars, who hate each other because their skins are different colors. Maybe this life is just some kind of a joke, and we all get to enjoy it when it’s over. And what about God? Who is He really? Is there some basic “truth,” something essential that will give meaning to our lives? No one can answer the questions for me and I don’t know . . .

But now I want answers that my parents can’t give me, and they know something is wrong. So they ask me how I am or what is wrong, and I greet their words with silence. And they become sad and angry because I can’t hold their hands anymore and follow them happily through life. If only I could talk to them and tell them what’s going on in my mind.

Eventually, the story was printed in my high school literary yearbook. Upon bringing it home, I handed it to my mom with a brief explanation and headed out the door for a walk, not knowing what to expect when I returned. The interaction was minimal: no healing conversation, no tear-filled hug, no revelation of emotions held deep. No doubt my mom was hurt, which is probably what I wanted at the time. In reality, I longed for a closer relationship, and not necessarily answers to my questions. I craved support, understanding, and wisdom. Not bridging the gap, I continued to make life choices without the advice I needed.

At the age of twenty, I quit school and got married. During the preparation for the wedding, I vividly recall my mom yelling, “You don’t know what you are doing!”

She was right. Unfortunately, a helpful heart to heart discussion did not follow the comment. While I do not blame my mom for my poor choices, I am sure not being able to talk about my feelings and decisions with her was a detriment. My marriage ended in divorce, for which I claim my full share of responsibility. Although the divorce was difficult for my parents to accept, they offered the support I desperately needed.

Being part of the generation that rarely talked about divorce, coupled with the fact that my brother had already divorced, my parents were hurt and embarrassed over the end of my marriage. They worried about my ability to support and care for myself and their grandchildren, for even though we had messed up our marriage big time, in His goodness, God gave us two beautiful children. I am thankful my parents set aside what they thought and felt to offer me support. They loved me through it all, initially assisting me with finances and providing a home away from home. Sometimes all of us stayed with them, and sometimes I went by myself when a weekend loomed too lonely.

Looking back, I see the extra time with my mom as a great blessing. We had moved into a more comfortable relationship by then. Our conversations were more open and more personal, and we enjoyed each other’s company. One memorable time occurred when we traveled to Kansas to see my brother before his deployment in Desert Storm. On our way home, we were caught off guard in Iowa by a severe winter storm.

I remember how quickly the snow covered the roadways, and the cars made a mass exodus off the freeway. My dad was reluctant to stop, but our safety was in question. We found a comfortable hotel room near the interstate.

What a peaceful time we spent together, reading, chatting, watching TV, playing cards, and sharing meals.

The only excitement resulted from a short excursion my dad and I could not resist. As our extended stay was unplanned, we had little to munch on and not much to read. Being snackers and readers, my dad and I made our way on foot to a drugstore next to the hotel. With only our jackets and street shoes, we faced the forceful winds and deep snow. We plowed our way through, but somehow ended up taking different routes.

I arrived after my dad and found him leaning on a wall for support, struggling to catch his breath and quite distressed. I asked him if he needed an ambulance. Of course he said no. I was leery but let him have his way. We stayed there quite some time, gathering a few snacks and a book or two. My dad assured me he could make it back all right. I made sure we stayed together.

“What took you so long?” Mom asked as we entered the hotel room. We recounted our adventure, glad to be safe and warm in the comfort of our room. We were all grateful there was no emergency. What we did not know was that the next spring my dad would have quadruple bypass surgery. What a blessing God waited until he was home and under the care of his own doctor.

After two days, the roads were cleared, and our restful detour came to an end. Those extra days together, however, were a gift for which I became especially thankful. My gratitude revolved around the fact that my mom was in an uphill battle with ovarian cancer. At this particular point in time, she was holding her own.

I remember the day I learned about my mom’s cancer. It was late afternoon, and I was in the kitchen with my husband, Jim, when my dad called. The time of day and the fact that it was my dad, not my mom, making the call signaled trouble. He had to repeat the information a few times before I grasped the extent of the problem. Because neither my mom nor dad had told me she was having any difficulties or testing, this came as a shock to me. All I understood was that surgery was imminent.

I left early the morning of the surgery because I was only able to be with them for one day. Fortunately, they only lived three hours away. When I arrived, a favorite aunt and uncle greeted me.

My aunt’s words, “There’s poor Connie!” She knew I was the only offspring close enough to be at the hospital, but I was thankful for the opportunity to be with my mom and dad.

Mom was out of surgery, and the report was not good. Dad came to talk with me before I saw my mom. He reported her first comment was, “I have a bag, don’t I?”—the one thing she had wanted to avoid. The diagnosis was ovarian cancer, which had spread to the colon. When I walked into the room, my mom was sitting. She looked vulnerable, but put on a brave front for me. Chemo and radiation treatments would begin soon and continue off and on for the next two-and-a-half years.

My mom’s battle was a valiant one. She dealt with cancer in Marine-like fashion—following orders, not complaining, and keeping her feelings to herself. I respected Mom’s choice to handle it her way, but wished she could have been more forthcoming about her situation. Being kept in the dark affected the time I could have spent with her, and I missed out on some precious final moments.

The last time I saw my mom was four days before she died, though we had little indication her time with us would be that short. My parents had traveled to our home for the celebration of my son’s eighth grade graduation. They attended the ceremony and a dinner held for all the graduates and their families. A few days later I regretted shooing my parents home after dinner while I stayed for the after-dinner party with the students.

Granted, the party wasn’t a good fit for my parents with the dancing and loud music. But had I a clue what the coming days held, most assuredly, I would have spent the evening with them. We found out later in a letter to a friend that Mom felt she wouldn’t make it through the summer, but this was late May.

If my mom had known how close the end was, I wish she would have been more adamant about spending those hours together. In hindsight, I recall her asking me at least twice, “Are you sure?” when I was sending them home.

The morning after the graduation, we said good-bye, and I headed off to a day of teaching kindergarten. Our hug remains imprinted in my memory. It would be our last. I remember thinking as I held her, Wow, Mom feels so very thin, more than ever before. Do I need to be worried more than usual? But she ate well last night, and she seems fine. She is smiling and still acting like Mom.

There was reason to be concerned, but not alarmed. That was Friday, and I meant to call over the weekend but failed to do so. On Monday, a letter arrived from my mom, which was a pleasant surprise. We talked often on the phone, so letters were not necessary.

Mom’s words were precious. She wrote of enjoying a lovely visit with us and being glad they could share in the celebration. She shared how proud she was of each one of us, how we were handling our lives, and how dearly we were loved. This emotional outpouring of love and support was definitely atypical. On Monday evening, I called to thank her, but dad said she was too sick to come to the phone. Feeling apprehensive, I said I would call the next day and hung up.

On Tuesday morning, I went to work as usual. The school year was nearing the end, and we were on a field trip to our local zoo. Midmorning my husband appeared with the message that I needed to call my dad. He urged me to do so immediately, but my choice was denial. I finished the field trip and focused on my students until each one had left for the day.

When there was no longer a good reason to delay, I found a quiet, deserted spot in the teacher’s break room and made the call. The exact words my dad used to relay the news of my mom’s death escape me. He said she had gone quickly and peacefully, with time to pray. Dad was by her side, and with a nod of her head, she assured him they would see each other again. What I do recall is the cry of anguish that erupted from deep within my being after hanging up the phone.

A kind coworker rushed in to check on me and offered a comforting hug.

The outpouring of sympathy and love from the staff blessed me. The people I worked with were like family. We had shared many struggles during our years together and had grown close. God had placed me in such a perfect spot for that moment of sorrow.

I made arrangements for someone to cover the last few days of school and left to find my husband and children. After relaying the heartrending news, I packed and headed home to my dad.

A dear old neighbor from our growing-up years was keeping him company. Dad was in shock as it had happened so quickly. We shouldn’t have been too surprised, as Mom had refused another round of chemotherapy in the spring. We should have been prepared, but she had bounced back so many times before it was easy to be hopeful.

When cleaning out her closet days later, we saw evidence of Mom’s optimism in the form of brand new golf shorts. She had doggedly played eighteen holes of golf earlier in the spring despite great pain.

My dad and I had some time alone before my brother and sister arrived. We went through the motions of everyday life together; the imposed wait staved off the hard reality of my mom’s absence. When my siblings arrived, we hugged, we cried, and we worked together on the funeral details that could be put off no longer. Mom had not planned anything ahead, but we had little trouble arranging the simple ceremony.

We agreed on the details with the kind, experienced assistance of the priest and funeral director.

Even with the plans in place and with Mom’s absence, I had not completely grasped that she was gone forever. I soon learned how much of a blessing the visitation and funeral are for loved ones. After experiencing love and support from our family and friends, the ordeal afforded me some moments to immerse my heart and soul in the reality of my mom’s death.

The first moment revolved around viewing my mom in her casket. She didn’t look the way I wanted to remember her, so seeing her did not affect me a great deal. (She had actually wanted the casket closed, but my dad got the last word on that detail.)

However, as I stood next to her, I reached out to touch her arm, and it took my breath away. I pulled back from the stiff hardness of her body, death’s reality seeping further into my being.

At the church before the service began, I would feel the ache of saying good-bye to Mom. I watched them roll the casket into the narthex at the church and drape a white cloth over it.

For some reason, that white cloth brought a certainty to Mom’s death. I felt frozen, not wanting to move out of that moment, but they wheeled the casket into the church, we all followed, and the funeral mass began.

My brother read Scripture, my sister delivered the eulogy, and I sang “He will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of His hand.” With the Lord’s support, I found pleasure in singing that song for my mom.

At the cemetery, my daughter read a poem called “The Weaver.” Just fifteen, she was the oldest of the grandchildren and had expressed a desire to participate in the service.

The poem chosen was the one my mom had read (much to my surprise, I might add) a few years prior as my grandma’s body was laid to rest.

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving

Between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He weaveth steadily.

Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow

And I in foolish pride,

Forget He sees the upper,

And I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Shall God unroll the canvas

And reveal the reasons why.

The dark threads may be needful

In the skillful weaver’s hand

As the thread of gold and silver

In the patterns He has planned.

Adaptation from “The Weaver” by Benjamin Malachi Franklin

How inspiring to hear my daughter’s voice ring out strong and clear with these words as we gathered around Mom’s grave. The poem holds so much meaning for me now. It speaks of God’s plan for us and our need to accept that plan even when it is marked with sorrow, and we do not understand the whys. I believe my mom understood these truths.

