Success and Failure Blog

This story was written for my friend, Sandra Stiles, a public middle school teacher who lost her older sister and best friend, Gloria, a year and a half ago to pulmonary problems. It was her wish to spend time with her sister again.

It had been one of “those” days. Sandra’s students had been exceptionally rude, uncooperative and snotty all week and she was done. It had taken every ounce of strength she possessed to keep her cool and deal with them according to the current parameters. How she longed for the days when principals and teachers could paddle their young charges into better behavior but now the inmates were running the asylums!

It was Friday afternoon and she had a short weekend in which she must cram grading of papers, reading challenges, dealing with family, cleaning house, etc., before it all started over again. Something had to give. She felt like a rat on a treadmill!  She was burned out and needed some kind of retreat.  She lugged her papers, books and laptop to the car and drove home, going over in her head all the things she needed to take care of before she could go to bed. She was exhausted just thinking about it.

When she got home, she checked the mail and found nothing but a brightly colored envelope in her mailbox. No junk mail, no circulars, nothing else. She looked at it closely.  Her heart practically stopped when she recognized the handwriting of her sister, Gloria, on the envelope:

“Special surprise inside for my little sister, Sandra”

All the other items in her arms slid out and fell unnoticed onto the pavement as she began to shake. If this was Brad’s idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny! She began to fume. She ripped open the envelope and suddenly the world around her began to spin faster and faster. It felt like she was caught in a tornado but instead of dust, rooted up bushes, and farm animals swirling around her, the wind was glittering like fairy dust.  When the whirlwind finally stopped she struggled to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding and she felt dizzy. She looked around and sucked in her breath.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Florida anymore …” she murmured to herself. She didn’t know where she was! She looked around and saw beautiful, undulating meadows as far as the eye could see, weeping willows scattered here and there and in the midst of it all, a lone white clapboard cottage with a wrap-around porch, a white picket fence, geraniums growing in the black window boxes and lacy white curtains blowing in and out of the windows with each sigh of the wind. Under the eaves an orange canary was trilling a beautiful tune in its cage. With a surge of nervous anticipation, Sandra walked up to the front door and raised her hand to knock.  Before her fist could meet the door it flew open and she found herself enveloped in a giant bear hug, her vision obscured by a cloud of curly, golden brown hair.

“Sandra! Sandra! Sandra!” cooed the familiar and beloved voice rocking her in strong arms. Tears burst out of Sandra’s eyes and she pushed herself back enough to take in the view. Standing there, alive, healthy and beaming was her dearly departing sister Gloria! “Welcome!” Gloria bellowed, her grin spreading from ear to ear.

“What, who, when, how-“ screamed Sandra looking her up and down over and over again, sounding like a journalist pursuing a story.

“God decided you deserved a weekend retreat quilting, crafting, talking and eating!” Gloria announced, her face beaming. “I have all the supplies we need, all our favorite foods but no television, no phones, and no surly students.  Just the two of us! Two peas in a pod!”

“How is this possible?” Sandra demanded, allowing Gloria to pull her into the house by the hand.

“With God all things are possible!” Gloria responded with a mysterious wink, making it quite clear Sandra was going to get no further explanation.  She entered the cottage and sucked in her breath at its’ cozy charm. White painted floorboards, white wainscoting, cheerful yellow walls with red accessories here and there, a large quilter’s table with two chairs with a quilt already started stretched across it. There was a smaller crafter’s table with supplies spread all over it, a cheery fire in the fireplace, and a sideboard loaded with all the comfort food one could want and in the background soothing Christian worship music was playing.

“The Master thought of everything!” beamed Gloria, rubbing her hands with glee. “I’ve have been longing for this day for over a year!”

At these words, sobs bubbled up outside of Sandra and she covered her face with her hands, remembering the sorrow and grief at losing her sister and best friend in the whole world and the day of the funeral when she had had to say “goodbye”.

“Gloria-“she choked, unable to express what she was feeling. Gloria’s smile didn’t fade but her eyes became tender and understanding.

“I know it hurt to lose me, Sandra…” she said, enfolding her sister in her arms again to comfort her. “But I really am in a better place.  Heaven is more lovely than I could ever express and doesn’t it make it seem that much more real to you now that you know someone you love is there waiting for you?”

Sandra nodded feebly, unable to speak.

“We won’t be parted much longer,” Gloria said, rubbing her back tenderly, “and you will always have this time together again to look back on and find joy and hope when you need it.  Now, dry your tears, sit down and let’s start! What do you want to do first?!”

With that the sister’s sat down and spent what seemed like an entire week talking, laughing, quilting, eating and just enjoying one another’s company.  Sandra never saw her sister cook anything but every day and at every mealtime there was new and wonderful food all prepared, piping hot and then mysteriously cleaned up so that they could spend their time just having fun.

It all came to end too soon for Sandra and the day arrived when there was no more food prepared and all the craft projects had been completed, much to the sister’s satisfaction. It was the best time Sandra could ever remember having, completely free of responsibility, deadlines and interruptions. Just “Sandra and Gloria” time. She was sad to have it end.

