Sunrise

 

“For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world,

but to save the world through Him.”  ~John 3:17

The FINAL NIGHT

To the contributors and the commentators, the readers and the lurkers.  To the lost and to the found.  To everyone who has ever endured a storm and yet still, somehow, found the courage to keep going…You have my thanks.
And this is for you.

 

“Now I say to you in conclusion, life is hard, at times as hard as crucible steel. It has its bleak and difficult moments. Like the ever-flowing waters of the river, life has its moments of drought and its moments of flood.  Like the ever-changing cycle of the seasons, life has the soothing warmth of its summers and the piercing chill of its winters.  And if one will hold on, he will discover that God walks with him, and that God is able to lift you from the fatigue of despair to the buoyancy of hope, and transform dark and desolate valleys into sunlit paths of inner peace.”

~The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Birmingham, Alabama
1963

THE SUN COMES UP TOMORROW!

Behind the Clouds

For those of you wondering what has been happening while I have been hosting Tempest Tales…

LET ME TAKE A LONG LAST LOOK

by aNewCreation

I went to the movies for the last time last night.  I love movies.  I remember how excited I was when the new theater went up.  No longer would I have to drive thirty minutes–upstate, no less–just to see a movie.  I must have seen a million movies at that new theater, with a handful of people who are still very dear to me.

But when the film was over, just after midnight, I stood in the lobby and looked around.  The walls were vacant.  There were no promotional posters hanging from the ceiling, either.  No lines at the snack bar.  No teenagers lighting up cigarettes the instant their parents had dropped them off and drove away.  No cool kids on hot dates.

Just me.  At the movies.

Staring at the table where I had my last date with my ex-girlfriend.

The game room where I played doubles with Mike on some hunting game that isn’t even there anymore.

The table where Chris had accidently knocked over his bag of popcorn…You ever see a whole bag of fresh popcorn scattered on the floor?  I always thought that was a funny site.  And when I thought of the poor clerk who had to clean it up, I laughed even harder.

Because popcorn on the floor always reminds me of the time I went to the movies with my brother and my sister and my cousin.  Summer.  Florida.  High school.  Pitch black inside that theater.  Walking down the dark aisle.  Trying to find a seat as the previews were starting.  And I was so amazed at the coming attraction–whatever it was–that I ran smack dab into my cousin and my popcorn spilled all over the aisle floor.  There was so much popcorn on the floor you couldn’t even see the floor.

To this day, that cracks me up.

But, yeah.  I…I’m not in high school anymore.

I’m an adult.  And I’m broke.

Late last month, my pay got cut sixty percent because of the recession.  I cannot afford to stay where I am, not with my tank so low on heating oil in the middle of winter and my rent so high.  Not with my cupboards quickly becoming vacant and my stomach knowing hunger.  And my bills are suddenly a very scary thought.

I have spent most of the month planning and packing what little I do own.  Yes, I got caught in a storm while hosting Storm Stories–which is why I could not comment nearly so much as I would have liked on these Stories.

The last Essay has been scheduled for tomorrow, which wraps up the whole series and will also tell you why I started Tempest Tales in the first place.  Unfortunately, there were two more anonymous writers who had requested that I write about their Tales.  I cannot do that now.  Thankfully, they were both nice enough to understand why.

The life that I was trying for is over.

So I’m going to build a new one.

I am leaving my friends, my family, the only church where I have ever truly felt welcome, and the region I have called home for my entire life.

Where am I going?

A place where the sun also rises.

I’m excited.

And scared to death.

But, I am a child of God.

That means I live by faith that He will see me through this storm as He has all the others.

God has a delightfully frightening way of caring for His children.  And I am convinced that He orchestrates circumstances in such a way that demands more faith than we ever thought we had, that we may grow more we ever thought we would.

I have a place to stay–with people whom I love very much–until I can get back on my feet.

I may be a teacher or an editor.  Or I might just see about going to seminary.

I leave on February 1st.  After church, of course.

I don’t know, now, precisely what my future holds.

But in that mystery and with such uncertainty there is hope.

And movies.

 

Thank you, contributors, for having the courage to share your Tempest Tales.  Your words have inspired me to keep going through this latest storm.  And now, anytime I must endure a storm in this mad world–your words will be with me.  On any day, at any moment, I have your inspiration at my fingertips.  And so does everyone else.

You are my friends.  My family.  And you have my heartfelt thanks.

See you There.

In Faith And Hope With Love In Christ,

~aNew

PS:  Drop you a line when I land!

Not Even Pastors Have It Made In The Shade

Today, we have an unexpected, though no less welcome, contributor to Tempest Tales.  And while the two of us do have different perspectives on certain matters, I still think of this contributor as a Brother.  For that which divides us matters not so much as that which unites us.  And as I read his Tempest Tale, I realized that he deserves compassion–not judgment.  His Tale makes me all the more grateful that the two of us have been able to learn from each other.  And that enables us to focus on things from Above, especially since…

LIFE IS NOT ALWAYS WHAT YOU EXPECT

by Pastor Ron

When aNewCreation first asked me to participate in his Tempest Tales series, I did not immediately reply for several reasons. The storms were too painful, embarrassing, and fresh; I just didn’t answer the call. After taking time to read several other stories along with their comments, it occurred to me storms are meant to be shared in the hope someone will be ministered to by God’s amazing grace and mercy. With that in mind, I humbly offer the following story.

God graciously saved my soul on Easter Sunday morning, April 10, 1977 at a non-denominational, charismatic, pentecostal, Bible-believing church in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. This most important event of my life happened while stationed at Tinker AFB. Shortly afterwards, I was transferred to Tyndall AFB, Panama City, Florida, where I met my wife of 30 plus years.