My sister and I stayed with Dad for a few days after the funeral. He wanted Mom’s things taken care of right away. Having him around for that process did not seem like a good idea, so we sent him off with my brother. Going through my mom’s belongings was not a major task. She was not much of a shopper, and after leaving the home we grew up in, she had what she needed and not much more. What my sister and I had was a special time of talking, sharing, and remembering as we touched Mom’s belongings and packed them away. Our memories of Mom brought tears, laughter, and a bit of healing.

We had fun finding my mom’s secret hiding places. We knew she kept extra cash in a drawer, but we found many a stash. I don’t remember the exact amount, but it was fun presenting it to my dad when he returned. Some years later, I found three hundred dollars in the pockets of my mom’s recipe card holder which I had taken home but never gone through. I paid for a special eighty-fifth birthday celebration for my dad with it. I am certain my mom would have approved.

Eventually we returned to our own homes and began the process of learning to live without Mom. I missed her, but beyond my sadness, I came to realize that I was angry with her—angry because I never had the opportunity to say good-bye. I respected how she handled her illness privately. She tried not to complain, shielding us from the burden of her trials and freeing us to care for our families and obligations. I wish I had known more: what she was experiencing and her emotions through the process. Maybe she tried and found me too busy to listen. Whatever the reason, I was angry about being denied the chance to say good-bye, probably because I had always desired to connect more with my mom.

Years later at a women’s retreat, I realized I needed to forgive my mom, not for her sake, but to rid my troubled heart of those feelings. I rose early one morning and took a walk on the peaceful grounds. In my conversation, spoken aloud with the Lord and my mom, I poured out my anger and frustration. Then I offered my forgiveness. Of course, no audible reply came from my mom, but I did feel the burden on my heart lift; God would reach out to me in yet another letter.

This letter was written by my mom to my brother-in-law’s aunt. She and my mom had corresponded and developed a close relationship. Sometime after Mom died, a copy of the letter was given to my sister. The letter began with a general update on Mom’s health, an update about a trip to see my sister, and a few words about family, stating that we were all well, but she wished we lived closer. Of greater significance are the words that captured the attention of my sister’s heart. The first paragraph read as follows:

“Time to check in again. It almost seems like it’s becoming a health report. Actually Larry and I are doing well. You’d never know he had heart surgery. I have a set-back now and then, but manage to come bouncing back—with the Lord’s help. I’ve had unbelievable love and prayer support from family and friends. I’m a great believer, and I refuse to worry about it.”

My sister was impacted by the words expressing Mom’s faith. This caused my sister to seek the Lord in a new way. I must admit to scoffing at her Bible studies and Christmas gifts of Christian books, which ended up on a shelf somewhere, often unread. Many years later, I dusted those books off and allowed their message to resonate in my own heart. Before that was to happen, however, my attitude toward the Lord needed adjustment.

My Mom as a Marine

Chapter 4

NEW FRIENDS, FAMILY CAMP & FAMILY TIME

After working through my divorce, I married my husband Jim, and several years later, we were blessed with our son, Jacob. As good Catholic parents, we took Jake to church with us, and when he was three, enrolled him in the Sunday Preschool Program. Being an educator, I volunteered to teach and lead the music for the preschoolers.

One pivotal change came as a result of my involvement in this program. I found myself drawn to the Bible and filled with a desire to incorporate memorization of verses into my lessons. I had no idea why! The only time I recall memorizing a Bible verse was in elementary school when we were assigned a section in Matthew 6, including verses 28 and 29:

“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin…”

I will never forget memorizing those verses as I sat in the black leather chair in our den—my usual spot for memory work. I would work on it for a while, then head across the dining room to the kitchen to recite for my mom.

I remember thinking, Why don’t we memorize more from the Bible?

Committing Scripture to memory was not a common practice in our church, but the other teachers did not question my plans. Now, searching through the Bible my grandmother had given me to find just the right verse brought a sense of contentment. My knowledge of the Word was limited, but was growing and gaining importance in my life. I continued to teach the preschoolers, loving the sound of our voices raised together in God’s Word until my son was too old to attend.

God’s perfect timing brought our son into the world in mid-August. Because he had an August birthday, we decided he would not start kindergarten until he turned six. Having taught that level for many years, I believed waiting was the best choice for him. Besides, his older siblings, who had late-summer birthdays, had started early and were ready to bar the door if we sent Jake at age five. That decision resulted in a year between programs at the Catholic church for Jake.

Initially we were not concerned about providing a particular program for Jake; we would have been content to let him attend church with us. However, we were confronted with a new opportunity.

Before school started, a trusted friend, Lisa, mentioned going to check out an Awana program for her girls at a local Bible church. I tagged along, a mite uncomfortable looking outside the Catholic faith but curious enough to go. God had used this friend to stretch me outside my comfort zone before, and in hindsight, He was clearly “at it” once again.

Lisa and I attended the Awana meeting and found the information to our liking. We learned that Awana was a weekly Bible-based program. The children have lessons, play games, study at home, and recite memorized verses to adult leaders. The children earn special pins and patches, and are rewarded with trophies, medals, and certificates for participation and learning. After discussing the program with Jim, we decided to enroll Jake.

Jake was a quick learner and enjoyed memorizing verses. He loved the competition of the games and fun of making new friends, thriving under the love and encouragement of his leaders. As the year progressed, we noticed the change in Jake’s bedtime prayers. He prayed with a sweet, sincere love for Jesus we had never heard before. After saying goodnight, Jim and I would share our delight in our son’s genuine sentiments. While hearing Jake’s heartfelt prayers did not bring about immediate changes for Jim and me, seeds of doubt were sown and a longing was nurtured.

That same year saw the kickoff of a group that would bless our family. Lisa, who stretched us with Awana, and another mutual friend, Cheryl, invited us to join a group of families for “Family Time.” We met twice a month to engage in a Christian activity that would involve the whole family.

The idea grew out of a session by Kirk Weaver at a “Hearts at Home” conference. He co-authored several books with simple, fun, hands-on, Bible-based activities for individual families. We stretched the concept for our group. Meeting together helped ensure success in continuing the Family Time activities.

Jim and I were a little leery of the whole thing, not sure of ourselves in this group, but decided to give it a try. Our goal was to encourage each other as parents and teach our children to follow the Lord. Late that fall, four families began meeting. Our format included a lesson with the children, then a movie and snack while the adults discussed a book we were reading, Shepherding a Child’s Heart.

The lessons were the highlight of the evenings together. I know I learned as much, if not more than the children. I recall one of the first lessons in which we used balloons to teach how difficult it is to keep God at the center of our lives. Each family wrote some of their daily/weekly activities on balloons and set them aside. The children were instructed to keep a balloon up in the air—the one with God written on it. They did this without too much trouble. One by one, some of the other balloons were added, and the children tried to keep them all up in the air.

The additional balloons made their job more difficult, and a boisterous effort ensued. In the end, we discussed how difficult it was to focus on God with so many interests, tasks and activities vying for our time and attention.

At other times, the children led each other blindfolded through obstacle courses, tried to put toothpaste back in the tube, attempted to keep their feet in ice water as long as possible and the list goes on. Amazingly, all can be directed back to truth in God’s Word.

Over time our meetings evolved somewhat. We enjoy potluck meals, share a lesson, pray, and let the children play while the parents benefit from some adult conversation. Eight years after its conception, three of the original families are still committed to our Family Time. Along the way, we lost one family, gained a couple, one moved away, we added another, the one moved back, and we added one more. So, at the writing of this book, we have seven families dedicated to this special time.

The meetings are noisy, crowded, joyful, rewarding, comforting, uplifting, and precious to all. If we go too long between meetings, the children will be saying, “When is our next Family Time?”

Our faithfulness to learning God’s truths together has been blessed abundantly. We have become each other’s family. Because most of us do not have immediate family nearby, this has helped to fill that void. We can and do call on each other for aid and assistance.

My personal favorite was calling one of the men to check on our cat when Jim was away. She was sick, needed to be isolated in the bathroom, and had thrown up black stuff all over the place. My experience with animals was limited, and thinking she might be dead, I was afraid to go in there. Our friend came over, checked on our sick kitten, proclaimed her to be alive, and even cleaned up the bathroom. That’s family!

Over the years, we have provided rides, lifted up prayers, celebrated holidays, moved boxes, borrowed items, offered words of comfort or advice, and shared countless hugs. We have supported each other through weddings, deaths, grandchildren, graduations, surgeries, new careers, retirement, college, cancer, and more. How grateful we are for each other and the strength of our relationships, mindful that God has provided this most abundant gift.

We are thankful for the bond created among the children in our group. They have become “cousins,” and at times, brothers and sisters to each other. For our Jake, being the only child at home, we thank God for the friendships he has developed. He is called “the other brother” by three boys in one family, and he loves being in their midst.

At this point in time, we attend the same church, which helps us stay connected and plan our gatherings. When Family Time began, however, we represented a variety of churches: Catholic, Lutheran, and Evangelical. We respected each other’s choices and continued to meet, growing in love for God and each other. More recently, I learned that our family was asked to join Family Time because Lisa sensed my need for a deeper spiritual life. How right she was!

And Lisa didn’t stop there. The next step was for her and her husband, Scott, to introduce us to a Christian family camp their family had come to love. They convinced us to visit the camp by appealing to my husband’s weakness for helping with building projects. The camp was re-roofing their main building with staff and volunteer workers during a spring cleanup weekend.

We went up for a day. While the men labored on the roof, Lisa and I and our children cleaned the outdoor grounds and took a look around. Many of the program areas were not open, but we recognized the many camp offerings. The beauty of the camp and the friendly staff made a most favorable impression on us.

Because it was popular, reservations had filled the camp for the upcoming summer. But in the fall, we sent our registration in for the following summer. The next August we headed to Camp Forest Springs for a week of outdoor fun.

We enjoyed the activities of the camp very much; boating, hiking, archery, rifles, wonderful food, hayrides, and more. The week provided wonderful family experiences. However, Jim and I were uncomfortable at times, which was not the fault of the camp or the staff or our friends. We did not have the same attitude, focus, or peace that pervaded the camp, and we were clueless as to why, other than the concrete fact that we were Catholic.

Each day at camp revolved around a “session”—a time of heartfelt worship, engaging puppet presentations, and in-depth Bible teaching. After puppets and worship, the children went to appropriate age groups for their Bible classes, and the adults studied with a well-known presenter. The adult teacher our first year was a distinguished speaker and author. His focus was on a passage from 1 Peter or 2 Peter, I believe, and, to put it simply, Jim and I didn’t get it! The teaching was intense and serious, and we struggled through each session.

