GOD SPEAKS IN THE MIDDLE OF HEARTBREAK.

Numbers 30:2   “  If a man makes a vow to the Lord, or swears an oath to bind himself by some agreement, he shall not break his word; he shall do according to all that proceeds out of his mouth.”

Almost two decades ago, I had met up with my very first love.  We chatted online, on the phone, and eventually I flew out to meet him for the first time in over 30 years.  He hadn’t changed much, still had lots of energy and things to say, but I was shocked when I heard him ask me to marry him.  Not just shocked, but ELECTRIFIED.  Because now I believed all of my dreams were coming true.  I went to his city, interviewed for a job there and got it on the spot, and went home to my family to announce that we would be moving.  I also turned in my resignation to my current employer.

Until one day, I woke with a little voice inside that said “NO!”  Needless to say I followed up to figure out why, but I won’t go into those details, because they are not the point of this story.  I did pull my resignation, tell the other employer I would not be coming, and informed my fiance that I would not be getting married to him.  Then I laid down to cry over my broken dreams.

One morning I woke in tears again, but I felt the feeling of arms encircling me from behind. I would have been terrified, with the exception of the Voice I heard.  He said, “Behold, I make all things new.”   And although I heard, and I knew the Voice, I did not understand. I got up and went on with my life from there, not thinking much of what was being “made new”.

Many years passed and I still hadn’t figured out what was being made new.  But I had grown to trust God in all that He said and did in my life, and I knew He had a plan for me.  Last week I was out driving and just reminiscing about all the times I spent here in Tucson. Over there was a park that my boys played ball at, there was the school where my little girl went to kindergarten, beyond that my old place of employment.  During that drive I passed many places that my dad had talked about.  And a light came on in my brain.   (Don't you just wish we humans had brain traffic lights to stop us from doing stupid things?)  This was not a traffic light, it was a light to illuminate why God had kept me here, and what He had meant by things being made new. 

During those years following what I thought were the demise of my dreams, I had watched my sons marry and my grandchildren born.   I watched my daughter excel in all she put her hand to. Beyond all that, my dad had gone blind, gotten very ill and ended up in a nursing home where he passed away.  I sat with him, and watched the light of the glory of the Lord on his face, and knew he was finally seeing the one he truly loved, Jesus, as he took his last breath.  And then part of the “Why” was answered.  

And now I page back to December of 1967.  My Grandad, who was my earthly hero, had been put in a nursing home after his stroke.  He begged to go home, and I wanted him to, not understanding that there was no way I could care for him.  Since I was only 15, I had to have my dad take me to the nursing home for they did not allow anyone under 16 to visit without an adult present.  The week before December 26, 1967, I had been to visit him and promised him that I would be there with him on Christmas day.  That never came to pass, because that day my dad never went to see him.  However, he did go the following day, but did not take me with him.  When he returned home, he was sobbing uncontrollably, and telling how he had walked in to find Grandad dead.  I was furious!!!  And in my grief and despair I blurted out “I SWEAR TO GOD I will NEVER LEAVE YOU TO DIE ALONE IN A NURSING HOME!!”   And then I just went to my bed and cried.

At the time of my dad’s passing the Lord brought something to me.  The vow that I had never remembered, God had allowed me to keep.  I had not left Dad to die alone in a nursing home.  So how does this relate back to the beginning of this tale?  Had I married and left this town, I would never have been able to watch my sons marry and my grandchildren born or my daughter exceed my highest expectations.  I would have missed all those years.  I would not have been here to care for my dad in those years that he needed me so.  But most importantly, I would not have been here to be with my dad as he died and I would not have been able to keep the vow I swore to the Lord back in 1967.  The Lord accomplished it all!!

To be continued

A Voice in my wilderness

                                       

I have neglected the gift the Lord gave me so long ago.  It was years ago, when I was just a little girl, that I stole off to the barn with a No. 2 pencil and a piece of paper and wrote my heart out.  It continued sporadically throughout my life, eventually resulting in creation of a blog, publication of a book of poetry, and various and sundry other things.  But today I heard the Voice of God again, and so now I will tell of that.  Because He has been calling me back.  Back to writing, back to the gift He first gave me.  It is all for His reason and His purpose that I tell the following stories. 