We got married, and it wasn’t long until I felt the call of God on my life, and the Lord began training me for working in the ministry. We attended a small country church, and the Lord allowed us to grow spiritually on many levels, but something was lacking. It wasn’t long until we were transferred to the Marine Corps Logistics Base in Albany, Georgia. Can you imagine that? There was a detachment of Air Force personnel stationed with scores of Marines.

My dad had become very sick with cancer, and I applied for a humanitarian reassignment to Avon Park in central Florida. By the time the paperwork came through, my dad was already gone, and the reassignment was of no benefit. Oh, how I wanted to be near my dad, but it just didn’t work out that way.

My wife and I raised our twin daughters in the fear and admonition of the Lord, and had dedicated them to God as babies. I can still remember them begging my wife and me to let them stay at youth camp for just one more week, but that’s not the way things worked. They were good girls, and we did for them as we knew how.

We love our children, but feel like pinching their heads off sometimes. Let’s step ahead several years. I have now retired from the Air Force and pastoring a small country church. Something dreadful began taking place in our daughters’ lives; they began pulling away from us and the God my wife and I were so in love with. Arguments, colorful language, and other areas of their lives were showing us a side of our children we had not seen before. This is embarrassing for any family, but we were pastoring God’s flock, and felt so hurt and wounded as though we had no business ministering to other people.

You can’t imagine the number of times I wanted to turn my license in to our denomination’s officials. I was ashamed of our girls and ashamed of what had become of the dream God had instilled in my heart. I wept, cried, prayed, and wondered what we had done to deserve this. Many others have gone through similar situations, and I just want to encourage you in this: you did not do wrong. Our children make decisions on their own, and they will have to answer for them. My wife and I know how we raised those girls, and we know we not only introduced them to Christ, we lived a Christ-like life before them.

We were transferred to another country church in Georgia, and here’s where the storm got really bad. One of our daughters was pregnant out of wedlock. Can you imagine that? A preacher’s daughter in that condition. We were crushed by the storm, but something inside kept drawing us to the Cross of Calvary. Friend, there’s forgiveness at the foot of the Cross, and my wife and I had to humbly go just like we had told our people on so many occasions. Honestly, we were almost crushed under the weight, but God is so faithful, He held our arms up as only He can.

Meanwhile, we were trying to move home to Florida because my mother and step-dad were getting older, and were in poor health. It took six years to work out something where we could be somewhat close to them. We were offered several churches, but none of them seemed right. Finally, there was a call from the offices in Florida to come to a church less than an hour away from my parents’ home. We moved.

Since moving here, it has been one big storm after another. First of all, the very first Camp Meeting service we went to was interrupted by a call from my mother’s home. I had to leave and get to the hospital right away. She was sick, and had several surgeries and treatments in the years we have pastored here. She never really recovered from the surgeries; she just got weaker all the time.

My mother died after suffering terribly with cancer. It had affected nearly her entire body. Thankfully, my wife and I were there in the room when she breathed her last on this side of heaven. To me, the worst part of her ordeal was to see how her mind deteriorated; it would sometimes take 30 to 45 minutes for her to answer a simple question. It hurt so deeply to see her suffer like that, especially remembering how vibrant she always was.

I’m almost through, so please bear with me a little while longer. When my wife and I moved to Florida, it wasn’t long until one of the twins moved in with us. She is the mother of two girls, both by different daddies. I can’t tell you how much we love those granddaughters of ours; they are joy beyond words. Our daughter isn’t involved in our ministry, and that hurts more than words can express.

There is one daughter in Georgia, who is the mother of two boys by different daddies, and out of wedlock. My wife, two granddaughters and I drove up to see our daughter shortly after Christmas, and as soon as I walked in to her apartment, I was greeted with a very pregnant daughter. Well, it took all my wife and I could do to stay there and not drive nearly six hours back to our home in Florida. Can you imagine the disappointment we felt as we looked at this horrific situation?

So now we have four grandchildren, all with different fathers, and all without the sanctity of marriage. This is quite a storm, to say the least. We love our grandchildren, and love our daughters, but the way the grands arrived is certainly not the way we ever dreamed.

I’m coming in for a landing now. Shortly after arriving at our new assignment here in Florida, I became very sick with sinus problems, and it lasted about seven months. I’ve never coughed, hacked, sneezed and been so out of breath in all my life. To make a long story short, the doc says I probably damaged the retina in my right eye because of all the violent sneezing. I’ve had about twelve surgeries and other procedures on that right eye, and still have no lens in it. A few months ago, I was informed there was nothing else the eye doctors could do. Not good.

Lastly, I’ve had several surgeries because of kidney stones. Catheters, bags, and pain have been the order of the day. The last surgery was worse than all the others for some reason. The surgeon taught my wife how to remove the catheter, and when it was time, out it came, and I felt like a million dollars. Within thirty minutes, however, the most pain I had ever encountered took me to the floor. Finally, I had to make my way to the ER, and got some relief.

You see, there have been storms, and we are still living in one. It is no secret how God takes care of us, and I am ever grateful to know His mercy and grace. Pastors have troubles, too, but some think we have it made in the shade. Pray for us that we will be able to help others the way the Lord has helped us as we’ve gone through the storms of life.

Summer Snow

Have you ever wondered how the “good kid” feels?  You know, the “smart one” who does well in school and, for the most part, behaves?  The “sober one” who doesn’t drink to excess or use drugs?  The one who lives in the shadows of his troublesome siblings?  Today, you have your answer.  Because behind the summer of all those good grades and all that good behavior is a child lost in a family blizzard of invisibility.  And while I could have easily told you all of this myself–I honestly didn’t want to because I didn’t think anyone would understand the torment–but our contributor today is courageous enough to recount the times he felt like...

