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| Flat Stanley, from the series of books by Jeff Brown |
Day 21, Keeping Heart – Part Six: Transitions, Trials,
and God’s Grace
It started with some paranoid delusions, then escalated to
the completely irrational, non-sleeping, and even aggressive behavior I’d
mostly only heard ABOUT before. This time I was experiencing the entire process
first-hand, as my mom was beginning another psychotic episode. After she’d
gotten through it and was stabilized, life returned to a normal flow. But in
the midst of it…it was awful.
For me, there was a lot of anger in the aftermath. I felt
like I’d been ROBBED—robbed of the mom I’d always had. At this point, it seemed
I may have effectively been robbed of a normal life as well. The kind where you
call and say “Hi, mom. How are you?” and get answers like “Great. Planted some
flowers. Making spaghetti for dinner.” Instead I was learning things I never
WANTED to know—how to pick up on subtle indicators and behaviors that pointed
to things going terribly awry; and how to get help from the county, which meant
things had to get to a point where we could PROVE my mom was a danger to
herself or others. And I was angry that this was what my life now HAD to be.
It took me a while to realize that my anger was misplaced.
My mom really COULDN’T help it. She WASN’T doing it on purpose. She really DID
want to be happy, stable, and enjoying life—finding humor in everyday
circumstances—the way she always had. Instead of BLAMING her, I needed to love
her
Mom was stable for the next couple years. Our family had the
opportunity to move into a historic 1900 home that some friends were buying,
mostly for the cost of doing some work to improve its condition. But the house
was in Salem. My mom was not happy about us relocating—she reasoned that she
wouldn’t see us very often; having us nearby was a great comfort to her.
Not long after our move, my mother experienced a terrible
episode. As I recall, she’d stopped taking some of her medication—she felt
fine, so decided she didn’t need it. The results were disastrous. Eventually,
after she began to do some dangerous things, we were forced to seek temporary
court-ordered commitment. Testifying in court against one’s own mother (even
while knowing you’re doing it “for her own good”) has got to be one of the MOST
undesirable life experiences imaginable. But the end result was good.
Before we knew it, it was time for Kristiana to start first
grade. She’d attended a wonderful Lutheran school for preschool and
kindergarten in Albany, during which time I’d worked for a reading clinic in
Corvallis—which I absolutely loved. Even though we moved in December, we kept
Kristiana in her class in Albany to finish out the year, commuting each day
until June.
We didn’t know much about the Christian schools in Salem, so
one of the main ones we visited was also a Lutheran school. The transition,
though, proved to be rough. Kristiana felt agitated and uncomfortable a lot in
her class and didn’t seem to develop a good rapport with her teacher. She did
some things that could be considered “acting out.” It was then that the teacher
suggested we seek some counseling. It only took three sessions. Bottom line:
change was HARD for this girl, and this transition to a new town, church, and
school virtually all at once had proven to be a bit much for her.
Byron and a friend worked for a while (a year and a half or
so) running their own renovations company. I began a tutoring business in my
home. This wasn’t SUPER lucrative though, as I only had a couple clients at any
given time.
I felt I wanted a Christian school job. It seemed like it’d
be a better, less harrowing, more encouraging, less stressful atmosphere. I
happened to interview at a school where—lo and behold—a long-time friend whom I
hadn’t seen in years worked—Cornerstone Christian School. She was actually
going to be part of the interview team! I was offered the job and couldn’t have
been more thrilled, except for the fact that I’d never been a full-time teacher
apart from student teaching—and I’d be teaching THREE grades.
I struggled—and burned the midnight oil. I’d never had my
own classroom of one grade, let alone three! The girls missed me,
for it seemed that even when I was home I was always doing schoolwork.
Honestly, I was trying to wrap my head around how to have three different
things going at once in one classroom and be able to help everyone who needed
help. It was not a natural way of thinking for me, and the more ideas people
tried to give me—the more overwhelmed I became. But this was my first CLASS! I HAD to make it work. But how?