Jake fared much better. After his year in Awana, he was more familiar with Bible teaching and enjoyed the classes. He was more than eager to sign up for camp again. So when the registration packets came out, despite our discomfort but with hopeful hearts for our next experience, we registered for the following summer. Jake could hardly wait, as our friends with the three boys would also be coming.

That school year Jake entered first grade and attended the Catholic Confraternity of Christian Doctrine (CCD) program. Although he missed Awana, the competition of the games, the personal attention during Bible verse recitation, the friends, he dutifully attended CCD each week. The classes were fine, but the joyful enthusiasm was missing, along with the sincere, loving prayers that had become so dear to our hearts.

Family Time continued to be a significant part of our lives. I learned much from the lessons taught by our friends, but I knew that when I presented a lesson, something was lacking. The example our friends set by the choices they made and the selfless attitude they displayed made a deep impression. Their willingness to sacrifice in one way or another amazed me, and I envied their deep personal relationships. God was trying to get my attention.

Something happened that year which stands out as a defining moment for me. A few minutes into my drive to school one morning my thoughts went something like this: I’m going to heaven, aren’t I? I’m a good person. I don’t think I sin much—maybe a little lie here or there, but nothing too bad. I’m going to heaven, aren’t I?

The thoughts surprised me, and I remember wondering where they had come from, and how odd they seemed. I pushed them to the back of my mind but they did not disappear. The questions lay on my mind and heart unanswered. This was a pivotal moment in my willingness to make way for truth beyond what I had known and believed. The battle was on, for this newfound realization did not mesh well with my Catholic identity.

On top of that, a rather unusual statement during a Sunday sermon grabbed my attention. I enjoyed this particular priest, as he expanded the readings with background from the Bible. The statement that struck an odd chord with me was, “You should feel lucky to be Catholic!” He stated this emphatically. How strange and elitist that sounded. The sentiment remained with me, gnawing at my deeply ingrained Catholic roots.

Summer finally arrived, and we headed to camp. The speaker that year had a lighter approach and was easier to follow. The message revolved around the many names of God which reveal his character. We heard of his holiness, love, healing power and perfect provision for our lives.

We were also exposed to passages of Scripture, such as Proverbs 18:10, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous run into it and they are safe.”

The teaching definitely made more sense, but Jim and I didn’t really understand. Sometimes I sensed the speaker was looking right through to our hearts, aware of our need for the Lord. We continued to feel like outsiders among this camp full of Christian believers.

Nonetheless, camp was a pleasurable experience with our Family Time friends. We filled our days with activities: mini golf, archery, air rifles, trips to the mini farm and swimming to name a few. The evening brought hay rides through the woods, paddle boat rides at dusk, ice cream in the café, and rowdy games of spoons.

Time with his “brothers” thrilled Jake, and we enjoyed the adult company and conversation. One of my favorite times was when, on a beautiful day, we shared a meal outside on the patio. After the meal, Jim and I chatted with the parents (Dave and Cheryl) of the three boys. The rest of the group had scattered. The conversation that ensued was the most important one of my life.

We were discussing the speaker’s lesson from that morning. In Cheryl’s journal from that summer, I found the following: We are conformed by listening to and yielding to the Holy Spirit (not by keeping laws). Maybe the point about keeping laws sparked something in Jim and led him to ask the following question and what followed changed my life forever:

“So do you believe a person who commits suicide goes to heaven or hell?”

Dave countered, “What do you think?”

“I believe they would go to hell, because killing oneself is a mortal sin,” Jim replied.

“But we don’t know that person’s heart,” Dave told Jim, “so we really can’t say for sure.”

Dave didn’t stop there, but gently and firmly led us to the message of salvation. He told us God’s love for everyone at our table was the same.

“However, you need to understand that if Jesus came for us right now, not everyone at the table would be going to heaven,” he said.

He went on to explain that each person must make a personal decision to follow Jesus. Meanwhile, Cheryl was wrestling with the timing of Dave’s message. She silently cried out, Oh, God, really? Right here? Right now?

Unaware of his wife’s turmoil, Dave followed the Lord’s leading and posed the question, “Have you ever asked Jesus into your heart?”

Whoa! The question headed straight for my heart and a struggle ensued. I wanted to be able to say yes, but deep within my soul I knew the truth. I am not sure if I actually made an audible reply, but in the recesses of my heart and soul I answered No!

The conversation became uncomfortable after that, and we left our friends. Jim and I parted, too. He went to check on Jake, and I have no idea where I headed. Wherever it was, I didn’t get far. Just steps from the patio, I stopped, closed my eyes, and asked Jesus into my heart. I remained there a few moments, oblivious to all but the warmth of the sun, the gravel beneath my feet, and the peace in my heart. It was as if God were speaking to me as in one of my favorite scripture verses, “Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10a

Although I made my request with little understanding of what it meant, I was changed. Later that day, I shared my experience with Jim. We talked in our cozy double bunk bed as Jake slept peacefully nearby.

After Jim fell asleep, I lay awake much of the night thinking about what had happened. The next day our friends noticed how tired I looked and rejoiced upon hearing that the content of our discussion the day before had kept me awake. I wish I had felt comfortable enough to share my decision for Christ with them, but that would come later.

Upon returning home from camp, thoughts of Jake attending CCD rather than Awana and my commitment to teach a CCD class plagued me. It was already the second week of August, and I hesitated to back out of my agreement with the CCD coordinator. God’s message, however, was clear, and CCD was not part of His plan for us. I made the call. The CCD coordinator received our withdrawal from the program with regret, but also with kindness and understanding. When I explained that our decision was guided by the Lord’s hand, his response was, “That’s all that matters.”

Jake would be off to Awana once more. Hurrah! He was excited to return and welcomed with joy. What a blessing that he had a place he loved where he could grow in his knowledge of the Lord. That left us with one more decision: What would we do about church?

I suspected we were to look beyond the Catholic Church, though after fifty years as a Catholic, making that decision created inner turmoil. With the restlessness in our church I had felt the last few years, doubts about Catholic doctrine had been creeping into my heart (such as whether or not the bread and wine became the body and blood of Jesus). My need to learn more about the decision for Christ I had made at camp gave me the courage to look outside the comfort of being Catholic. Fortunately, God laid the answer before us.

Our Cabin at Camp

Chapter 5

NEW CHURCH, NEW DIRECTION

That fall, the church Dave and Cheryl attended offered an “Introduction to the Bible” class during the Sunday school hour. After some hesitation, they asked if we would like to attend. We surprised Cheryl with an immediate yes to her question. We didn’t know what to expect because this was an Evangelical Free Church. But we trusted our friends and felt God’s leading.

On the very first Sunday of the class, we were expected and received a warm welcome. Dave joined us in our class, while Cheryl shepherded Jake off to his age group. At the beginning of class we were asked to introduce ourselves and share our reason for being there.

When my turn came, I poured out my experience at camp of asking Jesus into my heart, ending with the acknowledgement that I really did not understand entirely what that meant. The teacher was quick to affirm, “You have made the first step and that is most important.” Our friend Dave was surprised, overjoyed, and eager to share the news with Cheryl. The magnitude of this decision for Christ was beginning to take hold.

We remained after class to attend the service. The music was upbeat and worshipful; the message clear and engaging; the company loving and supportive. We returned the next Sunday and have been attending ever since.

The belief that I would be Catholic forever had been replaced by a boldness to follow God’s direction for my life. The quiet little girl of long ago had been gaining the confidence and strength needed to step out in faith beyond being Catholic.

I do not necessarily see being Catholic and surrendering one’s life to Jesus to be mutually exclusive. I am relating my journey, how God led me to find Jesus, and what he asked of me. You can be Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, or any other Christian denomination and have a personal relationship with our Lord. And you can be any of those and NOT have what I believe to be the most essential element in anyone’s salvation. The vital part lies in the necessity to accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior and give your life to him.

Because we never went back to regular Catholic services, Sundays changed for us. Rather than going to mass once a week, we spent the entire Sunday morning at church attending the service and Sunday school class. We were nurtured by the Biblical teaching, the warm Christian fellowship, and the heartfelt worship. We grew in our understanding of surrendering our life to Christ. This growth was not always relaxed and easy. In fact, on occasion Jim and I would discuss returning to the security of the known, but we persevered.

On occasion we would go to mass with my dad; sometimes we attended family weddings and funerals at the Catholic Church. We knew that by not partaking in communion and Jake never making his First Communion, our choice would be visible to our families. Telling them up front was the best option and the right decision for our family, but we knew our choice would be distressing for our parents.

My husband struggled with telling his dad. He loves his dad, enjoys his company, and values his respect. Explaining our choice, one that went against what his dad believed, was one of the hardest things Jim has ever done. I am grateful he was able to be bold in his faith, and while our choice put a strain on their relationship, it was not severed. We do not live close to any of Jim’s family but share freely with them if they ask about our faith and church.

Sharing our choice with my siblings happened casually during visits, with not much follow-up conversation or repercussions to our relationships. I told my grown children directly and felt compelled to send each one a Bible and the salvation message. The fact that I did not raise them knowing the Lord saddens me. I entrust both of them to God’s care and believe in his faithfulness, perfect timing, and great love for them.

As I contemplated how to share my decision to leave the Catholic Church with my eighty-seven-year-old father, I sensed the encouragement of my mom, grandma, grandpa, and Sumner. What I had learned through their lives and in their letters was a great help as I prepared to speak with my dad. Because I could not drop this news on him out of the blue, I began by bringing up topics such as Mom’s mention of faith, Sumner’s letters, or Grandma’s Bible.

Often I would start a conversation when I was driving Dad somewhere. This let him avoid direct eye contact with me and allowed him room to deal with any conflicting thoughts or emotions. My dad found this news disconcerting, but, to his credit, he never silenced me or refused to listen. I tried to be sensitive to God’s guidance and share only what Dad could handle at one time. Most certainly, my words stirred up questions for my dad along with great concern over the path I was following.

Eventually, I felt compelled to share the message of salvation with my dad so I spoke with him one day when we were alone in his apartment. Although my heart was in the right place, my delivery was not exactly complete or clear. I know God works through our imperfections, but I was uneasy with my dad’s understanding. I wanted him to recognize his need to surrender to Jesus as Savior and Lord.

Upon returning home, I related my experience to a friend who readily shares the gospel message with others. After listening, she asked, “Did you ask him if he knows for certain that he is going to heaven?” My heart sank. No, I had not used those words. I needed to return to pose that question to my father.