THE INVISIBLE KID

by C.P.

I grew up in a very troubled home. My mom and dad married at 16 and 17 when my mom became pregnant. That was not easy for them, as their parents judged them harshly. They were silently shunned from the family. By that I mean, we still spent time with them, but there was always that silent we-know-what-you-did look and underlying treatment.  This was enhanced as my two older sisters and my younger brother made their choices in life.

Me?  I had my bad boy days. At the age of seven I could rip off the local 7-11 with the cashier looking right at me.  I was good.

But one Saturday, when I was nine, everything went wrong.  I found a pack of my dad’s cigarettes and smoked them all. Like Clinton, I did not inhale, just went through the motions. What was the big deal? Later that afternoon, my dad questioned us all, “Who was smoking behind the well house?”  I was scared but did not ‘fess up.

Later in the evening, my parents went to a Sunday school class party. The kids were all dropped off at the church for the teenagers to watch. I was playing with some of the office equipment and almost started a fire.

A little later, a couple of us snuck off to 7-11 to “buy” some candy.  I got a load: gum, taffies, candy bars and vampire blood in a tube. On my way out I heard the cashier ask, ”What’s that in your pocket?!”

Oh, boy.  I was caught.

I showed her what was in my pants pockets, all the stuff I had stolen. She wanted my name.  Not thinking, I told her MY REAL NAME!

“What’s your dad’s name?” she asked.

Think, Phat, think. Before I knew it, I told her his real name. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She went to the phone book and started dialing. All I could think was “I ain’t goin’ to jail!” So when she turned to dial the phone, I ran.  She didn’t catch me.

Somehow my dad found out and asked me if  I had stolen anything from 7-11. Again, I lied. I thought I got away with it. We went home, but all night, when I heard a car drive by, I knew it was the cops coming to cart me away. Needless to say, I did not sleep well that night.

The next morning was Sunday and I could hardly wait for the end of the service, for the alter call, so I could repent of my sins.  I did and have never looked back.

I became the white sheep of the family.

That sounds good, but I also became the invisible kid. Since my record was clean and my siblings, well they were hell raisers, my mom and dad ignored me. I did well in school.  I was active in church.  I planned to go to college to study theology.

But the problem was, no one noticed me at home. My birthdays were the first thing I remember not having. Later my parents said, “Well, your birthday always landed at the end of the school year and since we were teachers and either moving to another school or wrapping up our school years, we simply forgot.”

Wow.

Football games were missed, track meets ignored, grades were looked at, “Okay, A’s and B’s what else…?”

The silence was deafening.

Their time and energy was spent getting my older sister out of trouble with pregnancies — 4, that I know of, before she was 17 — or my other sister with drinking, or my brother’s grades, attitude, or drug use.

But I seemed to have my stuff in order.  I was the invisible kid.

Now this may not seem like a Tempest Tale to some, but I deal with feelings related to being invisible to this day.  It is an invisible wound that I hide with my humor and gregarious ways.  I became the class clown as a kid and have not stopped to this day.

Laughter is the best medicine and has helped me deal with my pain.

I couldn’t wait to leave for college to start life on my own, away from the deafening silence.  But the loneliness was just as loud.  So I did what every good preacher-boy does, I prayed.  I asked for the loneliness to cease and the silence to go away.  The answer from God,  “Go thou, therefore, and seeketh a wife.”  (Yes, He spoke in King James Version; I hadn’t found the NASB yet.)

She is the person who has helped me the most.  We met at eighteen.  On my nineteenth birthday, I had my first party.  Now the loneliness is gone and the silence is filled with words of encouragement.

And I get a party every year.

It may be a drizzle to some, but it is my Tempest Tale.

Into the Light

Today, we get to hear from one of my favorite spiritual Sisters in Blog-Land.  She loves her new can opener, and was nice enough to let me hijack her blog when Tempest Tales started taking a toll.  Hey, as a famous frog once said, “It’s not easy being green.”  And it hasn’t always been easy for me to host this series.  And yet, a Tempest Tale such as this is precisely why I was so inspired to do so in the first place.  As you are about to find out, God has a wonderful of teaching us precisely what we need to know exactly when we need to learn it.  And He absolutely will NOT give up on us.  For we are the…

CHILDREN OF GOD

by Heidi

I’ve had a lot of storms in my life. I really didn’t know which one to write about, so I decided to take you back to the beginning. Most of what has happened in my life is rooted in the original storm that began when I was still in my mother’s womb.

I was unwanted. From conception. My mother was a teenager. 16 years old. She lived with her grandparents, and when it was discovered that she was pregnant, the decision was made for her that she would give the baby up for adoption. After I was born, I was sent to a foster family, and around 6 weeks of age I was taken home by my parents. Adoptions back then were closed, so very limited non-identifying information was given to the adoptive parents.

It seems that I’ve always known I was adopted. It didn’t seem to bother me much as a young child. In fact, I think it was around age 7 or 8 that the reality of it hit home. My younger sister was angry with me, and decided to inform me that I “wasn’t her real sister.” Why this stuck with me, I don’t know. She even got into huge trouble for saying it to me. But it churned around in my mind, and over time became the thing that I built upon.

My parents insisted that I was “chosen” and much loved. But all I knew is that my “real” mom didn’t want me. There must have been something really wrong with me if my own mom didn’t want me. Something fundamentally wrong. Was I ugly? Stupid? Bad? All of the above? There wasn’t information available to tell me why this decision was made. People would tell me of the great sacrifice my real mom must have made for me. Choosing what was best for me by giving me a family who could love and care for me. These words fell to the ground under the weight of the knowledge that I was really unlovable. Over time, I would grow angry at people who said these things, although I never showed my anger to them. I was already learning to wear a mask on the outside.