One day, after about a month in, I had a terribly failed
lesson. My principal had come to observe—I got so discombobulated that I had to
stop in the middle and do story time. After that, the friend who’d helped to
hire me met me in the hall. All she had to do was ask how things went, and I
burst into tears. I remember saying, “I don’t think I can do this.” I felt I
was failing at the one thing I had been told I was born to do. I had worked in
a Christian school for a required six-week internship during my sophomore year
of college, and a teacher I greatly respected had told me that. Perhaps he was
wrong.
Just days later, I resigned. Thankfully, I felt God give me
a peace about it and release me. But emotionally, I felt like I must be from
the Island of Misfit Teachers. In my heart, I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover.
I’d done a SMIDGE of subbing in the Albany area after Kalina
was a year old. I decided to try my hand at subbing here in Salem. Once I
attended the orientation, I got started right away.
I hadn’t been working for long when a more permanent
position became available. A teacher was retiring mid-year, so they were
looking for a teacher to fill that position for the remainder of the year. It
was teaching middle school reading and language arts. Finally! I was going to
teach the subject matter I LOVED. But to truly TEACH requires a group of
students who are willing to LEARN. This was NOT the class I took on. This group
of students had clearly been trained NOT to work. In addition, this was one of
the “rougher” schools in the district—one that housed not only some gang
members but a lot of gang wannabes. If my classroom management skills were
lacking before, they were about to be put to the ultimate test. I had
undoubtedly bitten off more than I could chew. But I wanted to prove myself—TO
myself.
There were days that I CRIED because I had to go to work. I
SO wanted to make a difference, but it was difficult with this group of
students, many of whose attitudes said “make me.” Miraculously and about fifty
referrals written to the principal’s office later, I finished the year. A staff
member who was also a local pastor commended me—“You had the class from hell,”
he put it—bluntly.
I felt even more convinced that Christian school would be my
niche…if I ever taught again. I realized it probably wouldn’t be at
Cornerstone (that ship had not only sailed—it had SUNK), but because I’d been
on “the inside,” I knew what a quality school it was—and that I wanted my kids
there.
We enrolled Kristiana in third grade and Kalina in preschool
at Cornerstone in 2000. I was then expecting another baby, whom we’d decided
would be our last. I became as involved a volunteer mom as I possibly could. I
did the Friday Fun Lunch program our second year there--with baby Josiah then
in tow, filled in for a teacher who had to be out for a few weeks due to
medical reasons, and in 2002 helped spearhead a Young Authors program for our
school.
After working for a year at Kristiana’s previous private
school as a reading specialist (through a Salem-Keizer grant), I started
another tutoring business and with double the clients I’d had before, but I
continued to sub occasionally under our principal at the time, Brad Wallace.
In 2003 I applied for a job at the school and was extremely
disappointed, even hurt, when I didn’t get hired. But I still wanted to do
something useful. My heart was definitely there, and my girls were thriving.
The question was—would I ever teach again? For now, I decided to put the idea
of teaching on the back burner.
Kalina’s fourth grade year, a friend and I (who was a fellow
parent at CCS) had a vision to start a library. Our school’s “library”
consisted of some old Christian biographies and a couple rows of Hardy Boys books.
We drew up a proposal, got thrift store and donated books, and received some
hands-on training from an experienced Christian school librarian. I LOVED doing
library with my friend, running our crazy read-a-thons, and seeing the kids get
so excited about reading. We poured our hearts into it, and it was amazing.
Especially that first year.
But
eventually, God had other things in mind. The library was to serve as my
launching pad. At this point I still felt like I’d never truly be a “real
teacher.” That same year, Mr. Wallace hired me—ME—to teach language arts,
reading, writing, and spelling part-time in the fifth- and sixth-grade class,
sharing the load with another teacher, Mrs. Wolfert, who covered the other
subjects. It was decided that part of my duties would also include a part
pull-out, part assist-in-the-classroom gig for fourth grade language arts.