Filled with purpose, hope, and much prayer, I made the trip to my dad’s soon after talking to my friend. I don’t remember the exact date or time of our visit, but have a clear sense of what occurred. When I arrived, Dad was watching his favorite morning game show. I joined him as usual. At the end of the show, we chatted for a while; then I asked if I could turn off the TV so we could talk. Dad was apprehensive because this was an unusual request, and he was probably wary of what I had on my mind.

I can still see the anxious look on his face as I moved to the footstool right in front of his chair. With my hand resting on his arm, I mentioned our previous conversation regarding salvation and his promise to Mom as she was dying that he would see her again. Then I boldly asked, “Are you sure you are going to heaven?”

“I think so,” was the honest reply for which I was grateful. It opened the door for the message I so wanted to share.

“I want you to be absolutely certain of that Dad,” I told him.

Looking vulnerable and sounding a bit unsure, he surprised me by asking, “What do I need to do?”

I explained the need to accept Jesus as Savior and Lord and repent of his sins. I prayed with him, and he responded with “Amen.” My prayer continues to be that what we shared took root in his heart.

Romans 10:9 tells us, “That if you confess with your mouth ‘Jesus is Lord’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” I am thankful for God’s leading and the courage to be any part of my dad’s journey toward salvation.

Sharing with my dad was a firm step in my walk with the Lord. Being bold and strong in declaring my faith bolstered my confidence and conviction to seek God’s plan for my life. Blessings in the form of family, friends, and God’s timely intervention played a significant role in my journey. The stories and insights I share unmistakably demonstrate God’s hand in leading me to surrender my life to him. Be assured, I do not presume to understand God’s plan fully. I do, however, delight in the fact that He would deign to create a way to draw me to Himself and allow me to recognize some of His handiwork.

Family Time Group

PART II –

TREASURED BLESSINGS

Chapter 6

TEACHING OPPORTUNITIES & GOD’S PROVISION

Both before and after I accepted Jesus as my Savior, the Lord filled my life with events and people that drew me to Him and continue to do so. I am humbled when I recognize I almost missed God’s plan, and how He graciously redirected my path. In the pages ahead you will find friends, family, and situations that represent some of the significant opportunities God orchestrated and then fine-tuned in my life. What a joy to see how he works everything for our good.

Once a Teacher, Always a Teacher

As I mentioned earlier, I quit college about halfway through my second year and got married. I’m not sure why I gave up on school. My desire from childhood on was to be a teacher, but getting married and starting a family took top spots on my priority list.

To my ex-husband’s credit, he insisted I finish school before we started our family. My parents offered to pay for the remainder of my education. Being a few credits shy of graduating before my daughter’s arrival, I received my degree in elementary education about nine months after she was born.

I taught as a substitute those first years; then switched to a less demanding office position over my job in education. My husband traveled a lot with his work, often being away Monday through Friday. With two small children, I knew I couldn’t give teaching my all. These job experiences were helpful financially and pleasant, but not fulfilling.

Later, when marriage problems arose, we decided I should leave my job and stay at home. This did not solve our problems, and eventually I decided to look for work. I found a job as an assistant in a private preschool. I loved it! My coworkers were marvelous, the children a joy, and the hours perfect. My second year I was asked to teach one of the classes. My dream of becoming a teacher was now a reality.

During my third year at the preschool, my marriage fell apart and divorce became a harsh fact. Even in this situation, a situation not pleasing to God, His provision was evident. Because I had finished my degree and had some teaching experience, I was hired to teach kindergarten at our Catholic school. I was grateful for the opportunity to teach full-time, and while the pay was not substantial, we could get by.

Teaching kindergarten was demanding, exhausting, and challenging. There were lessons to plan and projects to prepare, shoes to tie and tables to wipe, tears to dry and stories to hear, goals to work toward and successes to celebrate. I enjoyed it all! The staff was supportive, the parents appreciative, and I was near my own children who attended the school.

Life was not perfect, however. We barely made ends meet, and we struggled with complicated emotions and the hard changes that accompany a divorce. But things went along all right until God decided to rock the boat.

In October of my third year of teaching kindergarten, an unusual opportunity presented itself. One of the public school kindergarten teachers was moving away, and a replacement was needed. I contemplated the idea of applying, but there were some obstacles. First of all, I cared about the students and families I had begun working with in September. Also, the school had given me a break when I really needed it. This weighed on me.

Furthermore, the requirements for kindergarten certification in my present state of Wisconsin differed from where I initially acquired my license. Student teaching was required specifically in kindergarten to be certified at that level in Wisconsin, but student teaching was not required for my initial license.

In the Catholic school, after I taught kindergarten for five years, kindergarten would be added to my Wisconsin license. Having only taught about two years, I saw no reason to apply for the public school opening, knowing they would require the certification immediately.

However, thoughts about the job persisted. Some parents of former preschool students encouraged me to apply for the position because their children were in one of the classes at that school. Besides, they offered better pay and benefits than the Catholic school. I knew the added income and benefits would be helpful to my situation.

At some point in one conversation, someone mentioned the five-year stipulation for being kindergarten certified. This person questioned the accuracy of that prerequisite. I decided to check and discovered that the five years had been reduced to three. Applying for the job became a possibility. I could get a temporary license for the third year and be certified by the following fall.

Before applying, I needed to answer one more question. The teacher vacating the position was taking a leave of absence. Others had assured me she did not plan to return, but I needed to hear that for myself. I called her and explained my concern about being a single mom and what could happen if she came back. She was certain she would not be coming back.

So the process began. I sent my application and résumé and was granted an interview. Explaining my decision to apply for the job to my current principal was the hardest part. She was none too happy and understandably so. Looking back, I recognize pursuing that position as uncharacteristically bold of me. I do not like conflict, and that put me in the middle of it.

My interview went well, and the job was mine with one sticky stipulation. The principal could not offer the new job unless my current principal released me from my contract. This was standard procedure when anyone employed by the Catholic school was offered a position by the public school system. She was in a tough position. The parents of my students did not want to disrupt their children with a big change and the replacement process.

A meeting with our church’s pastor led to my being released from my contract. We sat down and discussed my situation. I was able to express my sadness at feeling the need to leave, while presenting to him my financial needs. With regret he agreed I should be free to go, though I would need to pay the penalty for breaking my contract.

I packed up on a Saturday when no one was around to avoid any uncomfortable confrontations. Leaving was not easy. I had loved being part of this school and faculty and regretted having to leave for financial reasons. However, in the end, I felt it was the best decision for my family.

The next Monday, I began my career in the public school system. I left classes of eighteen students for classes of twenty-nine and thirty students, as we still had morning and afternoon kindergarten. I learned new procedures and curriculum, worked with new staff members, and met fifty-nine new students.

Mid-January, among the usual assortment of notices, catalogs, and messages in my school mailbox was a personal letter. From the return address I was aware the letter was from the teacher I had replaced. I tucked the envelope into my pile and returned to my room, wanting to read the letter privately. As I walked down the hall, I tried to convince myself it was just a friendly letter, maybe a message for the children. I opened it and read. She was coming back. Oh my!

The next few months were some of the most stressful I have ever experienced. My principal, coworkers, family, and my dear friend Patti offered assurance that there would be a place for me come next fall. As spring arrived, so did the announcement of two kindergarten openings due to retirements. One was to be filled through a transfer, which left the other spot open. It provided a ray of hope.

Interviews were held in May, and after a few days, my principal appeared in my doorway after school. By the look on his face, I could tell he was the bearer of good news. I would have the other kindergarten position, which was in a small, older school across town. I can still feel the relief that swept over my face, and my principal said he had not seen me smile like that in months.

Great and numerous blessings ensued as God’s provision unfolded. During my teaching years at this school, He gave me strong friendships (this was the staff that would support me at the time of my mom’s death), the beginning of my relationship with Lisa, a move to the country school, the privilege of working with Amy, and much more.

The opportunity to remain in the teaching profession was also a great blessing. I had the privilege of being touched by so many boys and girls and to share precious moments with them. My favorite revolves around teaching the life cycle. To make this concept “come alive” we hatched baby chickens. We began by examining one egg from the grocery store and one from the farm, cracking them open so the children could see what was inside before placing a set of fertilized eggs in the incubator.

We marked off each day from one to twenty-one as we waited for the peeps or the cracks or whatever came first. I was amazed the first time I heard a peep from across the room. The whole process was a miracle I delighted in sharing with the children. The anticipation was almost unbearable as we waited for an egg to crack open and a wet baby chick to make its way into the world. The expression of awe and wonder on the children’s faces was absolutely beautiful.

Because my career continued after I gave my life to Christ, I recognized the impact He had on my teaching. While I had always enjoyed my students, as the Lord worked on my heart, I came to love them. He was evident in me in a gentler touch, a kinder voice, and an understanding attitude; not always, but I could tell when I allowed him to be in control.

Now I use my background as an educator in the Sunday school classroom. I delight in sharing Jesus and the truth of God’s Word with my four-, five-, and six-year-olds. Once while teaching about Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross, I had the privilege of answering with confidence a most sincere, heartfelt question.

“Is it real?” my little Alyssa asked. Oh, how wonderful to hear her desire to grasp the truth, and what an honor to reassure her that Yes! Yes! Yes! It is real.

Chapter 7

REMARRIAGE

The Lord not only granted me a rewarding career but a kind, faithful husband as well. Oddly, I met Jim the same night I interviewed for the teaching position in the public schools. Our meeting was the result of another uncharacteristically bold move on my part.

The staff at the Catholic school took me to a “Bid for Bachelors” fundraising event for the March of Dimes that evening. They intended to chip in on a bid, if I decided to make one, which I did not plan on doing at all.

While we were enjoying some lighthearted conversation and checking over the information on the bachelors, a friend who was involved in the event came over to chat with us. She had met the bachelors and pointed out the one she thought might be a possibility for me. He was a teacher also, and she found him quiet but nice. Before leaving us, she added, “As long as you don’t mind a man without much hair.”

“Not a problem,” I replied. Jim was already quite thin on top.

When the bidding began, I found myself caught up in bidding on Jim. Two things in particular drew me to him. First of all, in his description, Jim had used the word kind to describe himself—definitely a quality I longed for in a man. The other attribute that drew me, I must admit, were the muscular biceps he revealed when he rolled up his sleeve during the bidding. Eventually, I “bought” him for around $120. This was well above what my group had planned to spend and would stretch my budget, but it was worth it.

At the end of the evening, we exchanged phone numbers. Jim had the responsibility to contact me within a month to set up the date. If he failed to do so, he was obligated to reimburse me for the money I had paid.