I pretended to be proud of being different from my family, rather than ashamed. I refused to entertain any similarities, and would tell people that I was adopted, and there was no way I looked like my family, or acted like them. I know now that this hurt my family, but I was just a child trying to cope with the lies that were building up inside of me.

When I was in 6th grade, my parents pulled me out of our local Christian School and put me into public. We also left our small church where we were basically family with everyone, and began attending a new one. Two safety nets were gone. The school had moved to another building and was much farther away. As far as the church goes, I didn’t know that my parents had been abused by the pastor, who was into Shepherding, and wanted to control their lives…I only knew that I had lost everyone I loved outside of my family.

In 7th grade, there was a bully who tormented me mercilessly. Around this time my mother developed Ulcerated Colitis and Chrone’s disease. I remember seeing her lying naked on the bathroom floor in agony, and thinking she was going to die. I prayed that I would die instead.

I became suicidal. My parents had withdrawn from us, dealing with their own hurts and my mother’s illness–I know that now. At first I tried to talk with them about how miserable I was, asking to go back to my old school, but they didn’t hear the desperation. Eventually I responded in kind, and withdrew from them.

Desperate for love, acceptance, and attention, I tried to fit in. I wasn’t allowed to dress like my peers, so I would borrow KISS and Def Leppard shirts from a friend at school. I would put on makeup at school, and try and fit in. My parents would have been horrified beyond belief at my appearance. They were very legalistic back then, and I was not allowed to watch many movies, listen to secular music, wear make-up, or wear clothing like blue jeans or t-shirts to school.

My tormentor continued to break down my self esteem, and my fragile emotional state. Telling me daily how fat, ugly, and stupid I was. How uncool I was. Tripping me, pushing me, humiliating me, being nice only to draw me in and then turn on me. He validated every negative thought I had about myself and brought it into reality.

I began to cut myself. Partly because I was contemplating suicide, partly to get attention, and partly because it made me feel better…it made the emotional pain manageable. By the time my parents found out I was suicidal, it was way too late for them to connect with me. I was hidden away in my pain, and had cemented the lies into place that I was unloved, unlovable, and worthless. I had determined that I wasn’t meant to be alive, it was all a mistake, and that if I died everyone would be better off. I figured that nobody would cry at my funeral, so what did it matter if I was dead.

Except for one thing. I didn’t want to go to hell. I didn’t know if I would go to heaven if I killed myself, and I was so afraid of going to hell, so I couldn’t follow through as much as I desperately wanted to.

I lived like this for years. I hated the church, I hated Christians…they were judgmental and hypocritical. I couldn’t live up to all of the rules. I turned my back on church, although never on Jesus. I didn’t advertise my faith, knowing I wasn’t living it. College was a blur of alcohol, parties, whatever it took to keep the pain back, and hopefully kill myself without actually pulling the trigger myself. There were semesters where I was drunk every night.

I had an abortion. Something I swore I would never, ever do. But I was too ashamed to tell my parents that I had sex before marriage, the great sin. I had seen what happened in church to unwed mothers. The gossip, the ostracizing…The shame was too much, and I blocked it out for years.

Then I met the man who was to become my husband. I’d never been loved like this before. He wasn’t a Christian. In fact, he was a beer drinking, Motley-Crue loving, mullet wearing guy (my mom did a lot of praying). One night Steve and I were out drinking, and over a pitcher of beer I began to tell him about my faith background. About Jesus. It was the weirdest thing, but sitting there in the bar, I began to feel God for the first time in years. The more I spoke, the more it wasn’t me speaking. Later, Steve told me that I said things to him (answered questions) that I couldn’t have possibly known what I was saying to him. I was so shocked and amazed that God would use me…a drunk, a loser, a terrible Christian…

Eventually, Steve accepted Jesus. We were married. And in the interest of time (I know this is getting long), I’ll just say that over the next 5 years, God and I worked together on putting the pieces of my life back together. After the birth of our son I had a breakdown over the abortion–post-traumatic stress disorder–and very nearly killed myself. But with the help of a great counselor, I finally saw and accepted forgiveness for my sin. God delivered me from suicide. It had been such a part of my life for such a long time, that not wanting to die feels strange still.

Sure, we still have our issues and our storms. I’m pretty sure that as long as we live on this Earth there will be issues to deal with. But God has been so faithful, even when we haven’t been, that I know He won’t disappear. He’ll always be with us.

I began the story talking about being adopted, and how that led into other struggles. I’d like to end by telling you what God showed me about it.

******** The BABY ********

There was a baby, laying alone. Nearby was a group of three people huddled in the shadows, talking about the baby. They were discussing what to do with this child. The baby was an inconvenience, and something must be done.

I saw God, looking down on the scene with tears running down His face. He was crying for the child who wasn’t wanted. He reached down and scooped the baby up in His arms, and held her tight. After a while, He looked around. A short distance away was a young couple. They were also crying. They had been unable to have children, and they desperately wanted a little one to hold, love, and to care for.

God looked at them with compassion. He looked down at the baby girl in His arms, and reached her towards the couple. Laying her in their arms, He smiled. Their tears turned to joy as they realized this child was now theirs.

***************************

God doesn’t miss anything. He sees it all. He weeps for us when we are hurting. He laughs with us when we are happy. He holds us when we are alone.

What He did for me, He can do for you. He wants to hold you. Love you. Deliver you. Bring you out of the pain and struggle and into the light.

