CLEANSED

Over a month ago, I put the word "CLEANSE" on my calendar for Tuesday, April 12, 2011. My first-ever colonoscopy was scheduled for the day after, so I began dreading the clear liquids and horrible-tasting, clean-you-out stuff that had to be consumed in large quantities at various points preceding my arrival for the test. Generally, "cleanse" is a good word, especially when you're referring to housekeeping chores, teeth-brushing, make-up removal, and the like. But, this kind of cleanse was what everyone referred to as "by far the worst part of a colonoscopy." The kind where you don't dare leave the house and you wear very loose clothing.

The closer I got to April 12th, the more the Lord convicted me that I needed another kind of cleansing, too. A spiritual cleansing. A time of confession and seeking forgiveness. A day when my slate could be wiped clean and God could hear my prayers again. The vast majority of my prayer time had been consumed with thanksgiving and intercession, with precious little else other than a cursory "and forgive me of my sins." I knew the list had begun to really mount. I could feel it in my soul.

So, last Tuesday morning, after a breakfast of iced tea and jello, I read my Scripture passages for the day, and then I sat still with my notebook turned to a fresh page, my pen poised, and my heart ready to hear from God. I asked God to convict me and to remind me of all the sins in my life that had not been confessed.

I was claiming two verses in particular:

Psalm 32:5 "I acknowledged my sin to Thee, and my iniquity I did not hide. I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the Lord, and Thou didst forgive the guilt of my sin.'"

1 John 1:9 "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."

The conviction began quickly. God brought to my mind overt sins, attitudes that were offensive to Him, promises I had failed to keep, people who were not seeing a consistent Christian walk from me, actions that I had justified as "okay" but that He considered wasteful and ungodly. My pen flew, and the pages quickly filled. With a heavy heart, I got up to do other things for awhile, but the conviction continued. I found that not having food or eating on the front burner of my mind allowed me to focus on more important aspects of my life, and I could hear His voice more clearly. Isn't that why He wants His children to fast?

Throughout the day, as sins (yes, call them what that are, SINS) were brought to my mind, I asked my Heavenly Father to forgive me, and I have the assurance that as He looked into my heart and saw true repentance, then His forgiveness erased my sins -- not the consequences of them, but the guilt of them.

By the end of that 24-hour period, I was physically cleansed and spiritually cleansed. I hope the physical aspect will be an impetus toward better eating habits, and the spiritual effect will cause me to confess and seek forgiveness often. I want the lines of communication between my Abba Father and me to be completely free, clear, and constantly open. Just as I long to hear His voice, I desire for my prayers to be unhindered.

After my colonoscopy, the doctor told Steve (because I was "out of it") that I didn't have to come back for another one for 10 years. That's supposed to be good news from a medical standpoint, but can you imagine how muddled, even destroyed, my communication with God would be if I waited 10 years to confess my sins again? My physical goal will be more fiber and less fat. My spiritual goal will be DAILY confession and cleansing from sin made possible by the death and resurrection of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Selah.

So Many Seasons in my Rearview Mirror

You don't reach the age of 60 without going through many seasons of life. Some I have glided through gracefully, while others have been survived with weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. A few have been barely tolerated, but then there were those that were deliciously savored and reluctantly bidden farewell.

My early childhood, as a product of the innocent 1950's, was enjoyed in a way I could only dream about for my own children and grandchildren. So little television and technology. So much family time and playing outside. The above picture is one of my favorites. In case you see no possible resemblance to the way I look today, I am the one sitting cross-legged on the chair. My Grandmother Rose is holding my little brother Andy and my cousin Dixie, and my Granddaddy Rose is holding my Aunt June. Yes, my grandparents added their 6th child six months after I (their first grandchild) was born. We lived next door to them when I was age 5 until about 9, and their house was THE gathering spot on all holidays and every Sunday afternoon. My granddaddy was a well-respected barber in the City of Athens, who never owned a car, and my grandmother had severe motion sickness so she was the epitome of a stay-at-home mom. She was an awesome cook. Awesome. Not much money, but somehow there were plenty of groceries.