“There is one more thing…well, several more things, surprises really, we have for you before you return.” Gloria said, sitting her down in a large, overstuffed cotton chintz floral chair.

“What?” asked Sandra, wondering what on earth could possibly be better than the week she had just spent with her sister? Her soul felt thoroughly refreshed but she was still apprehensive at having to leave and face the real world again. The pressure, the deadlines and the students who acted as if they were serving a prison sentence instead of being given the privilege of getting an education that would help prepare them for life…

“Just wait and see!” Gloria grinned, sitting down in a chair next to her, clutching Sandra’s hand to her heart with excitement. At that moment the doorbell rang, practically making Sandra jump out of her chair in fright. For an entire week there had been no noise but the sound of their chatter, laughter, music and eating. It was so abrupt it really startled her. With a grin and a wink, Gloria went to the door, and flung it open to reveal a tall, distinguished looking executive.

He was dressed in a gorgeous pin-striped business suit, was clean-shaven and had a suitcase in his hand. He walked right up to Sandra’s chair, got down on one knee, took her hand in his and in a wavering voice said just two words: “Thank you!”

Sandra was speechless and didn’t know how to respond. After him came another man, this time it was a professor of literature, then a woman in a nurse’s uniform; on and on it went until the room was filled with professionals from all walks of life of varying ages, all standing there and looking down at her with eyes brimming with tears and smiles of gratitude.

“Gloria…” Sandra said, rising to her feet, her voice shaking. “Who are all these people?”

“We have all been students of yours at one time or another or are yet to be,” explained the nurse, gesturing to all those around her.

“I don’t understand…” Sandra said, although she was beginning to get an inkling of what was happening.

“At one time, during the course of our lives as your students, (both past and yet future) you gave each one of us either an encouraging word, a helping hand, or maybe just an understanding smile that made all the difference in the course of our lives,” said the first man. “We were on a road that was leading us nowhere but the fact that you gave of yourself to us as a teacher and mentor changed everything.  We have all asked for special permission to come here and tell you thank you so that you will know that your labor has not been and is not in vain.”

“Thank you Ms. Stiles!” they all chorused, gathering around her.

Sandra turned and looked at Gloria who was crying and laughing at the same time, beaming at her little sister. “Never forget, little sister, just how very proud I am of you!” Gloria said and held her close for one last long embrace.

In that moment, Sandra knew that everything was going to be better no matter what the circumstances of life might bring.  She closed her eyes…ready to finally part if only for a little while.

Gloria wasn’t really gone, she was just on the other side of the veil, waiting on the day when Sandra too would join her and their reunion would be permanent. For now, it was sufficient to realize that all she did day in and day out at school, in her church and at home had a meaning and purpose much greater than she would ever be able to know this side of eternity and for now…that was enough.

I met Darlene through a comment she left on my web page about “A Gift for Henry”. I came to find out that she had lost her husband, Steve, due to congestive heart failure and that he had died in her arms a few years ago. Knowing this I could only imagine how painful this time of year must be for her and wanted to do something to let her know that God sees her hurt and pain and that He cares. Three wishes is God’s special gift to Darlene this Christmas.

Three Wishes

Darlene regarded the Christmas decorations in her local grocery store glumly. She hated this time of year. Absolutely hated it! All it did was accentuate the sadness that she always carried in her heart like a heavy lead balloon. As a kid she had enjoyed the holidays as much as anyone else but all that had changed three years ago when her husband, Steve, had died in her arms of heart failure.

She sighed, fighting back the tears that welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. She wasn’t going to cry in the check-out line! Not in front of all these strangers!

The box boy stuffed the last of her groceries into the bag and Darlene hurried out, her head down, her shoulders beginning to shake. She got into her car, her hands trembling with the grief she tried to suppress and yet couldn’t. She let her head drop onto the steering wheel and allowed the tears to come. She missed him. She couldn’t help it. Even after a few years, there was still a big hole in her heart that just wouldn’t heal.

Oh, Stevie…she thought to herself, not for the last time. If only we had had more time together…if only your heart hadn’t been sick…if only…

Darlene violently brushed the tears from her cheeks and started the car. She didn’t want to go down that road again. She had to get home, unload the groceries alone without help and get some dinner for herself. The very idea depressed her beyond belief. She turned the key in the ignition and maneuvered out of the parking lot. She made to turn right, but the car suddenly had other ideas. It turned left. It shocked her so much she just gaped. Then the gas pedal depressed itself and the car began speeding up and driving itself. Darlene sat back and watched in shock as the car continued to steer, turning down streets she was unfamiliar with, stopping and starting without assistance from her, wondering where on earth her car was taking her and why. For some reason she felt no panic but a few times she caught the shocked glances of people in other cars as she half-heartedly smiled and waved at them as her car turned a corner without her assistance. Once or twice she gripped the steering wheel and tried to steer the way she wanted and to brake but the car was completely unresponsive.

Why fight it? She thought to herself and sat back to watch what would happen. A half hour passed, then 45 minutes and the car was on the main highway heading north. Before she knew it, she had nodded off to sleep.

She awoke when the car came to a stop, not remembering what had happened and wondering if she was asleep, dreaming she was awake. She looked around and found herself and her car in a tiny parking lot in front of a little cottage, brightly lit with cheerful Christmas lights and a wreath on the door. There was nothing else in site.