My favorite scripture verse?

“Yet to all who received Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12 NIV)

Even if we don’t belong to anyone on this earth, we can belong to God.

We can be HIS child!

Another Sweet Day

At times, the storms we face have no forecast outside of Genesis 3–which catalogs the fall of humanity.  And yet, too often, we are not precisely aware of just how fallen this world is until a most dreadful Tempest hits home, as it did for our contributor today.  But it is in the Telling that the Awakening comes.  And for those who have endured a broken heart, Gracie has been there.  And she knows…

WHAT BECOMES OF THE BROKENHEARTED?

by Gracie

Another Sweet Day…

Two years before:  June 20, 2003

The sun peeking through the leaves of the trees creates a dappled effect of light and dark on the porch floor. The kitten rolls and scratches, rubbing her back and sharpening her claws. A breeze sifts through the lattice work from the south and the shadows slide lazily back and forth across the porch floor. The birds sing sweetly, no screeches, just lovely songs trilling to each other. Mornings like this are worth a lot to the soul.

So quickly all the joy, happiness and serenity go. My chest hurts with longing for someone who will truly be a team, working together to find solutions, plan events, instead of always “we’ll do what you want” from one to the other. Now my thinking space has been invaded. No more alone time to think and write. The birds still sing, the breeze continues to float in through the windows, but I hear it, feel it, see the clarity of the nature outside, but my body hurts. I feel pain in my throat, tightness; in my chest, aches; in my joints, stiffness. The fluid flow of life’s tranquility is ebbing out of me and the hard, tough, stiff, “can’t touch me” is returning. It’s a defense against this pain. So be it. I need to work… 

February 26, 2005 

I came home to retrieve something I had forgotten and walked in on my husband and my granddaughter, in a lover’s embrace, in the doorway of my bedroom. My heart hurt, my body went hot and cold, I felt ill, sick to my stomach, shaking. I left, then returned to confirm what I saw, before leaving. I was out of town before I realized the full implications and returned to report what I witnessed to the police.

June 7, 2005 

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.  Psalm 34:18

The word brokenhearted speaks to me.

In the days and months to follow, in the blackness and fog, it became clear that my husband had been sexually abusing my granddaughter in our home during the years she was in our care. As I allowed this to wash over me I began looking backward in time and found many of the ‘problems’ we had as a family were due to this unholy relationship between my granddaughter and her grandfather. To add to this pain, upon cleaning out his things, I came upon letters and journals of others he had been with during our marriage. I had lived 25 years believing lies, trusting the untrustworthy, loving one who could not love.

My initial reaction to that morning was disbelief. My mind refused to accept what I saw. My view of my husband and my granddaughter changed. I saw him with disgust and I wanted to cradle her. She was thirteen at the time. Later it was revealed that this had been going on since she was seven.

What followed were months of questions. Why?  Why did I not see this?  Why didn’t she say something?  Why did he do this?  WHY, Why, Why, why……And the answers came: my God is sufficient; my God knows and understands; my God heals; my God was there.

My focus remained on God and His ability to carry us through. He would reveal the truth in time.

“He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness, and light dwells with him” (Daniel 2:22).

I became more steadfast and determined to do what God would require. My husband was a truly sick, manipulative man in need of help and repentance. I worked to get my granddaughter help, I worked to rebuild our relationship, and I turned my husband over to God, to His care and molding.

Emotionally I felt drained, intellectually I searched for truth, physically I was tired, and spiritually I drew even closer to God. My identity hurt. I didn’t know who I was. I had been mother, wife, and grandmother. Now I was alone, coming home to an empty house, waking to an uncharted day. I found I couldn’t sleep, and then I would sleep too much. I didn’t want to eat, and then I would snack constantly. My days went by with less and less being accomplished. They seemed long sometimes. I would forget things, lose things, and miss appointments. I felt self-conscious, like others pitied me, like I was touched by dirt. My trust was destroyed, I had put my trust in my husband and he used it to hurt a child, and so hurt me and the family. The nature of the offense made it public and I felt contaminated by the shame.

Where did this lead me?  It led me to prayer and God’s Word. I have journals filled with scriptures and prayers. Daily placing myself and the others in God’s hands, asking the Spirit to heal, lead, guide, I found God’s word is powerful and does not return empty.

“And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will. (Romans 8:27) 

As I read, whether Old or New Testament, I found others suffering as I. I found others guilty of the lies, cheating, defiance, and hatred I had been exposed to. And I read of God’s mercy and his healing. I read of his compassion and love.

“I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Joshua 1:5)

The words never leave jump out.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness.” (Jeremiah 31:3)

The words everlasting love lift off the page to my heart.

Did I experience anger?  Yes!!!  Often. During our marriage, during the dysfunctional time, and after the truth came to light. What did I do with that anger? I gave it away.

“In your anger do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent.” (Psalm 4:4)

Turning it over to the Lord was frequent. Explosions occurred, but thankfully, I was alone most of those times.

At one point however, it left me stranded. I was with my son and his wife when I had an episode of amnesia. It didn’t last long, just long enough to frighten us. God is faithful. It was short and I turned once again to him with fervor, praising Him for healing, loving me and being there for me. I learned to let the anger wash over me; let the log of anger in the stream float on by. I learned to not wade out into the water and pull it out and hold on to it. I learned to recognize that I am not responsible for the actions of others, only my own. They answer to God for their own deeds. 

“You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.” (Psalm 30:11-12) 

March 24, 2007 

The sun is making an appearance; the trees are alive with birdsong. The cats call to each other. Life is rampant around us. Spring–the ‘old has passed behold all things are new.’ We have promise of a new life, new love has blossomed, new growth is progressing, and we are regenerated through our relationship. God has promised blessings to His faithful and we have received those blessings.