My
co-librarian, Paige, and I had spent the summer bulking up the new library, so
it was ready to go. I did library class with her on Fridays, since my teaching
schedule allowed it. I was thankful for the part-time schedule. My experiences
had made me rather gun shy as to whether I could actually HANDLE a full-time
class for a full year.
I POURED myself into the curriculum,
devising fun ways to spark the kids’ creativity and reading ahead in their
novels (I think I had three different groups) so that I could write good
higher-order thinking questions to expand their comprehension. I had the kids
decorate soup cans, and once a week we’d do “Soup Can Spelling.” They’d save
the words they’d missed in their cans for further review. I’d been given a
chance to show my worth, and by golly—I WANTED to be the best possible teacher
I could be.
In 2006,
all those fifth- and sixth-graders had moved on to other schools. There were no
real plans in the works for us to add middle school. I was enjoying doing
library but a bit sad I wasn’t teaching. Still, I wanted to make a difference
at CCS—it felt like the right place for me to be, and I’d certainly prayed for
God’s help in all that I’d been involved in there thus far, which included
overseeing the Young Authors program. I
knew Mr. Wallace’s confidence in me had grown—and that pleased me greatly. It
was at the end of the 2005-2006 school year that he announced to us his
intention to administrate for the Christian school he’d worked at before, as
their middle school principal.
Without
the funds at that time to hire another full-time principal, the school board
took charge of hiring and overseeing the teachers. Toward the end of October,
the first-grade teacher, Monique, and myself were called into a meeting with
the board chairman and another board member. There were to be some significant
staffing changes—one of those would be fairly immediate and would necessitate a
teacher taking over a second- and third-grade class until Christmas break. But
the fourth- and fifth-grade teacher would not be returning after Christmas
break.
So after
Christmas break…Monique was to inherit the second-graders, and I would be
needed to teach grades three-through-five! There was palpable shock in the
room, and Monique voiced the question that was on both our minds, “Do we have a
choice?” What she meant, in short, was—is there another way? But
there simply wasn’t. The numbers wouldn’t allow for new hires at the time, so
in some ways it was a blessing in disguise—but at the time, it didn’t seem like
it.
I had
flashbacks of my “failure” with a three-grade class before. How on earth could
I do this? But at the very same time I was doubting myself, something rose up
in me—and it wasn’t OF me. God seemed to be speaking gently to my spirit, ‘My grace is sufficient for you.’
That
proved to be true. By the end of the year, I’d grown to love each one of my
students very much—one of them having been my daughter, Kalina. I remember
crying as I shared a poem on promotion night. It was a pivotal year. With no
middle school in sight, even our fourth-graders wouldn’t be returning. There
were awards given to those who’d been with the school the longest, and each
student received a brick which read, “You’ll always be a part of our
Cornerstone.”
The
following year, I was called upon to teach a second-and-third grade class. I
looked forward to a full year with the same group of kids, as I’d only EVER
taught for half a year. This too was a small but challenging group—and I had to
push some outside their comfort zones and find alternative outlets for others.
I became keenly attuned to individual needs, strengths, and struggles. I wasn’t
always sure I was doing the right thing, but one thing I knew God had put on my
heart—and that was to LOVE these kids.
I was
excited when He directed me creatively to choose projects that they liked, such
as the “create-a-planet” project. One of the best things I decided to do
was Operation Flat Stanley. Flat Stanley is the main character in a series of
books by Jeff Brown. He becomes as flat as an envelope one night when a
bulletin board falls on him. He finds that in this state he can fit in places
he couldn’t before and even serve as a kite for his brother. And best of all—he
can be mailed to visit his friends in other places. Our Flat Stanleys traveled
to other countries, as well as different parts of the U.S. We kept a pin board
of the world on which we marked with green pins the places he went and with red
pins the places from which other Stanleys were sent to us. It was educational
and fun.
It was a
growing year for me as a teacher, as I had many different levels of students
within the two grades I was teaching. And it was a rough year emotionally,
because our son, Josiah, was struggling and we didn’t know why. He was only a
first-grader, but something was clearly amiss. And in February, it all came to
a head.