She got out of the car feeling stiff from her unexpected nap. She went up to the door of the cottage which was bright red, and knocked. Hopefully whoever lived there would let her use the phone or give her directions on how to get back home before the milk spoiled. She knocked twice.

“Come in, Darlene!” said a voice that made her heart skip a beat. A voice she had not heard in years but a voice that was dearly beloved and familiar all the same. Heart pounding, she walked into the little cottage. There was a fireplace with a cheery fire crackling away, a Christmas tree with ornaments that looked strangely familiar and her favorite Christmas music playing on the stereo that she hadn’t played in years because it had hurt too much to listen to it.

“Welcome, home, sweetheart!” said the voice again and Darlene felt arms wrapping around her like a warm cocoon.

“Stevie?” she sobbed, turning around to face what must surely be a dream or a ghost. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, dear,” he responded with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry we had to bring you here the way we did and that it took so long but I hope the memory we make will be worth it to you.”

“We? Memory?” Darlene repeated, completely bewildered. She stepped back out of Steve’s arms for a moment and rubbed her eyes, unable to believe she was seeing what she was seeing. Steve stepped forward again and gently took her hands into his.

“I’m sorry I have ruined the holidays for you.” He said, he eyes truly sorrowful. “I didn’t want to leave you at all, you know, but my heart wasn’t made to last as long as everyone else’s. Can you forgive me?”

“It’s just that I miss you so much.” Darlene said, the tears spilling down again. “I have wished so often that I could just have you with me just one more time, just a little bit longer…”

Steve took her face gently into his hands and smiled at her. “Wish granted.” He whispered and embraced her again. This time Darlene did not pull away. She melted into his embrace and allowed herself the luxury of breathing in the scent of his hair and his clothes without all the medicine smells that he had used to carry later in life when his heart began to fail. After a few moments, Steve parted them with a smile and reached for one of the grocery bags. “Here, let me help you with that.” He said, hefting it up easily.

“No! I’ll get it!” Darlene protested, falling back into the routine of doing most of the lifting herself because of his weak heart.

“Not necessary!” Steve said, grabbing both effortlessly. “No more bad heart!” He led her into the tiny but charming kitchen and took the groceries out one at a time. Instead of the dull, boring regular items she always got, she stared in amazement as Steve pulled out their favorite beverages, foods, and treats they used to share one at a time. It was a gourmet feast and it was already prepared and hot. Together they sat down at the table where candlelight glowed and ate and talked for hours. Then they cuddled up onto the couch together in front of the fire and the tree, listening to soft Christmas music together.

“I don’t want this moment to end.” Darlene said at last, knowing the moment for her departure was approaching soon. Steve laid a gentle kiss on her forehead and held her close.

“Do you remember our last moments together?” he whispered.

Darlene choked on her sobs, the raw wound opening up again. “Of course I do! How could I ever forget a moment like that?” she said, her heart aching. Steve held her closer and looked deeply into her eyes, his face serious.

“Darlene, I always knew I would not live very long and have a normal life span. I also knew it would be unfair to whoever I married and my kids because of it… but I was selfish asked God to grant me three wishes: 1) That I would be able to marry the woman I love, 2) that I could be a father (no matter how they turned out), and 3)…”

Steve paused, his own eyes filling with tears.

“Three?” repeated Darlene, wondering what it could be.

Steve sighed deeply and held her closer. “…that when it was finally my time to leave this earth and go to heaven, I would die in the arms of the person who loved me best in this life…You.

“God gave me all three of my wishes and now He has granted this one for you. He has given you one more memory…a little more time…just a taste of the joy of our being reunited in heaven so you can still go on with your life in this world and grieve a little bit less, knowing how well I loved you and how I still love you and that I’m waiting for you. The time is growing short when we will be together again forever but until that day comes, I want you to live each day knowing that I’m still loving you and caring about you. Try to find joy again in the little things again and I’ll be right there, sharing it with you. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try.” Darlene smiled weakly, wishing she could stay in that little cottage with him forever.

“Now lay your head on my shoulder and go to sleep,” said Steve, holding her close, “and when you wake you’ll be back to your regular life but remember that you always carry my love and my heart inside your own.”

“Okay,” whispered Darlene, clutching him tightly. “I’ll remember. I promise.”

“That’s my girl,” Steve smiled, caressing her head until she fell asleep.

Darlene awoke with a start and looked around her. The cottage was gone and so were the tree, fireplace and Steve. She was back in her little home but there on the table was the most beautiful arrangement of snow-white and deep red flowers she had ever seen. She picked up the tiny envelope and withdrew the little card that had Steve’s handwriting on it and instead of crying…she smiled.

THE END

For we do not mourn as those who have no hope for we know that if Christ is raised so also shall we be raised, and our loved ones who died in faith as well so that we can look forward to being  reunited with them.