Jim later told me he thought he would be paying off the money and that would be the end. He had agreed to do the event because the proceeds supported a good cause. However, we did go on that first date and about two years later were married. God can and does use anything and everything to carry out his plan for our lives.

Jim is a teacher by trade, a builder on the side, but I believe a farmer at heart. His dad loves to recall how Jim went to work on the farm as soon as he passed one important test—being able to step across the gutter in the cow barn. My husband is quiet, helpful, handy, kind, hardworking, easy going, and likes things uncomplicated. He would be content living in a little cabin in the woods and eating off the land. How he ever hooked up with a spoiled, rather particular (fussy is a better word) city girl is hard to imagine. Throughout our twenty-plus years together, I am the grateful recipient of the kindness he claimed as an attribute. I will give you just one example, but it takes the cake!

Jim is a talented woodworker and enjoys working on large projects. At one point, we decided to build a house about five miles out of town on thirty-five acres. Although I was raised in the city and had lived in town all my life, I thought I would love being out in the country. Jim was thrilled to be moving out of town and excited about the opportunity to build a house.

Jim had left the teaching profession to start a home repair/carpentry business, making him available to work on building our house. He worked every minute possible and took great pride in his workmanship. Our little house in town sold quickly, so when we moved into the new house, doors were not hung, cupboards were not up, but it was livable.

With the move complete, we settled in for our first night in the country. Instead of a restful night’s sleep, I was overcome with tears and overwhelmed by the feeling that I couldn’t stand being there! Explaining this to Jim was awful. The next morning, we talked about needing to stay in the house for two years to avoid financial penalties. We hoped that as time passed and the house was finished, I would feel differently. I didn’t. We moved out almost exactly two years later.

The move was difficult for Jim. He had poured all his time, effort, skills, and talents into the house. He spent hours on his knees laying the hardwood maple floors, hand crafting the solid cherry kitchen cabinets, painstakingly measuring and leveling every step of the way and planting dozens of seedlings to enhance the land. My husband’s kindness is exemplified by the fact that at some point he was able to say, “It’s just a house.” I’m not sure he really meant it, but I do know he placed my happiness before his own.

Throughout my spiritual journey, Jim has been by my side. Although our walk with the Lord has not lined up together as neatly as I would have liked, he has been supportive, giving me the freedom to make changes as I needed, and listening to me share what God placed on my heart. I am grateful for Jim’s presence in my life, his openness to hearing my heart, and his willingness to venture out of the security of the Catholic Church. Watching the Lord work in his life has also been a blessing.

Several years after we had been attending the Evangelical Free Church, Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast. Our church organized a team to help with relief efforts. Jim felt compelled to join the group, which I supported. As the departure date approached, we discussed his motivation for being part of the team. Jim’s sentiments revolved around helping the people with the skills he possessed. I told him that if he thought he could save the world on his own, he was wrong. My “words of wisdom” did not go over well.

Off he went with the team, and I stayed home and prayed. On the way down, the group leader told the team that they were going down to Mississippi not to rebuild buildings, but to do the Lord’s work. Later Jim heard similar words from the pastor in charge of the mission center where the group worked. He said, “If you came with the purpose of rebuilding Waveland, Mississippi, you will be sorely disappointed.”

This message is clear in Scripture as well. 1 Peter 4:10 says, “Each one should use whatever gifts he has received to serve others; faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.”

At one point during the trip Jim called home. I remember where I was standing and the tone of his voice. We didn’t talk long or about anything significant, but I knew something was different in Jim. Friends and church members asked how he was doing, and I would smile and say “Good. He is good.”

When Jim returned, he shared details of the trip: where they stayed, the work they did, the people they helped. Then he told me about Pastor Art, who ran the mission center where the group from our church was working.

Each night Pastor Art held devotions. Jim was moved by the pastor’s teaching and had stayed up for hours at night reading Scripture and praying. One night he gave his heart to the Lord. Hallelujah! No wonder he sounded “good” on the phone.

Jim told me how God had shown His presence during the trip. First of all, Jim gave up a great deal of sleep after long days of hard physical labor, but he was not tired during the day. Besides that, Jim did not experience the usual aches and pains he expected from intense manual labor. God was allowing Jim to see his blessings.

From that point on, Jim and I shared joyous times spiritually and emotionally as only the Lord can provide. When the demands of the world crept in, the temptation to overextend in work and activities that made Jim feel valued was strong. I pray for his reliance on the Lord to be visible in his life.

I try not to judge or preach. Unfortunately, my resolve often weakens, causing me to launch into a sermon, reminding Jim that he is married to the great-granddaughter of a Methodist minister. I do appreciate the clarity I receive while sharing my thoughts and insights with him.

Even as I write, God is reminding me that Jim was open to His leading, and I need to trust what God has planned for him. I have seen Jim respond to God’s call in many areas including another mission trip, this time to Haiti. Jim and a fellow church member traveled to the island after the earthquake. They saw the great devastation and helped where possible. Jim was touched by a scene that played out at an orphanage he visited.

“The children would just come over and want to sit on your lap,” he said, “clearly in need of some adult interaction.” At this orphanage, there were about eighty children; thirty-five had died in the earthquake.

He remembered a little boy who was only three or four years old. That boy took care of a two year old girl who was ill.

“When I gave kids a ride on the merry-go-round, the little boy insisted I stop it to let the girl on and signaled again to stop when the little girl was tired of going around and around.” Jim was touched by the young boy’s sacrifice to meet the needs of one younger than him.

Jim’s response to the Lord was evident through the sharing of his faith with students, generous giving to missions, and many acts of kindness. Our journey has not been without trials, but I am thankful to be sharing it with Jim and to know that we are growing toward God together.

Chapter 8

JAKE

Along with trials to grow through, God blessed us in many ways. One special blessing is our son Jake, and God in his great mercy did not allow me to mess this up. I am thankful my heavenly Father watched over me long before I was ready and willing to surrender to Him.

The priceless moment of Jacob’s birth was preceded by four years of frustration. We traveled through numerous tests, minor surgery, daily temperature readings, hopeful moments, and heartbreaking losses, all of which placed great physical and emotional stress on our marriage. The clock was ticking. At age forty-one, my OB-GYN doctor asked if I was ready to quit trying for a child. I was not. He sent us to a specialist.

With no clear solution, the specialist offered one option before recommending costly and more invasive measures. I administered hormones to myself (in a most unpleasant manner) twice a day. These hormones were to prevent a miscarriage if I got pregnant again. I took them for months and turned into the crabbiest wife ever. Eventually, injecting the hormones into my body became physically repulsive. The temptation to stop was ever present.

During this time, I took part in community choral events because I love to sing. My vanity offered Satan a perfect opportunity to tempt me in the area of pride. I had a small solo in a Christmas concert. The lead singer did most of the solo work, and I was a bit envious, so I coveted my little part.

As I was preparing for the concert, the hormones made it difficult for me to sing clearly. This led me to consider taking a break from the hormones. Before I acted on that temptation, however, the concert director called. He told me the main soloist wanted to sing the part I had been assigned. Praise the Lord for intervening, even though that was not my exact response at the time.

With no more pressure to perform a solo, the hormones continued. How thankful I am. Within days of that call, I found out I was pregnant, and I could have lost the baby who, thanks to God, was born eight months later, our Jake.

It was Jake’s sweet prayers to Jesus that encouraged our search for the Lord. We are presently in the midst of Jake’s teen years and wonder where our child has gone. Jake can be a typical teen—a great joy one minute and a trial the next. Both are blessings, and we wouldn’t trade him for anything. I see him struggle to stay in God’s Word and be bold in his faith, but he continues to seek the Lord. He participates in youth group, listens to Christian music, and plays drums for worship in church.

In addition, this past summer he answered a call from the Lord that took him out of his comfort zone.

The call began with an announcement by our youth pastor that he would be taking a group on a mission trip to Guatemala. Jake told us the pastor asked if anyone had a passport, and Jake said he did. The pastor said he was all set then.

It was a lighthearted and remarkable interaction, because Jake did not have a passport. He was not lying about the passport; he thought he had gotten one when he went to Canada with his dad on a fishing trip. At any rate, this was how the Lord got Jake’s attention and ours. We agreed the trip would be a wonderful opportunity for him.

Jake was fourteen, and while the youth pastor said he could go on the trip alone, we decided one of us should go with him. Neither Jim nor I felt particularly led to go, and Jake had not committed to the trip, but the topic continued to resurface in our conversations.

As the confirmation date drew closer, I periodically asked Jake if he had made a decision. One day he asked why I kept bugging him about it. My reply was, “Because you have never said ‘I don’t want to go!’”

The day before the youth pastor needed a decision, we asked Jake one more time. His final answer was, “I’ll go.”

This was not delivered with unbounded enthusiasm, but he had decided. Jim and I still did not feel led to join the team, so our next question to Jake was, “Will you go even if one of us doesn’t go with you?”

“Yes,” was his immediate response.

About four months later, Jake faced his fear of flying and took off to a foreign country for eight days without us. We prayed continually, giving him over to the Lord’s care. God had provided the team of adults and youth to travel with him, and that added to our peace about the trip. I remained calm during the days Jake was away.

We received a little news via email, which helped. Not until the day of Jake’s return did the reality of sending him so far away hit me. I was grateful for insight into Jake’s heart from the testimony he had written. God provided the peace.

In preparation for the journey to Guatemala, the team members wrote and shared their testimony. This is a portion of Jake’s:

Awana was the first place I remember hearing the gospel message: that Jesus Christ will forgive your sins if you only ask him to. One of the first verses we ever memorized was Acts 16:31: “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved.” Even at six years old, I knew I wanted to accept Christ into my heart. So that night after Awana, with that verse ringing in my ears, I accepted Christ as my Savior.

I love reading this and pray he will allow God to shape his heart, guide his choices, and strengthen his faith so he will be ready to serve whenever God calls.

When Jake arrived home from Guatemala, he shared some three hundred plus pictures and his excitement from the trip. When asked what made an impression on him, he said, “I think it was how the people involved in the church did only that. If they were connected at all to the mission, that was what they did. And the reason they did it was to reach people for the Lord.”

Jake was ready to sign on for the next mission trip to Guatemala. He says “I just feel I am supposed to go.” We don’t have to know why. I am grateful he wants to be obedient to the call.

Many godly individuals have helped shape my faith on this journey. As in the case of the hormone treatment, God lent a hand to set my course in the right direction; He also allowed people to play a meaningful part in my life.