Day 22:
Keeping Heart, Part 7 – Goodbyes and Good Teaching
I saw the
warning signs—it seemed every day was bringing some kind of outburst—and some
were less minor than others. God was preparing me for what was coming. I had
contacted a neurological remapping center called Nehemiah’s Ranch just prior to
the final straw. It sounded like the perfect program for our son. When it
became clear that Josiah could no longer continue at school, I was forced to
resign—I had made it over half-way through the school year, but sadly I
wouldn’t be able to finish the year—I had to put my son first.
God, in
His grace, provided for my absence. Melanie Pfaff, who was our office
administrator at the time but had done a lot of teaching in different forums,
was able to take over the majority of the class day while Karri Bauldree, our
P.E. teacher took on math; it was a strong subject for her. Since the kids
already had an established relationship with these two wonderful ladies, the
transition wasn’t as drastic as it could have been otherwise.
Josiah and
I spent the next few months with me TRYING
to home school and trying even harder to understand the strange outbursts I
knew weren’t who my boy TRULY was inside. After testing at Nehemiah’s Ranch, it
was clear that there was some dysregulation, probably stemming from some steps
that were skipped in his development as an infant. This could be largely
corrected. But it was going to be expensive.
I was NOT
to be dissuaded. I sent out letters explaining the situation, and God provided
generous donors to fund the necessary treatment. I knew that if I could just
make it through this school year, things would get easier. Josiah began the
program in June, which was three hours a day, five days a week. A few weeks
into the program, we were noticing marked changes in his behavior and response
to parental requests. His brain was literally being remapped. There were never
any academic concerns with Josiah—his brain just wasn’t receiving messages
correctly in terms of responses to outward influences, which included injury
(for things that would make most kids scream in pain, he would barely even
REACT), changes in routine (we had to learn to alert him with a heads-up for
any changes that were coming up), and cause-and-effect situations.
Cornerstone
was absorbed by Willamette Christian that year. In August, I began looking for
work with WCS. I knew there wasn’t anything available on the Keizer campus,
where I’d made a home for myself over the past eight years, so I checked in
with the south campus in Turner. In fact, they were in need of a middle school
Bible teacher. I interviewed and felt it went well. The position was offered to
me. Nervous to accept the job, I talked to a couple friends; they encouraged me
to take it.
From the
get-go, I could tell that these students had been through too many Bible
teachers. They were prepared to test me…and I WASN’T prepared for the test. As
a result, I tried to keep them busy and in hindsight, probably asked too much
of them academically. But I believed them to be bright and capable. What I
found I wasn’t really able to do was bridge the relational gap and gain their
trust. This too was some sort of training ground for me, for in the days ahead
I would feel just as overwhelmed in a DIFFERENT facet of life.
In
September, the center Josiah attended (in the afternoons) unexpectedly closed.
I had to quickly figure out what would happen with him. In meeting with the
principal, some numbers were worked out so that he could attend half-days at
WCS. And it was a marvelous success.
But in
October, things went awry. My mother, whose mobility had become increasingly
compromised due to her diabetes, took a fall. They had a part-time caregiver,
whom we’d FORCED them to allow—but she wasn’t there 24/7. My dad couldn’t get my
mom off the floor, nor figure out what to do. Finally, a neighbor friend called
the ambulance. She had severe edema in both legs and was forced to go into a
care center. My dad, who’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease in
September, obviously needed someone to take charge of his welfare. My mom had
been the one to compensate for his decreasing mental abilities and tell him
what to do—to keep him safe.
We brought
him to our home, but he couldn’t really be left alone all day. Since my job was
in the afternoons, I had to drop my dad off in Albany with the part-time
caregiver. Then I’d go to work, Josiah would go to school, then we’d go get my
dad afterward. This went on for several weeks.