My personal “storm” occurred about 25 years ago and started out rather innocuously. I remember the day well, it was the day after I had gone to Knotts Berry Farm with my boyfriend (now husband) Michael. I got what I thought was an ordinary case of diarrhea and took the typical over the counter remedies but nothing seemed to work. This ailment continued for the next two weeks and when I began noticing blood, I decided it was time to see a doctor. I went and saw a regular MD who had me undergo a lower GI barium x-ray which showed nothing. For a few days after that I had relief then it started up again with a vengeance; making me feel weak and exhausted. I then sought the services of an internist who performed no tests but put me on a more restricted diet and took my money for a year, only to have my symptoms become worse. I began to feel punished anytime I ate and started dropping weight. Finally my mother who had been worried sick about me, insisted I see a specialist. By this time I was so miserable, I agreed. His name was Dr. Jerome Cohen. He took my history, did a sigmoidoscopy on me and then informed me he was not going to mess around with my health like the other doctors. He was going to have to do a colonoscopy to find out exactly what was wrong.

After the procedure I was informed I officially had a “disease”. It was ulcerative colitis and while there was no medicinal cure, there were things that could help. I was only 24 and was depressed to learn I actually had a disease. He started me on prednisone which many doctors call a miracle drug because it temporarily will remove many symptoms of an immune system gone haywire. What they don’t tell you is how bad this drug is for you physically in the long run and how awful it makes you behave in the short term. It’s like having perpetual “road rage” and raging PMS at the same time but it did stop my symptoms immediately. After almost 2 years of almost nonstop diarrhea, bleeding and abdominal pain, I had almost instant relief. During this time, I had gotten engaged and was planning to marry. The only thing I could say that I liked about the disease was losing the weight but it was a heck of a way to do it. To save money, I moved back home to Torrance and commuted to Orange County every day. I wouldn’t eat or drink a thing until after I had gotten to work so as to avoid “waking my bowels” up. To say that I knew where every public bathroom was on my 60 mile commute was an understatement. Sometimes I barely made it to a bathroom in time despite not eating.

As the days and weeks progressed after our wedding, it took higher and higher doses of Prednisone to keep the ulcerative colitis in check. The increase in dosage also increased my heart rate, my rage and impatience and started bloating my face and body up to the point where I looked like an organ transplant patient who was fighting rejection of the new organ. My new marriage was taking an awful beating. I was practically chained to the bathroom, could hardly eat and was making life hell for my poor new husband who began secretly considering divorce before we had kids as I was no longer the person he had married.

By now I was up to 45 grams of Prednisone a day, I was having bathroom accidents frequently (which were totally humiliating) and if I continued putting up with ulcerative colitis for several more years, it would lead to colon cancer. My life had become so miserable that I really had no options left but to schedule surgery. At this time a Christian friend at work invited me to come to her church to hear a man preach who had a miraculous healing ministry. By this time I had scheduled the surgery to remove my colon and I was frightened of the subsequent pain and changes to my body. Even though by this time I had become quite jaded towards ministers claiming to have special healing ministries, I was desperate enough to try and attend; pleading with the Lord to heal me miraculously rather than through the expensive, painful surgery I was facing. I made myself a promise that I would not tell the preacher what was wrong; that if he was the real deal; God would have to give him a specific “word of knowledge” about my condition and approach me for healing, not the other way around. My husband was incredulous but agreed to go with me. I stood and wept silently throughout the entire service with tears streaming down my face, pleading with God to heal me so I wouldn’t have to face surgery. The preacher either didn’t notice me or was afraid to approach me. Whatever the reason, he made no reference to me and I left without having a miracle but still trusting the Lord.

I entered the hospital on October 8th, about a week before my 28th birthday. Next to me sat a young girl in the hospital admissions office that was facing open heart surgery. I decided I was glad that I was not having what she was but I was still apprehensive. My husband signed me in and they began prepping me for surgery the next day. The night before I had taken a colon cleanser (which resulted in another accident early the next morning before going to the hospital). That night there was no food, just a lot of antibiotic pills. So much so in fact that I ended up throwing them all up. Early the next morning I was wheeled down to surgery with my poor husband at my bedside. They had given me a shot of Demurral to calm my nerves and I was cracking jokes to the nurses. They wheeled me in, transferred me to the operating table and swabbed my entire abdomen with orange antiseptic. I remember counting backwards and only getting to 90. When I awoke from the anesthesia it was with a shock of pain. I couldn’t talk and could hardly take a breath, nor could I ask the nurses for more Morphine for the horrific pain while they discussed the latest videos they had rented.

They wheeled me up to my post-surgical room. My nurse was Stella and I’ll never forget how she hovered over me like a mother bird, putting pillows all around me, feeding me ice-chips and hooking up hoses and tubes to every opening in my body. Although I was weak I was very conscious of her exceptional care and was able to thank her months later face to face and tell her how much it had meant to me. I had a long vertical scar stretching from the bottom of my chest all the way down to almost my pubic area like a big zipper. I had a NG tube snaked down through my nose/throat into my stomach. I had a suction hose attached to where my rectum used to be and a large IV that was in my neck to feed me and hydrate me. And last but not least, I had an illesotomy bag and was catheterized to save me numerous trips to pass water in the bathroom.