The first time I heard this Voice, I was standing in my kitchen doing dishes and my three month old daughter was sleeping in her crib.  As I washed and set the dishes to dry, I heard a voice behind me in my right ear.  Not loud, but just as though that person was standing right behind me.  The Voice said, “Aasia is going to get meningitis.”   I whirled around to see who was there, but there was no one.  I went cautiously through my apartment checking each corner of each room and checking on my sleeping baby.  No one was there.  My assumption?  I was hearing things.  DOH. 

8 months later, I woke up early so I could get my baby girl off to the sitter before work.  But when I went to her crib and touched her, she was burning up with fever.  And I heard the Voice, “This is it.”  Then I knew it was the voice of the Lord, warning me. 

I packed up some baby necessities and rushed her off to the pediatrician.  He examined her, gave her medicine, bathed her in ice, but still the fever held.  At that time he told me to take her home and let her sleep, and if she got worse to take her to the Emergency Room.  Do you think I had the courage to tell the doctor that I had heard the voice of God tell me she had meningitis?  No!!  I was more worried he would think I was insane!  But I followed his orders, and called in to work saying I would not be in, then laid down with her to sleep. 

When I woke, I checked her and she was unconscious, with her eyes rolled back in her head. In terror I snatched her up and drove like a mad woman to the hospital.  And second miracle (because the first was God speaking to me), there was a doctor standing at the door!!  He saw me carrying in her limp body and took her from me, asking “What’s going on with her?”   I blurted out, “She has meningitis!!”  And he looked at me, cocked his head and said “How do you know this?”  Believe me, at that point, I had no problem telling him, or worrying about whether he thought I was crazy or not.  And I blurted out, “God told me!”   He looked at me in a strange way, but said he was taking her immediately for a spinal tap.  When he came back into the lobby where I was waiting, he said that the second the fluid came out he knew that is was indeed meningitis and that they were admitting her.  I cried and cried, walking up with her to the Pediatric ICU, and then cried as I watched them insert needles in her skull and arms.  The prognosis for her recovery was dim.

But doctors are not God.  God had a plan for my baby and for me.  A month later, I took her home with me and we celebrated her first birthday.  It is true, she had to relearn walking and all that, but I can tell you that since that day, nothing has stopped my girl from what she set her mind to do.  She had some physical issues because of it, but nothing to stop her from anything she wanted to do.

And as for myself, I was not only grateful to the Lord for warning me and saving her life, but just for speaking to me.  For indeed, He showed me the path to life.  It would not be the last time, either.  

Perhaps one of you has also heard His voice?  

1 Timothy 4:13-15 New King James Version (NKJV)

¹⁴ Do not neglect the gift that is in you"

 To be continued

Yak Yak Yakkity Yak

Going through old papers, and found this that I wrote in a devotional back in 2003.

I was talking with my brother last night, and he brought up the fact, and yes, I mean fact, that women talk so much that men can't get a word in edgewise.  Well, he put it much more tactfully than that, but that is the general gist of the subject. 

According to him, and I can't attest to this because I do not wish to appear "Yakky", women have like 60,000 words to say per day, apparently all stored up.  (In reality we  probably have more, but hey fellows, we hold back for your sakes.)

Men, on the other hand, have only about 20,000.  Women spend about 20,000 of them a day telling kids "No", speaking in Dr. Seuss and Barney languages, and when their men get home, they are ready at last to communicate. The problem is, the men have spent 19.990 of their words at work and only have like 10 left when they hit the door.  If they yell, "Honey, I'm home!" They will only have 7 words left to communicate and thereafter are reduced to grunts. 

But then is exactly when the women want to communicate!  Poor guys.  And of course this made me think.  (I have been accused of that occasionally.)  But I was just pondering this.  Mulling it over.  It seems to be a spiritual problem with humans vs. The Eternal Being as well. 

We take our daily prayer time with God and we talk, talk, talk, and then we are ready to communicate.  Hey guys, this is not just us women.  Heads up, you do this too!

So let me detail a typical prayer.  One of mine. 

"Good morning, God!  I love you, Jesus!  Praise you!"

And God said, "Good morning, Susan..." and then I interrupted.