Work
wasn’t getting any easier, I had a lot to focus on with Josiah (while trying
not to neglect my other two kids or husband), and having my dad there was like
having another kid to look after. He’d get lost in the house sometimes at night
on his way to the bathroom. I had to make sure he took his medication at the
right times. There was just a lot to remember that I wasn’t used to having to
track.
The end of
October, we placed my father in an Alzheimer’s facility in Dallas, one of the
hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Unfortunately, my mom was still in the
facility in Albany. I was doing a lot of extra driving to see both parents and
advocate for them. Plus, I was the one who had to take them to appointments and
such. And I was working my part-time job (that by now I felt I was failing at)
and trying to support/be involved in Josiah’s school experience. There just
wasn’t much left of ME to go around, and I could tell my family was starting to
suffer for it—and I felt that I
must be on the verge of some kind of breakdown. But I kept going. And I prayed
like never before.
But one
day toward the beginning of November. I stopped at the principal’s office
between classes. And I cried. Our administrator was very sympathetic. I told
him all that was going on with my folks and of my classroom struggles—I
remember saying, “Something’s got to give—and I think it has to be my job.”
My new
focus for the next few months was my family—which included regular visits to
both parents. It was hard to see my dad’s mental decline—and my mom’s physical
decline. And to not be able to reconcile the situation—I wanted them to be
TOGETHER. But there was nothing I could do but wait and trust God that He was
working behind the scenes. There were days when I got extremely depressed and
didn’t answer the phone. I felt like the load was too great. Eventually, I’d
have to give it to the Lord, but it seemed I always waited too long.
By
January, Josiah was able to start attending school full-time. We were so
thankful for all the progress he’d made and how God had orchestrated
everything. In February, my mom was able to be placed in an excellent care
facility in Dallas. I would pick my dad up from his facility, then we’d go and
visit Mom together. Things were finally falling into place—but I wondered if
I’d EVER set foot in a classroom again—except as an occasional sub for WCS.
The
following year, I worked as a paid librarian at the Keizer campus. It felt good
to be back “home.” The teachers there were my friends and had been a great
support system for me through the previous year’s trials. Through a downturn in
the economy and circumstances beyond our control, my family had lost both our
home and business—as well as a van, but that seemed like a minor thing
comparatively.
I served
in other capacities while I was at the school, on a volunteer basis, including
Young Authors. Young Authors is a major undertaking in which all the elementary
students write their own books, which are judged for awards. It culminates in a
big day of workshops at the end of the year—put on by various authors, drama
and music professionals, puppeteers, and the like—it’s a massive immersion in
the arts. And it requires a lot of time to put together. I was definitely back
in my element.
For the
next three years, I had the privilege of teaching language arts pull-outs for
the classes with multiple grade levels. I was so blessed to be entrusted with
“real teacher” duties; it really boosted my confidence.
Our son
was able to rejoin his old friends at the Keizer campus during 2009, so I got
to be his language teacher for a couple years. He also was diagnosed with mild
ADHD, ODD, and mild social adjustment disorder with anxious mood that same
year. We did our best, as parents, to make sure there was enough intervention
and accountability but also grace for our son--a difficult balance at best.
I also
continued doing library and Young Authors. During that time, our school’s name
changed to Crosshill Christian School, and our principal retired, after 35-plus
years of service in Christian education.
The year
Josiah moved back to the south campus (where he'd attended during second grade)
for sixth grade, I didn’t even make it for the first day of school. My dad’s
condition worsened, seemingly overnight. He’d stopped walking, eating, and
talking—in a matter of three days, he was gone. I was sad for me but happy for
HIM that his battle with Alzheimer’s was over.
I continued
my teaching journey, while now trying to be an ADDITIONAL support to my
grieving mom. The relationships I’d built with the kids were priceless to me,
and I had the honor of knowing that my fellow teachers respected me and saw me
as “a real teacher,” even an excellent one. In fact, in both 2007 and 2011 I
received the “Wings of Excellence” Award for teaching. For so long, I hadn’t
even thought of myself as a GOOD teacher—now my peers were saying I had
excelled.
