I said little to the struggling young girls that could have helped them.  Their lives were riddled with brokenness and poverty.  Even by age 12, they seemed destined for lifelong heartache. I wondered what I could offer them.  I wanted to give them Jesus, but they needed more than just simple platitudes about Him.  I didn’t know how to reach them.

We had a student teacher that year, and one of the jobs delegated to her was to work with any students interested in singing a solo for the event. When she asked the class if anyone would like a chance to sing, my hand shot up in the air. I liked to sing and had no fear of public performance. We were to audition for the opportunity with a Christmas carol in mind. 

I could wish that God would be like Santa Claus and give me what I want based on my good behavior. I might then have some measure of control in His response. This strategy falls flat as I remember how imperfect my behavior is. And it denies the love that motivates the gift. I hate to think that my friends and family members believe they must earn my affection and gifts. Does God feel the same?

My critical and judgmental patterns scared me, as did my rage.  My sins felt stronger than me, because they were.  I tried with all my might to stop, to no avail. Being “on fire” for Jesus didn’t help.  Serving in ministry kept me busy doing good but didn’t stop my thoughts of wanting to tell someone off for how they offended me. I didn’t know what to do.

In the last part of Step 5, I needed to confess my sins to another human being. It felt scary.  I had done some pretty rotten things.  What would someone say who heard everything on my list?  Would I ever be trusted by them? Would I ever be loved or respected by this person if they knew the worst of me?

Mr. Estabrook had been a Merchant Marine and wasn’t afraid to keep us in line. But he loved us–all 200 of us–like we were his own. We knew it. We could tell.

Fear seized me. What if I had an accident on the way home? What if a police officer recognized my situation and pulled me over?

How can God ask us to seek Him when He knows we won’t naturally do it? It is because He pursues us first. He reveals Himself to us, then we respond to Him.

I noticed that no other dog responded to me. No other dog recognized my voice. It was Lacey who knew me. She was the one that came when I called her.

Thomas, like I have done, doubted Jesus. He doubted that Jesus had the power to make Himself rise from the dead. No one had ever done that before. Thomas wanted proof. He wanted tangible evidence of Jesus’s resurrection. Until Thomas had that confirmation, he refused to believe.

I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind raced with anxiety. Uneasiness and nervousness over what might happen in a few challenging situations held me captive. The concern came from valid fear. Sometimes God, in His perfect sovereignty, allows terrible events to occur. The old fear of impending doom reared its ugly head again.

As harvest neared, driving through Kansas mesmerized me. Everywhere you turned you saw wheat. As a child, I thought it looked like miles and miles of tall soft brown grass with seeds at the top. The seeds were the grains of wheat. The wind blew and the fields undulated like the ocean. It was sheer beauty.

My dear friend, Susie, prayed for decades that her father would come to know Jesus. Her dad was an intellectual and expressed no need for a Savior. He wasn’t interested in church. Susie carefully, lovingly, and intelligently shared the hope of Jesus with her dad. He remained aloof.

One of the joys of Christmas is that I hear worship music playing while I shop at the grocery store. It’s piped in Christmas music on tape, but as I move among the boxes of cereal and jars of mayonnaise, I am in awe of the experience of worshiping my Savior in public.

We did not, however, celebrate Advent. Friends at school used that term when speaking of what happened at their church at Christmastime. I had no idea what they meant. They spoke of it with reverence, which piqued my interest as a follower of Jesus.

Karlene invited me to share some of my story with the women at the event. What a joy to share what God has done in me! The women responded with tears, hugs, words of thanks, and encouragement. A number of them trusted me with their stories.

Brother Matthias couldn’t have dreamed that this young incorrigible would one day be one of the greatest baseball players who ever lived.

I watched the video of Billy Graham’s memorial service at the library and wondered what it was like for USA presidents and other dignitaries as they entered the building. I wanted to be at that sacred place and soak it all in.

Since I no longer lived with a hypervigilant fear of making a mistake, I made a mistake. I didn’t notice a change in the speed limit as I moved from one highway to another.

One night we cousins begged my aunt and uncle to allow us to sleep overnight in a small farm building they converted into a playhouse. Our aunt left a warehouse-sized box of Swiss Miss–an instant hot chocolate drink mix–on the counter in the kitchen for us. With no portion control given, we drank it late into the night.