I was only supposed to be in the hospital for 10 days maximum. I couldn’t eat anything at all for a few days then only clear liquids to start. Food and restaurant commercials on the TV were absolute torture. Slowly they began introducing bland food into my diet and on my birthday my surgeon had sent a birthday cake to me in my room but for some reason it tasted like dirt. I was warned that I would have a lot of gas so when I started experiencing a lot of pain and belching, I attributed it to gas. The night before I was supposed to be released, I was watching the world series with my husband in my hospital room. My husband was eating fast food as was his custom. The commute from his work and our home to the hospital every night was a good 30 miles each way. Suddenly I snatched away the empty Carls Jr. bag and threw up into it. That night my nurse spent the evening walking me around the corridor as I belched and belched, getting Demurral shots for the pain every 2 hours. The next day I was supposed to be released but instead of going home, I was given an emergency upper G.I. It’s bad enough when the stuff was cold but even more disgusting when the Barium is room temperature! I was writhing in agony at this point and not knowing what was going on. Hours later, the assistant surgeon told me what it was. Since my entire large intestine had been removed, during healing the small intestine had twisted itself into knots (referred to as a blockage) and could burst unless a second surgery was performed.

“Fine!” I said. “Do whatever you have to do; just fix it!” I remember just before being put under for the second time telling the Lord that I was committing my soul into His care should I not come out alive. I had the second surgery but this time instead of staples, they had to sew me shut the old fashioned way. Inhaling was even worse this time when I awoke. I felt like I had been hit by a Mack truck. Everything that could have gone wrong with me, went wrong. My NG tube fell out while I was getting my hair washed and it had to be put back in while I was awake (horrible procedure)! This time however, while I healed my bowels stayed in place.

My poor mother and father were at my hospital bed every single day (a long commute from Torrance) for what ended up totaling 30 days. They are not believers and couldn’t wrap their heads around the notion that we hadn’t paid the people who had come from our church to pray for the entire first 7-hour surgery and the second 5-hour surgery.

Through it all, though I was in a lot of pain, I entrusted myself and my soul to the care of my creator just like a little child; knowing that whatever did or did not happen, that I was in the center of His will. It has been over 20 years since I had that surgery and I have never regretted it. As a result, I have been able to alleviate the fears of one of my mother’s friends who was facing the same surgery and was scared to death. I changed my medical dressing right in front on him; showing him that it was really no big deal. Here I was a 30ish female, exposing my stomach with my cuffed small intestine sticking out through my skin and not acting like it was a big deal. It gave him a much needed lift and encouragement and he had the surgery. He never forgot this act of kindness and has since referred to me as his “angel”. I always told him to thank God, not me, because I did it for the Lord. Recently he was able to pay the same kindness forward as he did the same thing for a woman friend of his who also had to have the same surgery and he was so glad that he finally got his chance to do someone else the same favor.

Now I lead a very normal life; I eat whatever I want, going to the bathroom takes only minutes, not hours, I can’t have any more colonoscopies because I no longer have one and I’m off those horrible drugs which caused my older sister to have hip, shoulder and cataract surgery even though she had taken a lot less than me and for a shorter period of time. God brought me through the storm instead of flying me over it and while I would never want to have to repeat it, I don’t regret any of it.

NOTE: As providence would have it, a week ago I had the absolute thrill of running into one of my two favorite nurses at an event totally unrelated to my old disease or surgery. She was talking to someone else and mentioned that her name was Taffy and that her sister’s name was Candy. At this I knew instantly who she was. She was the nurse who had walked me around the dim corridors of Hoag Hospital at night, giving me Demoral shots every two hours because of my obstruction. I stood up and asked her if she had been a nurse at Hoag Hospital more than 20 years ago and she said yes. She recognized me and we hugged and I got to tell her how very grateful I was for all the tender care and concern they gave me and that I never forgot it. She told me something I had not known at the time; that they were all deeply concerned about me and my condition and were worried that it was either an infection or an obstruction – either of which could have been very serious trouble. Fortunately God worked it all out and I’ve been fine ever since.

I have to confess…I should have been an actress.  Not because I want to be one but because I have the same insecurities and need for constant validation.  If an employer or boss tells me one day I’m doing a great job and the next day doesn’t – I start to doubt myself.

Even though my life long dream of having The Victor published occurred earlier this year (against all odds)…I still struggle with the feelings of being a “second class” author because I didn’t get published the “traditional” way.

This week (the week of my 50th birthday) I was feeling especially low. I was having serious doubts about The Victor ever being anything more than just a good read for 2 hours. It was so bad I was just ready to give up.  All the “famous people” who had gotten copies of the book months ago have never contacted me nor do I know if they have or ever will read it.

These past few days I have also seriously begun to question my purpose in life.  Who am I to think that the Lord would need to use me (a nobody who didn’t even go to college) to write a book that would reach people  for Christ?

For the first time in many years, God began to “communicate” with me in a fairly obvious way.  First on Friday (my lowest day) with a David Wilkerson Devotional.  The second was when I noticed that the scripture verse the organizers had chosen to print on all the take away bookmarks was the one the Lord gave me specifically for my book 30 years ago (Psalm 45:1).