I
reflected on all that had transpired up to that point, the personal hardships,
the horrors of failed lessons and thankless students—which in no way compared
to the blessings I’d received along the way. I learned how to improve in my
classroom management skills and come up with systems that worked. I was able to
take my classes further than I’d envisioned academically—we even produced a
school newspaper, The Gliding Gazette. I had gotten to venture “outside the
box” in ways that many teachers never get to. I got to show the kids that the
English language could truly be FUN. And they had shown ME how fun—how
incredibly rewarding— it could be to teach in the area I felt most passionate
about. My “teacher’s heart” and the creativity that goes along with it were
things God WANTED me to see in myself. But it took a long time for me to truly
see them.
In 2013 I
felt called to leave CCS and focus on my writing—which had been a life-long
passion for me as well. Honestly, I also needed to re-evaluate some things in
my life—where I’d been and where I was going. It turned out to be very
providential—seventh grade was a rough year for Josiah, and I was thankful to
be more emotionally available to him during that time.
My final
year teaching language arts there, my mom's health really began to deteriorate.
It appeared that she'd had a few small strokes--and her speech had been
affected in that she didn't always use the correct words for things she was
trying to say. The reality was that there could be a BIGGER stroke at any time.
I had
three classes each day, two in the morning and one after lunch. It was on a
typical morning, toward the end of my first class, that I got the call. I
needed to call Dallas Retirement Village right away and speak to the nurse.
Day 23:
Keeping Heart, Part Eight – Child of God
I called
right away, sensing in my spirit that the news was about to change my life. The
nurse explained that my mom appeared to have had a stroke. Her eyes had rolled
back, and she was no longer responsive—she further informed me that this could
very well be “a terminal event” and that I should try and get over to see her
as soon as possible. My amazing co-workers assured me that they would cover
things with the kids and I should not worry about anything at school.
I called
my husband, and we made some quick arrangements. He could hear the panic in my
voice that I was trying to subdue. And he was extremely gentle and supportive.
We took
our kids over that night to “say goodbye” to my mom. There were lots of tears.
I remember singing to her, telling her what a good mom she had been—which was
absolutely true. My mother suffered a lot of abuse growing up, and she came
from a dysfunctional background with alcoholic parents. But she made SURE that
was not MY experience. She was a very good mom. A more loving individual you’d
likely never meet. Yes, she had mental health issues later in life, but even
that never changed what a kind and generous heart she had and what a tender
place she had in it for all of us—her daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids.
The next
day, she was gone. Byron and I were there when she breathed her last breath and
went to be with Jesus, just as we had been with my dad, about two and a half
years prior. I cried way more this time, which really surprised me since I was
a big-time “daddy’s girl.” Some of the tears were out of regret—not having
spent as much time with her or talking to her on the phone as I COULD have;
some were brought on by the stark realization that I now had NO parents on this
earth; some were because of how much I knew I’d miss her; and the rest were
simply a release of bottled, controlled emotion that had built up over weeks
and months.
Byron
wondered if I’d want to wait till the funeral home came. I said, “No, she’s not
there anymore.” I knew that what was left in that room was just a shell—my
mom’s spirit had gone on to Glory—and there was nothing left for us to do at
this time.
We had a
lovely, well-attended service celebrating my mom a couple weeks later. We’d had
a very nice one for my dad as well. This one was hardest on my kids though.
Still, the girls managed to share some special thoughts about their
grandma—through sobs. Kristiana and I sang together—“I’ll Fly Away,” my mom’s
favorite, accompanied by my friend Amy on the piano and her husband Rick on the
guitar. It was a healing event for all of us.
Just
before my mom passed away, Byron went through some part-time work while
searching for a permanent position that would make ends meet for our family.
God provided an open door for him with Safeway as a special projects person,
doing all sorts of maintenance, safety-related repairs, and—well, “special
projects” for almost twenty different stores. We have been so thankful for this
job—and the flexibility it provides, as Byron sets his own schedule.