One intervention occurred shortly after Jake was born in August. We had decided that I would take a leave of absence with Jake until after Christmas break. Thinking I had months ahead of me, I did not hurry to line up childcare. Later in the fall as I began my search, coming up with a quality provider for a five-month-old baby was more difficult than I had anticipated.

I made call after call with no success. I was getting anxious when I received some information from an acquaintance. I had talked with her when I contacted the day care where she worked. She told me that a young mom from her church had posted a notice offering childcare in her home. I trusted her judgment, took the number, and called.

God had sent us Melissa, a cheerful, enthusiastic, capable young mother of a baby boy three weeks older than Jacob. We connected, and after discussing arrangements with our husbands, made plans for Jacob to be in Melissa’s care when school started in January. I am thankful for the years Jacob spent with Melissa and her family. She and her husband loved, nurtured, and enjoyed him.

Jake remained with Melissa for three years and received wonderful care. Melissa’s son, Nicholas, became a valued friend for Jake. When we moved him to a home care situation with more children when Melissa had her second child, we encouraged the boys’ friendship. They shared T-ball, swimming and tennis lessons, play dates, birthday parties, and piano recitals. Today they take driver’s training together. We can hardly believe that!

Nick also invited Jake to attend Vacation Bible School (“VBS”). Melissa and her husband attended a Baptist Church, and we were still firmly planted in the Catholic Church. We were unsure of what they believed and ill at ease with how intense they were about church.

However, we trusted them with Jake and allowed him to attend. He had a great time. We were uncomfortable hearing some of what he learned, particularly when he spoke about Satan. We weren’t sure he needed to hear such unsettling information, but we did not stop him from attending. We chose not to discuss it at home and figured it wouldn’t hurt him.

Jake also “heard the most powerful message ever” (his words) during one of the VBS sessions. A dynamic young man told the story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection using a 3-D puzzle cross. His presentation clarified for Jake the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.

Melissa and her family were overjoyed when they learned we were seeking the Lord. They heard it from Nicholas’ grandma who is Jake’s piano teacher. He told her about our switch to Cornerstone, the Evangelical Free Church, and she shared the news with Melissa. They were familiar with the church because our pastor lives across the street from Nicholas’ grandma.

A few years later we said good-bye to the family before they moved to South Carolina where Melissa grew up. Melissa and I stood outside talking about their prayers and the need to follow the Lord’s leading. Melissa remarked, “I just can’t believe we are standing here talking like this!”

Fortunately the Lord led them back to us. We are thankful for the love they have extended over the years and the prayers they offered on our behalf. God had so much more in mind when all I was looking for was childcare.

Chapter 9

BACK TO TEACHING

Returning to my job brought additional blessings. My days were challenging and exhausting. The demands of writing lessons, preparing materials, putting up bulletin boards, meeting the needs of twenty five-year-olds all day, along with mothering a young child and keeping up with everyday chores were hard on my older body.

Fortunately, when Jake was three, our school was designated a Student Achievement Guarantee in Education (SAGE) school, thanks to the foresight of my energetic principal.

This federally funded program mandated that the student/teacher ratio be no more than fifteen to one, particularly during core teaching time.

That meant I gained a half-time teacher in my classroom every day. This translated into better instruction for the students, more individual attention, and assistance for me.

Because the SAGE teacher and I would work together, I sat in on the interviews for those applying. My principal would choose, but she respected my opinion and would consider my input. After the interviews, we agreed on the top two candidates.

Wanting to guarantee a successful team, my principal asked which one was my first choice. Both seemed qualified, but I chose a young woman who was teaching kindergarten and had a young child, thinking her experience would be helpful, and we would have common interests.

Once again God had other plans. When offered the job, this candidate declined the position. The second young woman, Amy, accepted. She and her husband had recently moved to Marshfield. Her husband was the youth minister at a local church but his position was only part time, so Amy was hoping for a full-time job. With few positions available, however, she gratefully took the job offered.

Before Amy even entered the classroom, I decided she should feel like a teacher, not an assistant. I set up another desk area adjacent to mine. When she visited the room the first time, I could tell she was pleased. She later told me the initial sign of respect meant a great deal to her and was the starting point for mutual admiration. We experienced a most enjoyable and gratifying school year, and the friendship that developed between us is one of my most treasured blessings.

In spite of a twenty year age difference between Amy and me, we connected as colleagues and had similar philosophies and teaching styles. We learned from each other. I shared from my years of experience, and Amy taught me through her patient, careful, thorough way of explaining to the children and her kind, tender way of handling them. Amy’s loving ways and beautiful smile brightened my days.

The year Amy taught in my room coincided with my growing discontent with what I was experiencing at church. She talked about their church, her husband’s work with the youth, and the Bible studies in their home. Her wholehearted enthusiasm about their services and the excitement in sharing the word of God contrasted with my dissatisfaction. I was not ready to make a change or I’m sure I would have tried going with Amy to her church. I was drawn by her inner joy, peace in difficult situations, and loving nature—all part of her witness for Christ. Amy was praying. God was working.

At the end of the school year, Amy secured a full-time kindergarten position in another building. We were sad to see the year end, but excited for Amy’s opportunity and the blessing of full-time work. I was also in for a change. Due to declining enrollment, my kindergarten was to be cut, which meant eventually our whole building would be closed. Because our district was starting all-day kindergarten, however, I had my choice of buildings for next fall.

God watched over me as I made that decision. To many people’s surprise, I chose to take the position at the “country” school, which was about eight miles out of town. They were in the process of moving to a brand new building and adding a class at each grade level. While the new facility was somewhat of a draw, two individuals helped determine my choice.

One was my current principal who would be taking over the site. She was supportive, knowledgeable, and cared about children. The other was the woman who would be my coworker. We had attended many kindergarten meetings together and a summer school class. During that class I experienced her sense of humor and joyful laughter. Listening to her laugh out loud as she enjoyed a humorous children’s book made a pleasant impression on me. She proved to be a valuable coworker, dear friend, and constant support over the ten years we taught together, with laughter to help us through many stressful moments.

Besides the blessing of my coworker, the school was a wonderful place to work. The caring, family atmosphere made going to work each day a pleasure. When the days were trying, there was a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, or a hand ready to help. God was so good, and there was more to come.

My new school was designated as a SAGE school, and before my second year began, our principal needed to fill a SAGE position. She had high standards, so she took the time to find the right person. Amy’s name was mentioned, but I told my principal I did not think Amy would want to leave her kindergarten position. As God would have it, I ran into Amy unexpectedly, and she surprised me when she asked if I would stop by her classroom to discuss the SAGE opening.

I found Amy in the middle of setting up a very large classroom she was moving into for the coming year. She looked overwhelmed by the space, all the stuff, and the numerous bulletin boards to be decorated. Being generally calm and capable, it was out of character for her to be overwhelmed.

What Amy was seeking was my opinion in regard to pursuing the SAGE job. She was concerned about leaving her principal with so little time to come up with a replacement. I agreed that it might be difficult, but not impossible. Ultimately she felt she should follow her heart.

Well, you guessed it! Amy became our SAGE teacher, and while I had to share her, we did get to work together for part of each day. We had the enjoyment of teaching together once again with time to nurture our friendship.

With such close contact, we were able to support one another. God allowed me to comfort Amy in the face of a miscarriage and rejoice in the birth of her first child. And it was at school that I shared with Amy the news of my relationship with Jesus. I could have called her, but there was no way I was missing out on the joyful moment I knew my news would bring.

Before school started that day, Amy and I were preparing our classrooms. When I met her in the hallway, I asked her to come to my room when she had the chance because I had something to tell her. Soon Amy burst into my room.

“You have a relationship with Jesus!” she declared. “What happened?” She was eager to hear the whole story.

“It happened when we were at camp.” I explained and told her of our conversation on the patio and my surrender thereafter.

“I can see you are different in your eyes and in your smile,” she stated after hearing all the details. I was elated to reflect what I had seen in Amy—the love of Jesus.

As sisters in Christ, we were delighted to grow even closer together. However, our time on a daily basis was to be short lived. About a year and a half later, Amy and her husband moved to a small city to start a new church. This was quite an adventure in faith for my friend – thankfully we have remained close in heart if not in person. While I miss her presence, I rejoice in knowing we will have eternity to savor our friendship and love of the Lord. In fact, I almost burst with the anticipation of sharing eternity with the many dear sisters in Christ who are part of my life here on Earth.

Several of these women are the moms from our Family Time group, which I mentioned earlier. We have been brought together to stretch each other’s faith and increase our desire to serve the Lord. What we have become for each other is a precious gift of comfort, wisdom, and strength in the Lord. With their permission I will give you a peek at these amazing women of God.

Lisa has pulled, coaxed, and prayed me out of my comfort zone to a life in Christ I never knew existed. She has been an incredible example of faith throughout great trials and keeps me on my toes. She is knowledgeable, thorough, thoughtful, and industrious. The love she has for her girls and a willingness to sacrifice for them is exemplary.

Cheryl has been an inspiring example as a mother, teacher, and friend. She has a heart for sharing Jesus, making every effort to follow him in all her decisions, and great patience as a wife and mom in an all-male household. I am grateful for the clear picture of the unselfishness of Christ she portrays. She has been thoughtful by including Jake with their family so he can have time with these other “brothers.”

Wanda has taught me to bow my head and lift my face toward God in prayer at every opportunity. The latter lesson was given as she shared that the Tagbonwa people she grew up with in the Philippines thought that if they were talking to God they should look toward him. She asks the best questionshard ones that make a person think and be accountable. Wanda has helped me strive to be a better mom, wife, and friend by holding me to God’s standards. Her faith in me and genuine interest in my life have been uplifting.

Amy is a beautiful example of a Christian woman, wife, and mother. Her hard-fought battle to move beyond the difficult circumstances of her upbringing to a life that brings God glory is inspiring. A mutual friend described her as “one of those people who let their soul shine through.” Her kind, intelligent, loving ways are a blessing to all who know her.

Marilee is a spirited, joyful, grateful, loving mom of four young ladies. She has a passion to hold herself and her girls to God’s standards. She is a prayer warrior for family, friends, and the community. Her fervent, heartfelt prayers taught me much about seeking the Lord’s help and guidance in all things. The enthusiasm with which she greets each day encourages everyone in her path.

Tracy is a sister of the heart. We met through Family Time, connected through a friendly but competitive game night, and were drawn closer in heart and soul through a women’s Bible study. Our relationship made clear how more dear a friendship is when shared on a spiritual level. Tracy’s passion for her roles as teacher, wife, and mother, her desire to know and serve the Lord, along with a joyful spirit, ready laughter, and open heart are blessings. Her trust in God’s plan for her life is an inspiration.