The Bible teacher, Bill Britton, states:  “…speak what you have heard and seen from Heaven!…if you’ve  had a ‘heavenly vision’ or caught a glimpse of God’s divine purposes, hold on with bulldog tenacity for God will surely bring it to pass.”

At about 16 I had a vision, I wrote it. I saw a perfect world in which all held the truths of God close and applied them to their lives. War ended, strife ended, greed, envy, hurt, pain ended because all were engaged and focused on preferring one another, serving one another, acting in unity. That is heaven–what completes it is God’s presence–a constant outpouring of His Spirit in and through us.

Then I took my eyes off the possibility and looked on reality–the sin around me–and was filled with despair. And the path I took reflects that despair. I have come through the tunnel of despair to the light of His Word and can once again see what will be. Knowing I can live in that place now, by choice. Even as my body remains in the presence of good and evil, I choose the Word–the good, and choose to disallow the evil to place darkness on my life. 

It is now four years later, I have a new husband, my granddaughter is living with her parents and doing well. God is good.

Another sweet day…

Smiling Sun

Here today is a very talented writer and an extremely gifted poet who, literally, lives half a world away from most of our contributors.  (Don’t you just love the Internet?)  Her words are so authentic and so revealling, I was delighted when she chose to share a Tempest Tale.  As it turns out, however, she has had so many storms that it was difficult for her to chose just one.  She is a beautiful woman who lives in a beautiful country, though one so mired in economic struggle it has affected her family tremendously.  Through it all, she has been a shining example to me of hope amidst despair, of endurance among desperation, and especially of the willingness of the human spirit to survive and thrive under the most difficult circumstances.

MANY STORMS, ONE FAMILY

by Sherma

In my thirty years of existence, my family and I have been through a lot–good and bad. I do not know which of the storms we’ve been through is the worst, or most difficult, as they all had been at the time we were battling them, but I have chosen to talk about that time that left an indelible mark in our collective memory. 

Let me take you back to that Christmas Eve 16 years ago when a kind of glowing seed planted itself in each of our hearts. 

We were gathered around the dining table, about to eat the modest food we’ve prepared for the Noche Buena. The food wasn’t the kind one would expect on a Christmas table, even among ordinary Filipino families.  But to us, what we had constituted a fiesta. 

We bowed our heads–my brothers, Mom, and I–as my youngest brother, then 10 years old, led the prayer. It was his first time.

He asked us to bow our heads, then started. “Thank you Lord for…” 

As my brother led the prayer, I heard a muffled sob inside the only room of the garage-turned-house we lived in, and slowly, tears started flowing down my cheeks. 

It was my Dad who was inside that room, unable to stand on his own, could not even get up of his bed without assistance, feeling deeply sorry, not for himself, but for the fact that he could not buy us our Christmas gifts.  

But who would care about Christmas gifts when he was there in the battleground, having a one-on-one with death and we were there watching him slowly losing, feeling so helpless that there seemed nothing we could do to help him? Inside our hearts there was a huge fear, gnawing at us, whispering into our fearful ears that we would lose him. 

But still, my brother started his prayer by thanking the Lord. 

Inside of us, there were also some other secondary concerns–where to get our next food as my mom had been illegally laid off from work three years before, and we had been eating law terminologies for lunch and dinner as our parents decided to fight Mom’s employer in court. 

With one parent very sick, and another reduced to selling household wares hulugan* (installment) style in the market to support us and buy dad’s pricey medicine–unlike in other countries, our government does not have a good medical support for the poor)–we kids also had to do our share, helping in the house and doing what we can to help mom make both ends meet, while having to care for our father, and maintain our schooling. We were almost certain that we would have to quit school sooner or later, which was very sad, as we had been doing well in school, and we had big dreams for the future, and getting a good education was our only hope of rising above our situation. 

But somehow, at that moment, right after my brother uttered the first word of his prayer, something miraculous happened. A different kind of strength surged through each of us, that as we dined, we started telling each other we will get through it. 

I can no longer remember clearly how that night ended, but I remember feeling a kind of lightness inside my heart I could not explain. It was as if we did something good. It was as if I was sure we weren’t losing our father after all. And that we will all triumph over those multiple storms. 

And yes, we did make it. All of us. Dad miraculously recovered. After three years, he completely regained his strength. And we didn’t drop out of school. And Mom, she won the court battle nine years after she sued that company. 

It could be said that that court battle jeopardized our schooling, as it made things extra hard for us while we were going to school (she got her back wages not when we desperately needed it but after we had graduated from the university and dad had completely recovered). But then, looking at how strong and determined and close we have become as a family despite–or because of the things we’ve gone through–I now look back at the things we experienced as planned in detail to help us become better persons, and to understand how it is to be human, to be vulnerable, so that if ever we would become successful, we would always remember to identify with the vulnerable.  

The road after that Christmas Eve proved to be long and difficult, but we just continued walking forward as a family, believing that the sun would soon rise and smile brightly upon us.

The Miracles of Life

Oftentimes, we mistakenly limit miracles to extraordinary, eye-popping occurances–a winning lottery ticket, a medical recovery, a car starting on a cold winter morning.  Perhaps a house that sells for half a million dollars just before the market dries up–which, of course, only means that we benefit while someone else loses out.  Yes, often we relate miracles to what we want, instead of glimpsing God in the details of this decaying world.  We might see the suffering of others and wonder, “How could God allow that?”  But when suffering hits home hard, as it has for this contributor, we eventually realize that the wind and the rain and the cold is so great that only the dawn of a new world, without our loved one, alleviates our suffering.  But through it all, God gives us the spiritual strength and stamina to run our own enduring race, the marathon of survival to our promised Crown of Life.  Survival is the miracle of life.