The picture below shows my beautiful momma and handsome daddy. I was in one of my many awkward stages (especially in terms of hairstyles), my brother was always doing funny things, and my little sister was adorable. Do you read that Elder Brother Syndrome in what I just typed? Ha! My mother LOVED Elvis Presley and wouldn't miss an episode of "As the World Turns." My Dad, after being a school teacher, bus driver and principal, had just gotten hired as a mathematician at Redstone Arsenal (back when computers took up whole rooms and weren't even as powerful as a hand-held calculator is today). We never missed church -- Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night, and Vacation Bible School -- unless we had a high fever, measles, mumps, or chicken pox. Times were simple and very, very good. Not much money, but so much love.

Just a couple of years after this picture was made, my Dad was asked to move to Troy, AL to become the Asst. Supt. of the Alabama Baptist Children's Home. He accepted the job. We made this drastic change, and that season will be described in another blog on another day.

My teenage years took place in Troy. Again, another blog for another day.

I started wanting to attend Samford University when I was in about the 9th grade and heard about a wonderful piano teacher there named Mrs. Betty Sue Shepherd. I LOVED my time at Samford, and Mrs. Shepherd had a profound influence on me. That season is definitely worth a whole blog.

While home from Samford one Christmas, I met Steve Pearson (I hope you read my tribute to him in the 40th Anniversary blog I wrote), and not many months later, the Newlywed Season of our lives began. It was another lean season in terms of money. We had a student loan, and I made $15 a week playing for a small independent Methodist church. Believe it or not, that bought a tank of gas and a week's worth of groceries. On Mondays I taught piano lessons to two young girls, so on Monday nights we went to Burger King and then played pool at the Auburn Student Center for a penny a minute. We were so much in love. We had NO IDEA we were just barely makin' it. Definitely, it was one of those Savored Seasons. Ahhhhhhh.

Then, reality time came with graduation from college for both of us and the time for starting careers, getting a mortgage, and making babies. Take a look at these cuties. Didn't we do a good job?
My youngest daughter posted the well-known verse from Ecclesiastes 3:1 on her Facebook page recently. "To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven." I'm not exactly sure what prompted her posting on that day, but I can guess because I was once in a position similar to hers. Young children, lots of runny noses, constant visits to the pediatrician for ear infection re-checks, scraped knees, many nights with sleep interrupted by bad dreams, throwing up, or coughing, etc. etc. I just had 3 children in 5 years. She has 4 little girls and is almost 7-months pregnant with a baby boy. There are innumerable great moments that happen during those years when you are rearing little people to be successful adults, but it's tough on your body, your nerves, and your patience. I've only heard of 2 women in my life who made it through the years of rearing a lot of children (one had 4 and the other had 8) without raising their voices. To this day I am in awe of Mrs. Sam Boster and Mary Quinn.
Only one of the children was a teenager in the above picture, but shortly thereafter, all three of them were teenagers. Once again, there was weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth -- both by them AND by Steve and me, but if it were possible, I would wave my magic wand and have them all at home again. There was constant activity, drama, and a stream of friends. Food was always involved. It was about this time that many churches were building Family Life Centers. My husband's famous words were: "The kitchen table is the REAL Family Life Center." Almost always, we had supper together at night with the television off. Now we were often interrupted by people who had problems with their dogs or cats, but we waited many, many nights until Steve got home, so we could eat together. A memorable season, indeed.

One by one, the children started leaving the nest for college. My wise friend Angie said, "Connie, you'll cry every day for about 3 weeks, then you'll be okay." She was right. I really hated having my chickens out of the nest and quickly learned how to e-mail -- which was much cheaper than long-distance calling. But, about the time I started enjoying going to the grocery store and buying what Steve and I liked rather than what the children or their boyfriends/girlfriends preferred, they came home for a weekend or for the holidays or for the summer.

From the Fall of '92 when the oldest headed to college until December of '99 when the last one got married had to be the most EXPENSIVE season of our lives. But, again, in retrospect, we wouldn't have had it any other way. And, after all, what is money for anyway?

Now, we've been Empty-Nesters for 10 1/2 years and grandparents for almost that long. This season suits us, too. There is so much to enjoy about watching our children be such thriving, successful adults and about playing with and delighting in our grandchildren. Once again, I almost wish I could stop the hands of the clock and just stay at this stage for a very long time to come.

But, I know that other seasons are ahead. Ones that may be the most challenging of all. I haven't been through these stages yet, but I've had a chance to watch my Dad and Steve's mom bravely face them. Losing a spouse, aging, failing health. Those don't sound like a lot of fun. I have to just trust God to give me the grace I will need when these times come.