As I reread the words that describe my cherished friends, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for God’s graciousness. These women, along with others from my church, in Bible studies, or in the community have enriched my walk with the Lord. I appreciate their willingness to share their knowledge, trials, failures, successes, hopes, concerns, insights, and their prayers. Surely God delights in this beautiful fellowship of women!

Chapter 10

CALEB

I have already shared with you about two of the men who share my journey, Jim and Jake. I am also grateful for the men in our Family Time group. Their dedication to provide loving, God-centered homes and activities for their families is admirable. I am so thankful for the example they set, for their friendship, and for their willingness to help in time of need.

There are two more men who must be a part of my story. Caleb ranks near the top of the list of amazing blessings. Although God had to practically hit me over the head to be part of Caleb’s life.

My journey with Caleb began one October day with a letter from the director of Camp Forest Springs, the Christian family camp we had been attending. The letter related that the director’s great nephew was a nursing student who would be studying at our local hospital in January. Caleb’s uncle was requesting housing for the young man during the spring semester and possibly beyond that.

Jim opened the letter before I got home and immediately thought this was for us. We discussed the possibility of having Caleb in our home, but I didn’t jump at the opportunity despite Jake’s immediate response of “We could do this!”

I believed there were other families who would offer to take Caleb, and I was uneasy about having someone live with us. Inviting people over or having them stop by was not my forte. Over the years, through our Family Time gatherings, the addition of two cats to our household (a major out-of-comfort-zone experience for me), and asking people over more often, I had grown in the area of hospitality. Still, the thought of a stranger becoming part of our household was difficult at best.

Periodically, Jim and I would mull over answering the letter but never did anything about it. Then one day my husband said, “Connie, I really feel in my heart we are supposed to do this.” Now, my husband, as I mentioned earlier, while a dear man, is not prone to sharing his feelings. So a statement like that one stopped me in my tracks, and I gave it serious attention. Shortly thereafter we invited Caleb to stay in our home if he thought it would work out. Then we waited. Jake waited impatiently. Jim waited calmly. I waited uneasily.

As time passed, I was still convinced Caleb would have better offers, and we would be off the hook. When Christmas was upon us, and we hadn’t heard a thing, it seemed I was correct. However, just when even Jake had about given up, an email appeared from Caleb asking if he could visit after Christmas. He was going to come with his mom to check out his options.

Caleb and his mom arrived at the end of December in the middle of a big snowfall, with warm smiles and sticky fingers from eating clementines in the truck. We enjoyed our time with them. Caleb’s mom asked us to share our faith journey with her; we discussed living arrangements; and we gave them a tour of the house. They left to view other housing offers, and Caleb said he would get in touch when he had made a decision. Jake was ready for Caleb to move in immediately. But again we waited.

When we had heard nothing, and time was approaching for Caleb to be moved to town, we figured he had chosen another home away from home. Then, there it was, another email saying he would like to stay with us if the offer was still open. We readied things for our guest. In no time he was on our doorstep with his winning smile, shining eyes, giant-size duffel bag, and a very large appetite.

Dinner was ready when Caleb arrived, so we settled him in to what would be “his” place at our table, enjoyed a meal together, and started getting better acquainted. Caleb had agreed to attend Jake’s sixth grade band concert that evening, which gave us a glimpse of the kind of young man we had in our midst. At the concert, he was interested, attentive, and good company. Our time together was off to an encouraging start.

Upon returning home from the concert, Caleb settled in. The first order of business was to set up his computer, which was essential for his studies. We had a few anxious moments as he attempted to get the Internet up and running. One thing after another was not working. I prayed, not even able to imagine having him leave now. When it seemed hopeless for getting things working, the Lord answered.

More cooking, extra chores, and a much livelier household filled the weeks that followed. Jake took to Caleb and Caleb to Jake in a friendly, brotherly fashion. Nerf gun battles raged, ping-pong balls flew, and guitar and drums jammed. What a joyful time it was, especially for Jake. He would come home from school, run upstairs, and plop himself next to Caleb. Graciously, Caleb welcomed him and opened the way for a special relationship.

We loved having Caleb with us. He added zest, energy, and joy to our quiet home. He and Jim shared common interests and had lengthy conversations over dinner on a wide variety of topics. I appreciated his appetite and how he ate the meals with relish that we prepared. I also loved how happy he made Jake. The example Caleb set for all of us, but especially Jake, was a gift from a loving God.

One of the best illustrations of Caleb’s influence on Jake was related to prayer. We read a Bible passage and prayed together in the evenings. This was in the beginning of our Christian walk, so our knowledge was limited, and praying aloud a struggle for our family. Not so for Caleb. He had been raised to know and love the Word of God and prayed confidently. Jake noticed. One morning on our ride to school, we discussed Caleb’s prayers, and Jake burst out with “Yeah, did you hear how the words just flowed out of him?”

Not only the words, but also a love of the Lord radiated from Caleb as well. I will always remember:

- The concern Caleb exhibited when Jake was struggling to master a challenging piano piece. He gave Jake the support he needed through his presence and sincere interest in the situation.

- Caleb’s pride and excitement at going off to the hospital in his “whites” to a day that brought him a little closer to becoming a nurse.

- The night Caleb served me a cup of pine tea he had made with great care. His sincere concern for whether or not I liked it or whether it needed more sugar or honey was so sweet.

- A delicious dinner of apricot chicken he served to us with a thankful, loving, servant’s heart.

- How he came bounding down the stairs with his over-sized duffel bag, climbing over Jake—none too carefully—as Jake purposefully sat in his way, just daring Caleb to start a brotherly confrontation, all the while wishing Caleb wasn’t leaving for the weekend.

- Caleb’s smile and excitement at the prospect of a fun-filled family weekend and his cheery, “I’ll call if I’m not coming back tomorrow,” which were the last words we heard as he made his way out the door.

- The ringing of the phone when the message came that indeed Caleb was not coming back.

Caleb had left that weekend to meet some of his family, planning to snowboard with his sister and a friend on Saturday. Caleb often taught snowboarding at Camp Forest Springs, but rarely was able to go just for fun. This was something he enjoyed and was quite good at, including doing tricks and jumps. But that day, something went terribly wrong.

So when Jim answered the phone, it was not Caleb on the other end but one of Caleb’s uncles. He explained that Caleb had been in a very serious accident while executing a trick on his snowboard. Jake and I were in the same room, listening, acutely aware that Jim was hearing some very bad news. When he relayed the message, we cried and prayed and prayed and cried some more.

On Sunday, Caleb’s mom left a message on our answering machine. Tearfully, she shared that they were discussing the harvesting of Caleb’s organs. We listened to her words several times, letting the truth of the message take hold. I heard the deep anguish in her voice coupled with the strength and kindness it took to make the call so we would be aware of Caleb’s condition.

Later that evening we spoke with Caleb’s uncle. We asked about coming to see him, but he suggested we wait for the funeral. In hindsight, we wish we had gone to say good-bye and share in the prayer and support that engulfed Caleb’s family at the hospital.

Caleb’s mom called again to share details of the situation. Caleb’s status was deteriorating. The pressure from bleeding inside his head was beyond any chance of brain survival. The work to locate recipients for the gift of donation continued. Caleb died on Tuesday with his family close. His organs and tissues were donated to recipients who desperately needed them.

Later that week, we traveled to the visitation and funeral, our first experience at a Christian service of this kind. Hundreds of people attended, and Caleb’s family handled everything in a gracious and humble way. This joyful celebration of Jesus’ promise of salvation inspired us. We were particularly touched by our visit with his family the morning before the funeral.

We had brought some of Caleb’s things with us, and his mom told us to bring them over that morning. I asked if she was sure she wanted us, and she insisted we come. So at nine o’clock that morning, still unsure of how appropriate our presence was at that moment, we rang their doorbell. One of Caleb’s sisters answered the door looking somewhat confused. She had met us the night before but was taken by surprise at our arrival.

Caleb’s mom came to the door and ushered us in. They were in pajamas and robes and had been praying and lifting each other up with verses from the Bible. Great sadness was evident, but also a sense of peace. We felt like intruders, but they assured us we were welcome. We stayed for a while, and they fed us breakfast as we chatted about Caleb. Eventually, we left so they could dress for the funeral.

The service was about Caleb, but much more. The heartbroken family said good-bye to Caleb, but rejoiced in his love for the Lord and the promise he was with Jesus in heaven. Both before and after the funeral, Caleb’s mom expressed her greatest concern, that the message of salvation would be heard. Her words to me after the service were, “Do you think they heard it? I think they did!” Through this difficult trial, their desire was for God to use this to bring others to him and to give him glory.

We had a quiet ride home. One thing we did discuss was how glad we were to be believers. Jake stated he couldn’t imagine going through the whole experience of Caleb’s death without the knowledge that Caleb had a strong faith and the assurance of eternal life.

We connect occasionally with Caleb’s family. We love hearing of how Caleb’s life and death affected others spiritually and how his family is faring. We have been blessed to hear about his time with us from those who knew him well. They told us how he enjoyed being part of our family and being comfortable in our home. He said we spoiled him quite nicely.

I do regret one thing, and that is never giving Caleb a hug. Oh, I would give him a pat on the arm or on the back, but not a hug. I remember thinking about going after him that last Friday evening, then deciding it could wait until he returned. That was a lesson in listening to the Holy Spirit’s prompting. Someday in heaven, I’ll give him a big hug.

I find joy and reassurance in how the Lord blessed our family with Caleb in spite of my selfish reluctance toward opening our home to him. I am grateful for God’s perfect plan and wait to understand why God wove Caleb into our lives for those seven short weeks, reflecting Jesus through his smiling eyes, loving heart, and deep faith.

I display a window sticker on my car that says Caleb Psalm 16:8. He had chosen this as his life verse. It says, “I will set the Lord always before me, because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” It is my pleasure to share the verse and the story of Caleb whenever someone inquires about the unique decal.

Chapter 11

TODD

There is one more special man, actually little boy, in my life whom I would like to share with you. He is my bright, beautiful, energetic grandson Todd. Of course, I am prejudiced. Six years ago it was my great privilege to be present at the moment he entered the world. Even better is the fact that God has allowed me to share my faith with him and watch his faith take root.

Todd was born about a year after I began my personal relationship with Jesus. I had started to attend Bible studies; my faith was growing; and I was becoming more committed to following the Lord. As Todd grew, I shared Bible stories with him, prayed with him, and took him to our church when he visited. Todd loved the stories and church, but wasn’t always comfortable with our spontaneous prayers.