My heart
is still in the classroom, even though it’s also in the pages of my yet-to-be-published
written works—the first of which will be Augustus the Anteater, a book I wrote
at age thirteen—receiving the original idea and many of the story ideas from my
mom. Though I didn’t get it published while she was still here, I’m pretty
certain she’ll be the first to know about it once it is—and I want to honor her
memory by accomplishing this desire of her heart for me.
In terms
of teaching, I don’t believe I could have done all that I did with just ANY classes in just ANY school; the Lord gave me a unique
opportunity that has given me hope for the future, confidence as an instructor,
and gratitude for God’s ability to continue to pull me UP and carry me THROUGH
in the most difficult seasons. As I put it in a blog I wrote previously, “Though
I DEVELOPED as a teacher in
many ways, it was being ENveloped
in God’s grace that caused it all to be possible.”
And it’s
been in that loving embrace of the Father that I’ve begun to discover who I
am—why I’m here—what my influence truly is. He’s never let me down, and I’ve
never had to go through any of the hard things alone. My identity journey began
with a workshop called Life Change in 2007—but that was only a beginning. Yes,
I still got depressed and anxious after Life Change—but it was different. I now
knew a different reality, and I couldn’t quite fit in “the old shoes” anymore.
The Holy Spirit kept reminding me who I was—and even when I didn’t fully
believe it…I couldn’t IGNORE it either.
He’s shown
me that, though I’ve always SEEN myself as a trusting person, I had some major,
core trust issues in my life. I had a hard time trusting my husband—not
BEHAVIORALLY: I never have worried about an affair or anything like that—but
INTIMATELY, with the things of my heart. And I’ve learned that I haven’t
trusted MYSELF—to be a good wife, mother, teacher…a good ANYTHING. But that
trust—that CONFIDENCE really—has grown as I’ve come to recognize in greater
measure the most IMPORTANT thing I am—and that is “a child of God.”
It is out
of THAT place of being loved and adored completely by my Father that all the
other facets of life begin to fall into place. In the absence of my earthly
parents, God wanted to establish an even more intimate relationship with me—to
be a Father to me in a much deeper way than I’d experienced up to this point. I
realized that I don’t have to be perfect; I don’t have to live a life that’s a
carbon-copy of someone else’s; I don’t even have to fear failure.
As this
revelation has grown in me, I’ve had many opportunities to test and prove its
truth. One arena was something I’d felt I SHOULD do but had shied away from
because of the lie that I wasn’t “good enough.” I SO didn’t want to make a
mistake—I asked God for a sign to confirm to me that this was “the right
thing.” And of course…He gave me one.
Day 24:
Keeping Heart, Part Nine – Made for More
Byron had
previously gone through both the first and second year programs of Life School
of Supernatural Ministry—a school at my local church, modeled after a larger
school at Bethel Church in Redding, California, basically focused on learning
to walk in close connection with the Holy Spirit so that we can be carrying out
God’s will on the earth “as it is in heaven.” If GOD is supernatural, His children
are too. And that means ME.
I felt God
WANTED me to be a part of learning how to hear His Spirit more clearly—and to
boldly go forth in the power of that same Holy Spirit. I believe that God is
ALWAYS speaking. But we are not always listening. I admit that I was nervous. I
mean, what if God wanted me to do something really HARD? Even EMBARRASSING?
Jesus said
in John 14:12, “Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works
I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I
am going to the Father.” If that statement were really TRUE, then I had to stop
just living my life without a second thought to the other people in the world
who may need ME to give them a message from the Lord, pray for them, or what
have you—and I HAD to stop putting God in a box.
There was
really no question in my mind that I SHOULD be walking in the power of the Holy
Spirit—the question remained as to whether I COULD. In Luke 10:19 Jesus says “I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to
overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you.” ALL the power
means ALL the power. I figured it was about time I began learning how to take
back the ground the enemy had stolen. But I was still a bit hesitant.