As a compliment to my mother-in-law, just recently she has had to move into an assisted living facility because of health issues. How hard that must be to go from a comfortable 3-bedroom house, to a 2 bedroom apartment, and now to just one bedroom, a bathroom and a closet. This latest and probably greatest change has been met with determination, optimism and a very positive attitude. She is embracing life, meeting new friends and making herself look attractive and participate in new activities whether she wants to or not. We are very proud of her. I hope my children will be able to say the same of me one of these days. I pray that I won't go kicking and screaming into the times of transition that are inevitable between now and the end of my life.

In Ecclesiastes 3:2-8, there is a great list of occasions starting with the words, "a time to___." I want to be caught engaging in the best items on that list: planting, healing, building up, laughing, dancing, embracing, sewing, speaking, loving.

I trust in God who is Sovereign, who loves me, and who orders all the events in my life according to His purposes. Romans 8:28

So Much for Calm, Quiet Mornings

I admit that I was dawdling this morning. I woke up long before I GOT up. My mind was hard at work, but my body was still at rest -- something I had dreamed about being able to do before I retired. After three solid weeks with a full calendar, this was a rare morning to just slowly fix a bite of breakfast, look over the grocery list (gotta get that senior discount at Publix on Wednesdays), and clip a few more coupons while still wearing my pajamas. Since I have committed to Reading the Bible Through this year, I have been disciplining myself to finishing the designated passage before turning on the computer. Toward The Word was where I was headed when the home land line rang.

When the home phone rings, I'm pretty sure it is either a telemarketer, someone from the church, or my sister-in-law. Today it was Barbara, the music secretary at our new church. It was 9:10 a.m. She said, "Connie, the regular pianist for the senior adult choir is sick. Could you possibly come and play for them this morning?" I said, "What time?" She said, "They start at 9:45." My first response was that it would be virtually impossible because I was pajama-clad and it takes 20-25 minutes to drive from my house, but my second thought was, "Well, I'll be a few minutes late, but I'll hurry."

I don't know any racing terms, but "putting it in high gear" comes to mind. Off went the pajamas, on went the shower cap (no time for shampooing), a quick rinse off (also no time for shaving my legs), then drying off while finding something decent to wear (decent being a very relative term). Bare minimum make-up and a little hair teasing were next, followed by putting in contacts (I can't wear my glasses while playing the piano -- long story for another day), brushing my teeth and applying lipstick. My mother trained me well. No daughter of Mildred Collier's would be caught dead without a noticeable amount of lipstick.

I grabbed up my grocery list, some scissors for clipping more coupons later, stacks of coupons, my glasses in case the contacts failed, and I bolted out the door. The clock in the car said 9:33 a.m.

The first thing I noticed was the brilliance of the day. The bright sunshine and the recent rains made all of the spring colors appear more stunning than ever. Green grass, yellow forsythia, white and pink dogwoods, and the diamonds sparkling on the river made me ever so glad that I was outside to see it all.

The car radio caught me up on the morning news, traffic, and weather, plus a few minutes of "Rick and Bubba" had me chuckling as I drove. I quickly found a parking place and rushed inside. When I walked into the choir room, spontaneous applause erupted. There sat a roomful of delightful people, happy to see me, and willing to take whatever amount of help I might be able to give them.

If you're not a musician, you probably don't understand what it means to sightread a folder full of music. So let's just say that my brain got a great workout for the next 45 minutes. These folks were working on some impressively challenging pieces of music. No 4-part, hymn-style music in 4/4 time for them. No, sir. These were selections they will be performing in a festival coming up next month with complicated rhythms, harmonies and melodies. And, they were SO AFFIRMING to me. I can't remember the last time I was encouraged and appreciated to such a degree. I am very sorry their normal pianist was sick, but I was glad to have this lift to my day. And the hugs when we finished were such a blessing. Several of these folks remembered my Momma and asked about my Dad. You just can't beat that.

With a fully-gratified heart, I went to the grocery store, sat in the parking lot to finish clipping coupons, saved $72.43 on my total bill, and drove home to find one of our neighbors going a few rounds in our yard with his lawnmower -- obviously realizing that ours must be broken (which it is) and Steve must be at work (which he is).