When Todd was almost four, he visited us for a few days during the summer. One evening before bed, we were reading Bible stories, and Todd began talking about where God lives. “I know God lives up in heaven,” he proudly shared.

“That’s true Todd,” I replied, “but really God is everywhere. And do you know what? God even wants to be right in your heart.”

“He does? How does that happen?” Todd’s curiosity was aroused.

“All you need to do is ask him to come live in your heart,” I said.

Todd became very still at that point, looked out the window, and simply said, “God would you come into my heart?” He was ready to return to our Bible reading after that.

I know he only understood in a small way what he had done. Yet, what a precious beginning to his relationship with God.

Since then, we have continued to share our faith as opportunities and Todd’s desire present themselves. And they do! Over the past couple of years, my grandson and I experience the pleasure of learning about the Lord through his Word.

Some of the times I have with Todd occur when I visit overnight at his home. Todd began coming into my room when he woke up in the morning, generally quite early, flipping on the light, and climbing up with his children’s Bible in hand. We prop ourselves up on the pillows, get all cozy, and read about God. What a lovely way to start the day!

Todd’s awareness of God is evident in how often he will bring God into a conversation or ask a question that has been on his mind or add something related to Jesus in a drawing. As a proud grandma, I could go on and on and on about him, so I’ll share just a few of my favorite Todd moments.

Recently, as we snuggled together sharing Bible stories, Todd interrupted to say he had a question he had been thinking about the day before. I asked what that was, and he said, “Should I love Jesus more or my mommy and daddy more?”

I was surprised by his thoughts while rejoicing over what was on his heart. We talked about how loving Jesus was most important and Jesus would help Todd love his mommy and daddy better. He was good with that, and we returned to our Bible stories.

Another blessing we have enjoyed with Todd is time at family camp. He has accompanied us for the past two summers. Upon arriving the first time, Todd wanted to go fishing. God allowed him to catch three fish very quickly. We were headed toward a memorable few days.

Todd loved every minute of camp, from the Bible lessons to shooting archery, to visiting the mini farm, to making new friends, to the puppet ministry, and more. There is little that’s better in life than walking through the woods at camp on a beautiful summer morning, hand in hand with my grandson and delighting in God’s wonders.

One of the wonders Todd and I like to discuss is spiders. For some reason, I like spiders and have shared that with Todd over the years. Because of that, my Christmas gifts have been a bit unusual.

One year I received a large rubber tarantula, which is always available for Todd to play with. The year after that, I received a sparkly, spider web ornament that hangs in one of our kitchen windows.

While not loving spiders himself, Todd has embraced the fact his grandma does. He once related the sighting of a spider crawling along the floor at his day care during rest time. When I asked what he did about it, Todd matter-of-factly replied that he let the spider be, and it crawled up the wall and away. That’s my boy!

This Christmas there was another spider surprise. My daughter, son-in-law, and Todd had come to visit the night before Christmas Eve. We were to celebrate Christmas Eve day together before they traveled to be with other family. Having them in our home was a special treat because we usually shared these occasions at their house.

I awoke early in the morning to the sound of someone stirring and guessed it was my daughter and Todd. I made my way downstairs and found them as I anticipated, snuggled together in the family room with only the lights from the Christmas tree lit. We chatted quietly, trying not to disturb the rest of our family. After a while, my daughter, with a twinkle in her lovely blue eyes, said there was a present under the tree with a tag that read, “To Grandma and Todd.” She said we could open it right away.

What Todd and I found were two small spiders made from beads, one green, one white, and a copy of “The Legend of the Christmas Spider.” After reading it, I was thrilled to discover the hero of the story to be the “little Christ child.” How I loved receiving that gift with Todd, straight from my daughter’s heart. And how like God to give us those quiet moments together to enjoy this special Christmas gift.

I am grateful that while my daughter does not understand my faith, she and my son-in-law allow me to continue sharing with Todd, even making sure Todd’s Bible is out for our morning Bible story reading. She is willing and eager to share drawings, stories, or anecdotes in which Todd has included God in some way.

One Friday evening when I arrived for a visit, my daughter asked if I had seen the spotlights from across the highway. I had, and she explained that they were set up at a store where Shaq, the basketball player, was putting in an appearance. She said that Todd thought I would not know about Shaq and should be informed because “Grandma only knows about God.” I did know who Shaq was, but could not have been more pleased with Todd’s perception of me.

Once when I was driving Todd back to meet his parents from a stay at our house we had a discussion about the Holy Spirit. We got on the subject of how the Holy Spirit lives in our hearts and will guide our choices if we let Him. Todd needed clarification.

I told him a story about Todd and another little boy fighting over a toy and what the Holy Spirit might tell him to do. I said the world would tell him to keep fighting and even try to grab it away, but the Holy Spirit would prompt him to compromise or walk away.

Todd proceeded to share his own illustration. He told me that at Christmas time they had drawn reindeer at school, and one of the boys made one that was very fat. Most of the children laughed at the picture. Todd did not. He knew that refusing to make fun of his friend would be answering the voice of the Holy Spirit in his heart. I was thrilled to hear of God revealing himself to this child.

More people and events have shaped my journey, but I will let Todd be the last one shared here. God granted me another gift that is relevant to my story. That is the gift of time.

Todd and I with our Spiders

Chapter 12

RETIREMENT

Last year the political climate and actions in the state of Wisconsin caused me to consider early retirement from teaching. I had not planned on this. However, after financial meetings, discussion, and a great deal of prayer, I believed the Lord was leading me to retire. I knew he had opened a window. I have yet to discover all of what the Lord has for me, but part of the plan was to write.

So last fall, after dropping my son off for his first day of high school, I began writing. The Lord has helped me be diligent in my efforts and has affirmed the calling to write this book.

Beyond that, He supplied me with:

- A glorious fall to enjoy;

- A growing trust in him to provide within a different financial picture;

- The opportunity to spend time with Jake as he settled into the demands of high school;

- Bible study with my cherished lady friends;

- Time to read and study his Word;

- Lots of quiet—a luxury after twenty-five years in kindergarten;

- A chance to take care of meals, chores, and running Jake here and there;

- And time to enjoy my home.

I have tried to relish each moment and give thanks to the Lord for all of the blessings.

When considering this book, I envisioned my retirement being the end. However, as I strolled along the sidewalk, enjoying one of the beautiful fall days, God reminded me of a topic not yet covered, but not meant to be left out—repentance.

My first recollection of repenting takes me back to third grade and my first confession. I knelt halfway from the front of our dimly lit church next to a classmate, awaiting my turn to enter the red velvet curtain and confess. The girl next to me was the friend I often competed with for recognition in the classroom.

At this moment, we were engrossed in seeing who could come up with enough sins to confess before we entered the confessional. We kept track on our fingers as we added to the list of our wrong doings. We seemed to need to have plenty to say when the priest would open the shutter, lean his head in our direction, listen to our sins, and absolve us of our transgressions.

An essential part of my journey involved learning to view the reality of my sin—past, present, and future—in a different way. As a Catholic, I was taught to confess, do my penance, and my sin would be taken care of. The expectation was to do away with these sins, but one could always go back to confession.

At some point in my restless years in the Catholic Church, I began to wonder about confessing my sins to a person rather than directly to God. That led me to stop going to confession long before I actually left the Catholic Church.

I have realized that God laid out my journey to lead me step by step to the full meaning of repentance, which changed the direction of my life. Through prayer, worship, fellowship, study, and quiet time with God, I can understand His great love for me. I agonize over the pain and sadness God the Father experienced when He sent Jesus from the comfort, beauty, and perfect love of heaven to a sinful, harsh, evil world.

The willingness of Jesus to suffer and take on all sin amazes me. I am humbled when I acknowledge Jesus’ great sacrifice, and I ache for the part I played in the dark hours he was separated from the Father’s love. The truth in God’s word, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord,” gives me cause to be thankful.

Following Jesus’ example is a daily struggle. I seek God’s help to see my sin clearly, repent sincerely, and allow the Holy Spirit to direct my thoughts, words, attitudes, and actions. I rest in the promise that my heavenly Father sees me through the sacrifice of Jesus and loves me.

The valentine my grandson made for me at the age of four illustrates this sentiment perfectly:

I love you and we love you and

God love you the most.

These precious words touch my heart just as Sumner’s testimony of faith in his letters did. I keep them close at hand, allowing this sincere message from God to a child’s heart to remind me of His faithfulness in my journey beyond being Catholic.

REFLECTION

Thank you for taking the time to read my spiritual journey. I pray that within these pages you recognized the message of salvation. I pray that if you do not know God’s love for you, have not acknowledged yourself as a sinner, and have not accepted Jesus Christ as your Savior, that one day you will, and your life will be changed. My life was!

I now see God’s work in my life, in my heart, and in the world around me. I seek to serve him and follow his plan for my life. I strive to trust in his love, his mercy, and his desire to help me be all that he created me to be. I know that if I look to God, he will give me all I need, for James 4:10 says, “Humble yourself before the Lord and he will lift you up.”

I will leave you with the words of Psalm 100, a joyful song of praise to a loving, faithful God. May you come to understand who He is and see clearly the blessings He has laid out in your life.

Psalm 100

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness;

Come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

It is he who made us, and we are his;

We are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

And his courts with praise;

Give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;

His faithfulness continues through all generations.

Grandson Valentine

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My heartfelt thanks to:

- My husband, Jim, for his unwavering support

- My son, Jacob, for his courage

- My daughter, Keri , for her sweet friendship

- My son, Robert, for respecting my choices

- My grandson, Todd, for openly expressing his desire to know God

- My dear friends for their constant encouragement

- My publisher, Jeremiah, for believing in this project

- My editor, Sheila, for her insight and reassurance

- My editor and friend, Ruth, for her enthusiastic response to my writing

- My Heavenly Father, who revealed His love through the story He wrote for me

My Journey Beyond Being Catholic – by Connie Limmex

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

LIFE SENTENCE Publishing and its logo are trademarks of LIFE SENTENCE Publishing, LLC

First edition published 2012

LIFE SENTENCE Publishing, LLC

P.O. BOX 652

Abbotsford, WI 54405

www.lifesentencepublishing.com

ISBN: 978-1-62245-010-7

This book is available from www.lifesentencepublishing.com, amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, and your local Christian Bookstore

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LIFE SENTENCE Publishing

P.O. Box 652

Abbotsford, WI 54405

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