Next Kathi Macias (the first keynote speaker and a good friend – who did not know what was going on in my life) spoke first about how Satan will use two methods (subversive and perversive) to destroy what God wants to do with the talents He has given us. BINGO. After her address, 3-time Christy Award winning author, Athol Dickson, came up and introduced himself to me and to ask me about The Victor.  I told him the basic premise of how I wanted it to be used as a long “gospel tract” to reach kids in public school and he commented on how he had been dissatisfied for the past several years at how, even though Christian fiction had improved a lot, it was still “preaching to the choir” and not reaching out to people who didn’t know Christ.

When Athol gave his talk it was like he talking specifically about what God wanted to do with my book. I just sat there and wept. It was the Lord reconfirming to me personally that The Victor was His idea, that he had a purpose for it and not to despair and give up. I gave Athol a copy of my book as a gift and wrote in it how much his talk had meant to me.

He contacted me the next day and offered his ears and prayers and has done much to get me back into the right frame of mind.

Thanks, Lord…I really needed that.

My friend, Wendy, is president of a Messianic Jewish Club.  She is a teacher of scripture, a Biblical dramatist, accomplished musician and an author.  She studied theology at Hope International University and Drama at Brown University.  Her “Women of the Bible” dramatic presentations have been performed throughout the U.S., Mexico, Israel and specifically Bethlehem.  Her first book: “The King is Born” is filled with beautiful illustrations from well-known Israeli artist, Baruch Ma’ayan and portrays the story of Jesus’ birth as it might have been experienced in ancient Israel.  Although Wendy’s current ministry calls her to work in the U.S., most of her heart remains in and longs for Israel.  The Wish Fulfillment story below was written to encourage her in the ministry she has here and to remind her that she will eventually get there.

In the Land of Milk & Honey…

Consciousness came slowly…lazily…gently.  The bird song somehow sounded different, the air heavier and sweeter.  Wendy opened her eyes slowly and beheld dappled sunlight filtering through a canopy of grape leaves, laden with heavy purple-black grapes.

She turned her head to the side and looked about her “room”.  It was simple and yet beautiful. Pure white blankets glowing with the morning sunshine lay upon her. A wooden table, elegant in its simple beauty held a bowl of fresh fruit, and a pitcher of iced tea and a glass.

With a sudden intake of breath, Wendy sat up and looked through the transparent walls of her sukkot booth.  In the distance were rolling hills of vineyards and orchards and to the other side in the distance, the lake of Galilee. She suddenly knew why the air felt heavier and sweeter…the presence of Yeshua.

How had she come to be in this place; the land where her heart beat like a drum with joy and all her senses were awakened as if from a deep stupor? Yisrael. She stood slowly, hesitantly to her feet noticing at once her white linen frock, glowing as if it possessed a light of its own.  On her feet were hand crafted sandals.  The morning sun was rising higher and with it came a breeze smelling of roses, bay laurel and the fresh scent of the sea.

She stepped outside her sukkot booth into a garden which surrounded it. It was humming with bees and fluttering butterflies, busy collecting nectar from the numerous blossoms. With pounding heart; afraid to wake up from what must surely be a dream, she slowly climbed the nearest hill, breathing deeply in and out as if each breath were nourishment. She stood and faced the holy city, Jerusalem and was stunned. It was not as she remembered it at all. The Dome of the Rock was gone and in its place stood a gleaming temple of gold and alabaster.  The filth of the Arabic section of the old city was gone, replaced by avenues of trees and streets that glistened like gold in the early light.

“Do you like it?” spoke a familiar masculine voice. Wendy closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.  It was the voice of her beloved but it was not in her head but in her ears.

“Yeshua…” she breathed, holding up her arms; tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks from underneath her closed eyes. She fell slowly to her knees. “Yeshua?”

“There is a question in the saying of my name, beloved,” came the response. “You are wanting to know if you may stay here always?”

“Yes,” whispered Wendy, barely able to breath or speak.

“My precious child,” responded the Master, gently enfolding her in His embrace. “There is no such thing as time where I am concerned; for I live outside of it…and you with Me. Where I am there you are also…and my eyes and heart of ever upon this place, so in a sense…you have never left Israel and it has never left you.  The body which you must inhabit within the human time domain is limited but not your heart or your soul. One day time will cease to exist and both body and soul will be reunited with Me in this place that remains the apple of my eye.  Can you endure until that “time” and do the work I have set before you?”

“Lord, you know my heart and soul’s desire…I will always gladly serve you” replied Wendy.

Yeshua smiled upon her and in the instant she beheld that smile she felt the sight, sounds, smells and “feel” of the land implanted indelibly upon her mind and heart.  From that moment on, wherever she placed her feet, Israel and Jerusalem went with her and before her.  A secret to enjoy between her and The Redeemer as well as the hope of the real reward yet to come.

“Now, come…” Jesus said, holding out his warm brown hand to her.  “Let us enjoy this day together and converse to our heart’s content. What would you like to do first?”

THE END

Michele Fritzler is the sister of my first love, Barry Henriot who died of a brain aneurysm when I was 22 and he was 25 back in 1982.  After his death I “adopted” his mom (Ruth) and father (Al) and had dinner with them every Sunday for a few years until Ruth and Al moved up to Oregon to be closer to their daughter, Michele,  in 1991. Barry and Michele’s dad, Al died in 1994.