I don't know how a day can get much better, but here I am with a couple of hours before heading back to MY choir practice. I have time to put all the groceries away and tidy up the place. I have time to type out my thoughts about how my interrupted day turned out so much better than I could have planned. And, I have time to thank God for my new home, my new church, my new retirement opportunities, and the time to acknowledge how blessed I truly am.

Happy 40th Anniversary to Us!!

I first laid eyes on Steve Pearson in the pastor's study of Oak Park Baptist Church in Decatur, AL during the Christmas holidays of 1968. Baptist churches back then used to have a tradition called "Student Night at Christmas," in which all of the college students got to talk about life at their various schools and, hopefully, about their involvement in churches and Baptist Student Union on campus. I was home from Samford University, Steve was in from Auburn, and there were others, but not as far as I was concerned once I saw Steve. I made a beeline for my Mom after the service to see if she'd go along with me inviting the other college students to our house for a "fellowship." Always one for a party, she agreed and headed to the store for food while I hurried home to welcome guests. Several came in and I tried to make small talk while I was really waiting for that handsome dark-haired guy with the great smile. He came all right . . . . WITH HIS FIANCEE!!!!! Okay. So their engagement wasn't official. She didn't have a ring or anything, and they hadn't set a date, but still, my feathers were pretty droopy during that particular fellowship.

Much to my dismay (yeah, right), their engagement didn't last too much longer, and they went their separate ways. In the following year and a half, Steve and I saw each other occasionally and "hung out" a few times, but there didn't seem to be any real chemistry, and we both had more interesting relationships going on at our separate schools. Without cell phones or e-mail, times were just different in terms of keeping in touch. We would send occasional cards or notes, but calling was MUCH too expensive, so we just saw each other during various school breaks.

That all changed in August of 1970. We had both broken up with people we'd been dating for awhile, and one night we were both at Wednesday night prayer meeting at the same time. He walked me home (only a block or so away) and asked me out for the following weekend. Suddenly, there was chemistry where there hadn't been any before. :) We spent a lot of time together for a couple of weeks, and then it was time for me to get back to Samford (where I was majoring in piano performance) and for Steve to get back to Auburn (where he was in veterinary school). Somehow, we FOUND ways to communicate from that point on. Basically, our courtship was a long-distance one. He drove to Birmingham a few times, and I found friends who would let him spend the night in the boys' dorm, and I found rides to Auburn and girls I could stay with there. That's just the way you did things back then.

The weekend before Thanksgiving he came to Samford so I could take him to dinner for his 23rd birthday. That night he got on his knees in the lobby of Vail Hall and asked me to marry him. He actually wanted us to get married at Christmas, but I persuaded him for us to wait until Spring Break so we could maybe put together a nice wedding. He "had the talk" with my Dad during Thanksgiving, and we picked out my ring a week or so later. I withdrew from my beloved Samford at the end of that semester and made all of the arrangements to start at Auburn for the spring quarter.
The above picture appeared in the Decatur Daily about a week before our wedding. Mrs. Mildred Jacobs hosted the tea, and my mother and Steve's mom were standing beside me.

While Steve was slaving away with a rough quarter of school, I was enjoying showers and parties and opening wedding gifts. I was also finding ways to have a big wedding on a shoestring. My Dad contributed $500 to the cause. Well, after all, he'd been paying for my tuition, and my brother was about to start college. Again, times were different in 1971.

One of my mother's friends loaned me her wedding dress, and we had printed rather than engraved invitations. In the ceremony, we had one large flower arrangement and then my brother took it immediately to the reception to do double-duty there. Those are just some of the money-saving measures I remember. It didn't matter. There were close to 400 people who came on that Saturday night at 8:00 p.m. on March 20, 1971, and we got just as married as we would have if we'd spent $5000 or $50,000.


Look at that man of mine. Wasn't he a hunk????

It's really so amazing when I think back to those days. A 7-month-long, long-distance courtship and engagement doesn't really assure you that you know everything you need to know about a person, now does it? When we said "I do" to each other that night, we were practically strangers, but the CORE of our marriage was certain, connected and solid. Does that make sense? We both made professions of faith in Christ as children. We grew up in church. Our Dads were both deacons, and our moms were both members of the Women's Missionary Union. We spoke the same "heart language."

Other than spiritually, though, we were polar opposites. I'm an extrovert. He's an introvert. I enjoy spending money. He enjoys saving money. He loves the outdoors. I don't "sweat pretty."