INTRODUCTION

by G.

When I first signed up for aNewCreation’s Tempest Tales, I thought long and hard about what I should write about.  I decided against writing on my struggle with depression since I covered that pretty well already so I asked God what I should write and His answer was this: “Write about Gram.”  I said ok and started.  Then stopped.  And cried and said, “no way, I’m not doing this…I’ll write about the ‘church’, [the one that burned me].”  God was quiet.  I didn’t do anything for a while then I found myself sitting down and writing about Gram.  I stopped again and cried.  I kept thinking how this wasn’t going to work; I should pick another topic, blah, blah, blah.  I asked God if He was sure I should write about this, just in case you are wondering He said yes.  So I wrote it.  Madre, Padre if you read this I apologize for any facts I may have gotten wrong or anything I might not have remembered accurately.  Everyone else, here’s my Gram’s story and my family’s Tempest Tale.

MY GRANDMOTHER NEYSA

I was in the fourth grade when Gram got sick; at least that’s what my Madre tells me.  My personal memories of when exactly Gram got sick are fuzzy.  I remember hearing about an incident which I think got the whole crazy train started where Mall Security in California had to call my dad to get the license plate number of my Gram’s vehicle because she had forgotten where she parked it and had left my 90-some-odd-year-old great-grandmother in the van in the middle of summer.  But I don’t remember how old I was.  It had to have been around fourth or fifth grade because my bro and I were still being home-schooled and were still living in Mountain City, Nevada.  And then I remember hearing something about how Gram and Granny had been surviving off of grilled-cheese sandwiches and that Gram had been spending all of her money on useless pointless things.  The next thing I remember is driving up to California and moving her and Granny out of their house.  I remember how at the time I thought that was the worst thing ever because I loved Gram’s house and was so disappointed that we had to sell it.  Turns out that wasn’t the worst thing ever.  So we moved her and Granny to Mountain City with us.  It was a tiny town about a day from good medical facilities and any sort of civilization.  I don’t remember when Gram was officially diagnosed but I remember it was difficult to get someone to definitively diagnose her.  All the freaking doctors wouldn’t commit or couldn’t agree on what was wrong with her or if there was even anything wrong with her.  Even when it was obvious they kept saying oh it’s nothing to worry about its just old age.  Finally one of the doctors gave us a name for the thing that was killing my Gram: Alzheimer’s.  We had no idea what to expect.  I mean you always hear people joke about having Alzheimer’s when they get a little forgetful, but it doesn’t come close to the actual nightmare of the disease.  It eats away a person’s mind.  They forget in sort of a timeline.  The earliest or most present stuff goes first and then the latest or past stuff goes.  It’s painful to watch and I’m sure it must be terrifying to go through.  And then there are all these nice little side-effects that no one ever warns you about.  Gram became paranoid; we had to keep her from watching the television because she couldn’t distinguish reality from fantasy and would try and call the cops, she hallucinated and worst of all, in my opinion, her personality changed.  We had to lock the house up at night because she’d wake up, not remember or recognize where she was and wander around the streets.  We moved from Mountain City to Spring Creek (which is a suburb of Elko, Nevada) after a few months so that we could be closer to medical facilities and nursing homes when the time came.  Granny moved in with relatives in New Mexico. At the time I didn’t understand why she did that but thinking back on it now I don’t blame her.  Can you imagine watching your child lose their mind, their memories until nothing is left?  Anyway so Granny moved to New Mexico and Gram was with us.  My memories of this entire thing are kind of fractured.  I believe that I separated school and friends into a different space from home, family and Gram.  So even though I remember them all happening in the same place I’ve segregated the time period it all happened in.  It was easier for me to deal with it that way.

There are a number of small incidents that I remember most clearly.  Little snapshots in my mind that show what Alzheimer’s did to my Gram.  She used to be the sort of Grandmother that’s the cause for all those T-shirts saying “spoiled by Grandma” and stuff like that.  Gram always had these little jars of candy around her house that my bro and I had full, free access to.  She would let us eat breakfast in front of the television on weekends and watch cartoons.  During the weekday (we lived with her for a time) when it was just me and her and Granny after I had finished my bowl of cereal she would pour some more milk in my bowl because I loved drinking the milk that was leftover and there was never enough.  She used to take me with her to her Salon appointments and the ladies would let me sit on the floor and play with my toy horse, Beauty.  My bro and I pretty much owned her backyard and she would let us use her bathtub sometimes which was like getting chocolate for dinner.  She was the one I remember telling me that scabs were God’s band-aid.  And then she got sick.  I remember watching her walk down our hallway with her walker tilted up one side and when my mom tried to get her to put the walker down so she wouldn’t fall she got mad and insisted that she was walking on a hill.  Our house was level.  I remember one particularly bad afternoon she stood in the kitchen and put her head between her knees because she said there were bugs in her head and that was the only way to stop them.  My brother yelled at her.  Told her it wasn’t bugs that she had Alzheimer’s and was forgetting everything.  I think he was angry, whether it was at her or God I don’t know.  I don’t remember being mad, just heartbroken.  I don’t think it was until years later that I realized I was angry.  But not at God or Gram, I think I was angry at my parents for taking her in, for not putting her in a nursing home sooner, for always being responsible and not taking the easy way out.  I remember her walking out of her room with her shirt unbuttoned and when we tried to tell her she got mad, told us her shirt was buttoned and wouldn’t let my mom help her so instead we convinced her to change her shirt and to let me and mom help pick out a new one.  I remember her and my mom arguing a lot.  I remember her walking into my room once, I was in bed and she asked me what I was doing in her room.  I tried telling her it wasn’t her room but she didn’t believe me and kept asking me why I was in her room.  It wasn’t until mom and dad came over and confirmed what I was saying that she finally remembered and then she tried playing it off saying something like “I knew this wasn’t my room I was just checking on her (me).”  We all pretended we knew that.  I remember her getting sick more than once and taking her to the hospital where she hallucinated a little boy sitting on her plate “helping her eat” her meat and another visit where she punched my mom.  I remember the last straw the incident that prompted my parents to finally put her in a nursing home.  There was this huge fight between her, dad and mom.  I sat in the bathroom the whole time crying and just praying it would stop.  Mom found me and her and dad talked and decided it was time to put Gram in the nursing home.  None of this was helped by her paranoia at several points over the course of the year or so she was living with us she became convinced that we were trying to kill her and in turn convinced one of my uncles who then turned around and told us we were, not only gold-digging murderers, but damned and non-existent in God’s eyes.  She was in the nursing home for I think it was two years.