Even though I have only seen Michele less than a hand full of few times, we have come to accept each other as “sisters” because of our mutual love for her family and especially Barry.  He has been gone for so long that there is barely anyone remaining in her life that ever knew him; making his existence in the past that much more unreal. It was with panic last December that I realized that I had lost her mom’s mailing address and phone number and was desperately hoping that I would get her annual Christmas card so I could tell her that my book was going to be published with a dedication in it to Barry that I had put in there more almost 30 years ago.

I fired off a letter to her the next day asking her to call me and that I had something important to tell them. To my relief I got to speak with Ruth on 12/15/08 and let her know that the story I had worked on for so many years was going to be published.  Ruth sounded like her old sweet self but much more frail.  I promised to send her a copy of the first book off the press as soon as I got it.  In early January 2009 I mailed a copy of The Victor to Ruth who was now living with Michele and a few weeks later I got an urgent email from Michele asking me to call because she had lost my phone number.  With dread I called and Michele told me the news which just broke my heart.  Ruth had died about a week earlier and my book had arrived on the day of her funeral.  I couldn’t help but burst into tears.  Ruth Henriot had been like a second mother to me and she had never gotten to see the book dedicated to her long gone son, Barry, who I had loved dearly.

Last August I got to see Michele for perhaps only the third time in my life but it was just like being with family.  We talked for hours and reminnisced.  Michele is the only member left of the Henriot family but like me, we hope to all be reunited again.  This story is my gift to her.

More Than a Memory

The rain came down in heavy drops and in only moments, Michele’s hair and clothes were drenched.  Living in Oregon for years, she never carried an umbrella (only the tourists did) and put up with the constant rain like everyoe else.

Now rivulets of cold rain water were beginning to run down inside her collar and drench her from the inside out. She needed to take cover.  To her right was a revolving door leading into a Starbucks and without a second thought she ducked in for a quick respite and a  white chocolate raspberry latte to warm her up.

The site that greeted her eyes paralyzed and completely disoriented her.  She blinked, rubbed her eyes and shook her head, her mouth gaping as her surroundings refused to change back into reality.  Before her was the living room of her Huntington Beach home the way it looked when she had lived there with her brother, Barry.  Immediately tears sprang into her eyes with the familiar ache that clutched her heart.

“Is that you Michele?” sang a voice from the kitchen.  The beloved voice sent a thrill through her heart and her voice caught in her throat. Had she fallen unconscious? Was she having a dream?   Having received no response, Ruth poked her head through the doorway. “Cat got your tongue?” she grinned at her dumbstruck daughter.

Michele’s mouth moved but no sound would come out as she stared at the face of her dear mother who had passed away just under a year ago.  At that moment a figure walked up behind her and pinched her in the ribs, making her scream. She whirled around and standing there alive and as if he had never aged, was her brother Barry.

He grinned at her and gave her a bear hug but there was no feedback from the hearing aids he used to always wear.  He stepped back and pointed at his head with a lopsided grin. “I hear great now!”

Michele’s eyes traveled hungrily up and down the length of him. Same wavy brown hair, twinkly eyes, mischievous grin, dimples and plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up as if 25 plus years had never passed.  The tears now spilled down her cheeks unabated and a sob of joy caught in her throat. With a look of understanding compassion on his face, Barry enfolded her into his arms and let her sob.  Michele could barely hear the familiar footsteps behind her on the floor and then her mom’s arms were about her.

“Al, just don’t sit there watching the game, get in here!” Ruth yelled.  At that, Michele pulled back and turned around to see her father stride towards them, his arms held out wide. She flew into them, crying even harder.

“There now,” soothed her mom in her wonderful accent. “Do you really want to spend your entire visit with us crying? You’re scaring Sonny!”

“Meooooww!” agreed the gorgeous Himalayan cat, entering the room. This was all just too much!

“I don’t understand!” was all Michele could manage, shaking uncontrollably.  Al, Ruth, Barry and even Sonny all stared at her in sympathy. “Am I dreaming or dead?”

“Neither!” chorused all (except Sonny) in unison. “This is a gift, sis.” Explained Barry gesturing to the family dinner table laden with a Thanksgiving turkey and all the fixings. “The Lord thought you’d enjoy one more day and meal with us all together again.”

Michele clutched at her heart. It was all too much to take in and yet she couldn’t deny it was what she had secretly longed for more often than she could say but there was still something missing.  A lot of “somethings”.  As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” cried Barry with a wink in his sister’s direction and bounded over to the door.  He opened it up to reveal Michele’s husband, Dave, and all their kids.

“Uncle Barry!” they all shrieked, not the least bit shocked or bewildered.  Barry hugged and pounded Dave on the back with glee and hugged each of Michele’s kids in turn as if he had known them all his life.  They in turn hugged his neck with equal glee and then everyone circled around the table and grabbed each other’s hands.

Marlayne, Barry + Kitten 1982

“Barry, would you lead us all in thanks to the Lord?” smiled Ruth, winking at Michele.