He's an expert fisherman. I enjoy music in almost every form, and Broadway plays, and concerts. In one area, though, he made a "convert" out of me early on. I had never paid much attention to college football. Remember? I went to Samford where we sang "The Doxology" whenever we made a touchdown. The Pearson family had attended Auburn University for several generations. That conversion was easy. I learned to yell "War Eagle" loudly and enthusiastically and relished the year we lived there as a married couple in a 10' by 50' trailer on Wire Road, not far from the Vet School.
On our first anniversary (see me with the wedding cake topper above) we had both finished our college courses. Steve was interning at a vet hospital in Huntsville, and I was teaching music for $400 a month. We lived in a small, furnished, duplex apartment in a rather seedy side of town, but the bliss was still very much on our faces, and we knew we had nowhere to go but UP!!!!

We've had several more deluxe anniversaries since that first one. Number 12 was in Honolulu. Number 25 was in Maui. For Number 30 we were snowmobiling in the Cascade Mountains, and for Number 35 we were in a rain forest resort in Ecuador. This year we're going to Key West for a few days of warm weather, relaxation and fresh seafood.

I'm very excited to be celebrating 40 years with this amazing man. There are some particularly remarkable attributes of his that I'd like to share with you.

1) Steve is a committed follower of Christ and spends time daily in prayer and Bible reading. The children and I have reaped blessings untold as a result.

2) Steve has always given me security and stability because I knew he would do whatever it took to provide what the children and I needed. In the early days of starting his vet practice in Hartselle, I knew in my heart that he would take a second job sacking groceries if there wasn't enough business through the clinic.

3) Not for a single minute in these 40 years have I ever had to doubt his love for me, or his faithfulness to me and to our marriage. What a precious gift that has been and continues to be. I have no doubt that he has read the Book of Proverbs at least 100 times in his life, and I have personally benefited from his commitment to the principles in Proverb 5:15-18:

Drink water from your own cistern, and fresh water from your own well.

Should your springs be dispersed abroad, streams of water in the streets?

Let them be yours alone, and not for strangers with you.

Let your fountain be blessed and rejoice in the wife of your youth.

4) Steve Pearson is a model husband, father, and grandfather. I love him with all my heart. I am blessed beyond measure to be his wife, and I would be so happy to spend 40 MORE years with him. Happy Anniversary, hon.

My Tribute to Betty

My dear friend and prayer partner, Betty Parker, died this week at the age of 75. Tonight there will be a visitation with her family, paying our respects, and tomorrow her funeral will be held. I am feeling a profound sense of loss as my mind grasps the reality that she is no longer an e-mail message away.

I've known Betty since 1973, when Steve and I moved to Hartselle, AL. We were members of First Baptist Church together, and Betty became a loyal client at Steve's veterinary hospital. She was short in stature but tall in opinions, humor, and impact. Betty was a single mother to 3 sons, a caregiver for her mother, and a well-respected city clerk when we met. Between Betty and myself, I would describe our relationship in those years as just good, pleasant acquaintances. She gave me an encouraging word on Sunday mornings as she passed the piano bench, and I watched with admiration while her youngest son Lee received many honors through the Royal Ambassador program.

That all changed when Steve and I were appointed as missionaries to Ecuador. We were not even at the same church by that time, but God prompted Betty to adopt us as her special project from that point on. She was one of the earliest additions to our list of prayer supporters, and she faithfully responded to every newsletter we sent out. Just a few months after we arrived on the field, she wrote asking what items we would like to have that couldn't be found in Ecuador. I mentioned some things, and she promptly started collecting them. The box she sent took 51 weeks to finally get to us!!!!! For some reason, the people in customs decided to keep it for MONTHS. Fortunately, the goodies were non-perishables and got to us almost 95% intact. I especially remember how much we loved seeing that cornmeal and those instant mixes emerge from the box. We were so excited! As was true of all the goodies we received from the States, this box, too, was God-timed to provide encouragement and blessing when we needed it the most.