There were a few good things that happened during this time.  There was this one time we went out to eat at a local restaurant, it was one of her good days.  We had almost finished eating; my mom had a piece of steak left over and had given to my brother (the bottomless pit).  Well he had to go to the restroom so he left the table and my grandmother reached over and oh so innocently took the leftover piece of mom’s steak off of my bro’s plate and set it in her lap.  My brother came back and sat down and looked down at his plate.  The steak was gone.  He looked over at my mom with this look like “what did you do?  Why would you do that?”  And then my Gram held up the piece of steak and went “Na-na-na-na,” tauntingly.  We cracked up.  It was hilarious.  The only other good memory of have of her during all that time is after she went into a nursing home down in Colorado.  We spent Christmas that year with her and family members from my dad’s side of the family.  It was the last time I saw not only Gram but one of my uncles and his family (he was the one that thought we were of the devil).  It was both the best and worst Christmas.  It started badly in my opinion; firstly she didn’t recognize us you could tell because she’d smile at you with this sort of vacant expression.  And then she opened a present from someone that was a picture frame with pictures of family in it.  Seemed like a good idea until she saw a picture of my uncle E who had died a year or so earlier from a heart-attack and she looked up and asked us where he was.  We had to tell her that he had passed away.  The look on her face made me want to hit someone, her heart broke all over again.  But then we went to my other uncles’ house (uncle R) to open the presents from him and my family.  Gram was still confused.  She kept asking how we were going to get everything back to Nevada.  We just kept saying don’t worry, we’ll manage it.  And then there was this one point in the evening Gram had just finished opening one of the presents we were just kind of milling around, I was sitting next to Gram.  At that point I had pretty much checked out mentally and was just floating.  Gram put her hand on my arm and clear as a bell said “(my name) can you get me a glass of water?”  I checked back in pretty quickly and said, “Sure Gram,” walked into the kitchen and cried.  I remember telling my mom and I think she hugged me.  I remember thanking God, just telling Him thank you.  That was the last time I saw Gram alive.  I know she got progressively worse.  She forgot how to use a phone, forgot that she’d been married twice and then she forgot how to chew.  After that I began ignoring the constant updates, or at least pretending I was ignoring them.  But I heard it all, she developed Parkinson’s and her muscles atrophied, she stopped dyeing her hair, she lost a lot of weight and then she died.  I didn’t even cry.  I was relieved, maybe even glad.  It was the second time during this whole ordeal that I thanked God.  It sounds horrible but I just wanted it to be over, I wanted her to be at peace and for all of this to be done.  I was happy that she had gone home, she was whole again and I knew God would take care of her now.  Just like He had taken care of me and my family, I count it among one of the miracles of my life that we managed to survive as a family through Gram’s illness.  God managed to keep us together and keep us strong, that wasn’t the first (or last) storm we went through as a family.  But we survived (and continue to do so).  Thank God.

The REAL Sunrise

This one is so good it needs no introduction from me.

FACING THE STORM WITHIN

by Alan

It’s quarter past four in the morning.  At the end of this empty hospital corridor, I can see the sun rising, but to me it is a false dawn.  My wife is in the operating theatre, through the double doors in front of me.  After twenty-seven hours in labour, the doctors have decided that the only option left is an emergency caesarean.

I can’t stay with her.  It’s not allowed.  I have to wait in the corridor.  Alone.

Why have they waited so long?  Simple: Linda’s platelet count is so low that they’re concerned she might bleed to death.  She couldn’t even have an epidural, for the same reason.  Now they have no choice.  They’ll both die if the doctors don’t operate.

I’m afraid.  Afraid they’ll both die anyhow.  My beautiful wife and the child she has carried for the past nine months.

A nurse walks past, then stops.  Comes back.  Puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “They’ll be alright.”

Tears in my eyes, on my cheeks.  I can’t answer.

I pray.  Wondering if God will even remember who I am, it’s been so long.

Father, please, keep them safe. Keep them safe.

Silence.  Sunlight in the empty corridor, but I can’t see it for the darkness of the storm within.

A door opens further down the corridor.  A nurse beckons, and I walk to the door, thinking, “She’s smiling. Are they…”

I’m afraid to even think the word.  Think that they might, after all, be alive.

I walk through the door and see, bloody, bruised but beautiful, my newborn son.

Thank you Lord.

An hour later, in the recovery room, the first thing Linda sees is our son, in my arms.

The real sunrise, at last.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…” Psa 23:4