Then
one day, God showed me something in the spirit as I was praying for our
church’s Mexico missions team. He showed me a picture of the team in an open
area with white pillars high on a hill, with steps going up to it—that looked
out over the land. I felt I was supposed to share with the leader that God was
raising her up to a new level of authority as a leader and wanted her to be
encouraged—something to that effect. I described to her what the Lord had shown
me. Her response was, “You described the place where we just were.” To me this
was a confirmation regarding something I’d been concerned with in terms of Life
School; that sealed it—it was like He was saying, “Yes, you really DO hear from
me—you have nothing to worry about.” I just needed to be reminded.
LSSM
(Life School of Supernatural Ministry) added a third year program, which
launched in the fall. So Byron attended third year while I attended first year.
It was a tremendous experience, and I will likely go back in the fall to do the
second year program. Through the
training I received, I was able to hone my skills—open my spiritual eyes and
ears to the things that are available to all of us who believe.
In
the winter the year before, God had spoken to me about sharing my story
regarding depression…with the whole CHURCH. I sort of MILDLY argued with
Him—‘but I still DEAL with it, Lord; it’s not COMPLETELY gone.’ But I had
learned HOW to be free—yes, I was still walking it out, but that’s probably why
God wanted me to share—from the HEART of the matter, so to speak. So I began
preparing my message. A few months later, I called my pastor and asked if I
could share. He wanted to pray about it, which of course was fine with me.
The
first week in November, my pastor finally got back to me—he wanted me to PREACH
in just a couple weeks! That was the beginning of a whole NEW form of
supernatural ministry—I’ve felt led to help those who’ve traveled the same
terrain I have, and the Lord has prompted me in various ways to share elements
of my story, reach out to specific people, and basically “strengthen the
hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble,…” (Hebrews 12:12, NASB) in
whatever ways I can. In stepping out, I have gained even MORE freedom in
Christ—and He has broadened my areas of influence. It’s not something I sought
out, but it’s something I now treasure and count an incomparable honor.
For those
who are interested, this is the message I shared in November. Blessings!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cg8nXEaT46Q&spfreload=10
Day 25:
The Perfect Love
I woke up
to my alarm clock radio playing these exact words: "I wanna show the world
the love you gave for me." And that's precisely what I want to say today.
God valued you so much that He gave a PERSON--in YOUR place--and not some
random person, but His own SON. Jesus is PERFECT LOVE. While Mary Poppins may
be "practically perfect in every way," Jesus IS perfect in every
way--and His love is far beyond anything we could ask or imagine--and with HIS
Spirit inside us..."Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than
all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,"
(Eph. 3:20)--WE can live in that reality.
We have
been given new life, and our new life is one of God's POWER at work IN us. He
loved us so much that He was willing to share His power with us. And that power
is available for tearing down strongholds: "The weapons we fight with are
not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to
demolish strongholds" (2 Cor. 10:4). God's great love, which He
demonstrated on the Cross, gave us this power.
What
strongholds are in your life today? Depression is an obvious one; so is
anxiety. But maybe there are some thought patterns that have you bound. Maybe
you've developed some sinful or destructive habits. I believe strongholds are
rooted in fear--fear of not having enough, fear of not BEING enough, fear of
the unknown, fear of rejection, fear of the future--which can lead to
hopelessness. Those are just a few. But..."perfect love expels all fear.
If we are afraid, it is for fear of punishment, and this shows that we have not
fully experienced his perfect love" (I John 4:18, NLT).
Today I
want to challenge you to list the different ways God has shown His love to you.
Thank Him for those, then ask Him to SHOW you greater dimensions of His
love--tell him you want to experience it! You were MEANT to experience it. And
you were meant to show the world as well. Ask the Father to show you how to use
the POWER that dwells in you--the power of His Spirit--to tear down the
strongholds that keep you from knowing the full measure of His love, and that
keep you from showing the world what love looks like. May you begin a journey
of fully experiencing God's perfect love. It is available--and it is for YOU.