Betty went out of her way to do other things for us, as well. She got the addresses of our children and parents and sent them cards and notes of encouragement. She made phone calls on our behalf, for both business and personal purposes. The remarkable aspect was the fact that most of this time her health issues made it very difficult to get out of her house, but she was performing a valuable ministry using her computer, her telephone and the postal service. There were many days that we logged on to the internet, and there was an e-mail from Betty just saying that God had put us in her heart and on her mind, that she was praying for us, and asking if there was anything she could do. She was a large part of our efforts in South America. Even today, when I am speaking to a missions group about our time in Ecuador, I tell the listeners that if they are unable to go on a short-term or a long-term mission project, then they can "be someone's Betty," and I describe all of the ways that she lifted us up during those years.

Steve did a little long-distance veterinary consulting when Betty had a concern about her dog, but mostly he just reassured her and suggested that she see Dr. Gault and Dr. Crouch, who were well-acquainted with her pet and were just right down the street from her house.

Betty's ministry of prayer and affirmation continued when we moved back to Alabama. Because she was so prompt with her e-mail responses, I found myself often pouring out my heart to her about the children, the grandchildren, my work, issues involving church, or our future, and asking her to pray. I KNOW that she interceded on my behalf. I could feel it. I trusted Betty, and she always gave me great advice and counsel. She was direct and very honest. She never tried to sugarcoat anything. She just gave it to me straight and vowed to pray with me. She had gone from being just an acquaintance. Now she was a dear precious friend.

Betty had a habit of passing on funny or helpful e-mails. The last one I got from her came on January 1, 2011, and was a REAL JUKEBOX, where you could just click on a year and hit songs from that year would pop up and start playing.

The last time I saw Betty was on January 27, 2011, the 25th anniversary of my mother's death. Betty was in Huntsville Hospital, having gone there because of heart problems and difficulty breathing. I knew that a visit would need to be very short because talking would wear her out, and it was very difficult for Betty NOT to talk if there was someone in the room. I took a little plant, a cupcake and pictures of my grandchildren. Just as a dear friend does, she smiled and admired each one. I told her in person that I loved her, and I truly hope she knew I meant it from the bottom of my heart.

Just last week, Frank called me and had me on speakerphone so his Mom could hear me and we could communicate. Again, I told her I loved her and I bragged on what a great job she had done in raising her boys because I had been so impressed with their devotion and loyalty to her in these months. She returned my love and told me to tell Steve hello.

The next call I received from her home number was the message that she had taken a turn for the worst and only had a few hours. Then, Tuesday night was the call I had been expecting but dreading, oh so much, that she had died.

Her son Lee says that she is now in the arms of Jesus, and I have no doubt that is true. While I am looking out my window at the bright sunshine, Betty is seeing for the first time the brightness of God's glory. She's laying crowns at the feet of Jesus, and she's moving into the mansion He prepared just for her. While I am selfishly mourning the loss of Betty in my life, I acknowledge that heaven just became sweeter and more eagerly-anticipated.

Thank you, God, for Betty Parker and for allowing me to know her, to experience her, and to love her.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His godly ones." Psalm 116:15

A Valentine's Day from Not So Long Ago

This picture was made on Valentine's Day, 2003. We had been in Ecuador for a little over six weeks, and this was taken inside our first apartment, which, to us, seemed to have been made almost entirely of glass. We were in the city of Cuenca, nestled snuggly in the Andes Mountains. You can see some of those mountains and examples of typical architecture outside the window behind me.
Steve made the pictures because he was very proud of his purchase -- and so was I. If the roses had been purchased alone, they would have cost about a dollar and a half. But, when the balloon, the greenery, the vase and the ribbon were all added, the total came to a whopping $10.00!!! Speaking of roses, if you happened to receive some today, it is highly likely that they came from Ecuador -- a major exporter of roses to the U.S.

Those of you who know me well can look at my face and notice, especially in my eyes, that I was going through colossal upheaval and challenges in those days. Truthfully, I didn't know it showed quite so much until I saw these pictures. Every "known" in the first 52 years of my life had been turned into an "unknown." Unfamiliar cooking methods, unusual foods, language school, transportation, new friends, cultural nuances and traditions -- you name it. Steve was all I had from my "past life."

As I remember those days, I'm also reminded of the dependence upon God that was a part of every waking hour. We had an awesome prayer team that was constantly lifting us up and interceding on our behalf. God demonstrated His love and provision on a steady and constant basis. Every promise that He had made in His Word, and that I claimed in those days, was fulfilled. I can see for myself how frightened I was, but I can also testify to God's grace and mercy. Not many weeks later, the look in my eyes revealed peace and the steadfast "blessed assurance" that I was not alone. God knew where I was, and He had His eye on me just as it was on every sparrow.