“I was hoping you’d ask!” Barry grinned. At that everyone bowed their heads as Michele’s beloved brother led them all in a prayer of thanksgiving for a reunited family that was separated only by the very thinnest veil of eternity.

THE END

Henry has been quadriplegic since the age of 14. I wrote this story as a gift to encourage him as he strives to serve the Lord while still enduring tremendous physical & emotional trials.

(Below is Henry’s bio written
in his own hand)

A Gift for Henry…

Henry awakened with a start, his heart pounding and looked around.  For a few seconds all he could do was to stare at the vista which greeted his eyes and then it hit him like a ton a bricks…he was sitting up for the first time by himself since the accident. He opened and shut his eyes slowly several times, the amazing view never changing and then slowly, as if he were afraid he would shatter and break like glass, he bent his neck down and looked at his lower half. Instead of thin, atrophied legs that ignored all of his mind’s commands, there were two tanned and muscular limbs.  Holding his breath…he did something he hadn’t been able to do in decades…he wiggled his toes.

A shout of pure joy issued from his mouth, so loud it even scared himself. “YAHOOOOOO!” Then he did something else he hadn’t done in years…he pinched himself… as hard as he could, right above the hips in the “tickle spot” and practically doubled over with mixed joy and disbelief.

“Vicki!” he shouted, wiggling and wiggling his toes more violently. “Will you look at this? Just look!” There was no answer.  It wasn’t until he found himself standing and then jumping up and down with glee that he really noticed and took stock of his surroundings. The sky was the deepest blue he had ever seen but there was no sun.  Instead an incredibly pure and blazing glow of light originated from everywhere.  In every direction he looked he saw the loveliest terrain he had ever laid eyes on.  Majestic mountains with craggy peaks (but no snow); fields of wildflowers broken only by gurgling brooks which fed into crystal clear lakes; wide open undulating plains of the greenest grass he had ever seen.  No buildings, no bugs (except butterflies), the most delicious smell of orange blossoms permeating the air and a hint of lilting music that seemed to come from everywhere.

“VICKI!” he shouted again, frustrated that his wife was not there to share the experience with him and validate that it was all real.

“She’ll join you later,” responded a deep and profoundly gentle voice. Henry whirled around and instantly fell onto his face upon recognizing who had spoken to him. “Henry, please rise,” said the man, lifting him gently onto his feet. “I want you to enjoy this time I have given you on your feet, not your face.”

At His touch, a surge of strength flowed through Henry’s entire body that was electrifying. He felt like he could run all the way to China and back again and not even get winded.  Jesus smiled a crinkly smile at him and pointed off into the distance. Henry followed with his eyes and saw the most gorgeous tree he had ever laid eyes on.  It was indescribable but even from this distance he could tell it was laden with flowers and fruit; somehow he knew that this is where the lovely perfume was emanating from.

Henry looked back into the face of His blessed Redeemer, his eyes filling with tears and his heart welling with emotion so strong he felt it would burst with joy.  Jesus laid his nail-pierced hand upon his shoulder and Henry felt a thrill pass through him.

“Run, Henry!” Jesus smiled broadly. “Run!” Despite his desire to not leave his Savior’s side for even a moment, it had been as though the words were more of a command than a suggestion.  The next thing Henry knew his legs were pumping, his arms were flailing and he was racing like a cheetah through the fragrant grass towards what he knew was the Tree of Life, closing the distance faster than he dreamed could be possible.  As he ran, tears of joy flew back in the wind – and a howl of laughter and sheer joy erupted from his throat.  He was running. HE WAS RUNNING!!

He exulted in the sheer joy of feeling his once dead limbs alive and thriving again. Oh… if only the dream would never end…if only he would never have to wake up…but wait…he had pinched himself…and it had hurt. What was going on? He came to a stop just before the tree, amazed that he wasn’t even breathing hard.  Maybe he wasn’t dreaming…maybe he was…

“You’re not dead, Henry” whispered the voice of Jesus quietly in his ear as if The Master were standing just behind him.  “And you’re not asleep either.  This is my gift to you for now…unwrap it and take it out whenever you feel the need and know that one day soon, it will be yours to enjoy for eternity with all your loved ones who have trusted in Me.”

Henry hung his head and wept, his shoulders heaving with gratitude. The Lord’s voice interrupted his thoughts again. “I have one more gift for you before you leave…if you’ll accept it…”

“Lord,” sobbed Henry. “It is enough that you suffered, died and rose for me and have allowed me to live a life, though broken physically, that has been abundant for you. I will accept whatever gift you want to give me but what can I do in return for you?”

“You have been giving me the best gift for many years, Henry…You.” Replied Jesus, and suddenly Henry turned around to find Jesus standing before him again only he wasn’t dressed in his “typical” biblical clothes but hip-waders and carrying two fishing rods. “I once told Peter, Andrew, James and John that I would make them fishers of men,” he continued with a broad smile that lit up everything about Him. “But today I think that you and I will just go fish for trout in that stream over there. I can guarantee a good catch but as for you …well today you’ll have to clean and fry them up. Deal?”

Henry’s mouth just hung open and then he bellowed with laughter. “Deal!” he exclaimed.

THE END