Steve and I have now had 40 Valentine's Days together, and for each one, he has been sweet, generous and loving. But, I think for both of us, that this particular February 14th stands out because it represents a time of total dependence on God.

P.S. Two years ago I got to be in the delivery room when our 7th grandchild, Penelope Delia Rodgers, was born on Valentine's Day. She is a blonde, blue-eyed cherub who is a human whirlwind of activity and excitement. Happy Birthday, sweet Penelope!

The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir and Its Ministry to Me

(Part of my collection of Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir CDs)

It has been 15 or 20 years since I first read "Fresh Wind Fresh Fire" by Jim Cymbala and was so impressed about his ministry at the Brooklyn Tabernacle, led by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Shortly afterward, I was introduced to the music of the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir because of some selections of the Minister of Music where I was playing the organ at the time. That led to purchasing my first CD produced by the group, and from then on, I was hooked. Something in the words, the style, the fervency, and the depth of the music touched my soul in a profound way. I realized that I was always drawn to worship when I heard the music, and the tears invariably fell no matter what I was doing because my heart connected so authentically and deeply.


Jim's wife Carol inspires me with her spiritual insight and musical creativity. She has won 5 Dove awards and 6 Grammys, yet she has no formal music training. Even though she can't read music, she has written hundreds of songs, and 51 of them have been recorded on the various albums of the choir. I relate to her in many ways. We are about the same age, and both of us have 3 grown children and several grandchildren. We have also faced dire health diagnoses for ourselves and for loved ones and wayward choices by our children. We have experienced God's faithfulness through years of challenges, and we can both testify that He has never failed us and never taken His hand of love and provision off of us.


But, on the other hand, she and I are vastly different in terms of our musical gifts. I started lessons at age 7 and went on to major in piano performance in college. I can interpret what someone ELSE has written with a fair degree of accuracy and skill, but seeing past the notes brings me to a standstill. Carol Cymbala, on the other hand, took piano lessons for 3 weeks and then stopped because she "didn't want to learn the notes or be confined by the music books." She wanted to play HER way -- by ear. She became extremely proficient in both piano and organ using her special gift for hearing and interpreting what was in her heart.


She began the choir at the Brooklyn Tabernacle with only 9 people, and now it has grown to between 250-300 members. The choir consists of people of all races and backgrounds, from those who were formerly homeless and/or addicted to drugs to professionals in every field you can name. She directs people with music degrees without having a single one of her own. Her conducting style wasn't taught in any of the classes I ever attended, but those 250+ people know exactly what to do and when to do it.


To celebrate my 50th birthday, Steve and I took a wonderful trip to New York City. We had a dizzying "Clipboard of Fun" for the 6 days we were there, but a highlight was taking the subway from Central Park to Brooklyn and attending the 3:00 p.m. service at the Tabernacle on the Sunday we were in the city. The spirit of God was unmistakeably present as soon as we walked in the door. I found myself wiping tears from my cheeks while the choir was just warming up -- for heaven's sakes! Neither of us will ever forget the effect that whole service had on us that afternoon.


Just 2 years later, when we were preparing to go on the mission field, we were taught how important it would be to have worship tools available "in our heart language" while we were living in another culture. So, we bought as many Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir CDs as were available at that time. I remember so often doing housework and walking on the treadmill with those CDs playing, and how the choir always led me to worship and fed me spiritually.


Now, just recently, this group is still ministering to me. I am singing in the choir of the church we have recently joined, the church my mother grew up in. In a few weeks, the amazingly gifted church pianist will be out of town, and I've been asked to substitute for him. The date will be March 6th, what would have been my mother's 81st birthday, so I like thinking that she'd be pleased. But, even more, when I looked on the choir schedule to find out what they would be singing that day, you guessed it -- a song by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir.


I thank God for the ministry of this wonderful choir and of its director, Carol Cymbala.

If you are a Facebook friend of mine, you have likely noticed the verse that is posted on my profile. Psalm 3:3 "But Thou, O Lord, are a shield for me, My glory and the lifter of my head." When you have a few minutes, go to YouTube to see a stirring performance of this text by the choir -- "Thou, O Lord." www.youtube.com/watch?v=y284YvkYrZo