"Ok Lord, here's my list, hmmm.  I want to pray for our nation, and no more wars, and our leaders, and my son's and my son's wives and my daughter and my daughters future husband and my husband if I ever have one, and blah, blah, blah... yak..."

And God said, "Susan, I have something to say..Excuse me, Lord of Heaven and Earth to Susan.." and I interrupted 

" And Lord, I want to thank you for the trees and the flowers and my car and my job, and my house and blah, blah, blah.." (Here, God probably rests his great eternal chin on His hand and sighs.)

"And Lord I want to add, Blah, Blah, Blan yak yak yak.." And on and on I go.  Sometimes for hours.  Do I listen? Occasionally, if I happen to run out of air, or words. (Yes, guys that does happen sometimes.)  Or if some calamity has already happened because I DIDN'T listen. 

God wants to communicate with us!  This is a two way street.  I know from experience that if I don't listen, I pay for it in the long run.  Or worse, I miss something that could benefit my spirit. 

We need to LISTEN.  Turn on our spiritual ears and shut our mouths sometimes.  He has a lot to tell us.  About Him, about our lives, and about our world.  Most of the time we are so busy yakking, we cant hear.  Want to hear something I hear when I finally shut up? 

"Susan, I love you.  I gave my life so we could have this talk.  I have given it so you can live..."  And that gets my attention every time. 

I think sometimes we just need to listen.  To God and then to apply that to listening to others.  Just hearing His Heart and the heart of others. A little less talk and a lot more action.  

Ok, now that I have said that, at least I have used up about 530 of my 60,000 words, so I will shut up. 

"Be Still and Know that I am God, I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth"  Psalm 46:10 

God richly bless you all!!, 

Susie

Copyright 2003 

One Thing Greater Than the Dust We Own

I woke up from a dream in tears this morning.  I don’t remember everything in the dream, but the vivid picture left in my mind was this.  I was clutching the pant leg of my Grandad’s old overalls and pulling on them, and crying out his name. 

I had to get up immediately from that, my heart racing, because it stirred the memory of his death and my loss. 

After I caught my breath, the Lord brought a scripture to me.  “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.  For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world”

Of course I had to look it up.  1 John 2:15-16.  And just to be sure I looked up other translations.  The New Living Translation says this: “Do not love this world nor the things it offers you, for when you love the world, you do not have the love of the Father in you. For the world offers only a craving for physical pleasure, a craving for everything we see, and pride in our achievements and possessions. These are not from the Father, but are from this world.” 

I pondered this.  It was clear in my dream that I was hanging on to my Grandad’s things.  That is clear to nearly everyone who knows me.  I have his WWI uniform, letters he wrote to my grandmother from France, some of his old tools, pictures of him, and various and sundry other things.  I consider them the most valuable possessions I own.  And why would that be? Because he was the most important person in my life, showing me how to live, pointing the way to heaven, and showing me the things of the earth.

But what of the overalls?  I have to say they were his signature clothing.  Well, those and his hat.  In my dream, this simple piece of clothing symbolized all that he was, being taken from me.  And the light came on.  All of his stuff that I treasure, every piece, are only worldly things.  And the thoughts went deeper.  Any of my achievements in this world?  Only dust.  All of my hopes and dreams in this world? Only dust. My grandads precious body buried in Colorado?  Only dust. 

But what of the treasures I have on this earth?  What are those?  My children and grandchildren?  My brothers and sisters in the Lord? They will also one day be Only dust on this earth.

And then it came to me.  My true and only treasure, is Jesus Christ!  He alone conquered the grave and lives forever!  He is not dust! He is alive and real.  And because of that one mighty selfless, loving act, the act of dying on a cross for all the world’s sins, yes and for mine also, and then conquering the grave by rising from the dead, He made it possible that all those I loved may one day be more than dust. 

So what will I do with my earthly treasures?  One day I will leave, and someone else will inherit them. I can hope that my children will cherish them, but they will not have that same connection with them that I do.  If I did have those old overalls, I can guarantee that those would be the first to go when I leave this earth, for there would be no “connection” to my Grandad.  They would not know or remember the smell of Lava soap when they held them, nor remember sitting on their scruffy knees listening to stories from the Bible.  They would not understand the heart connection, between myself and him, because that would not have been their experience.  It is after all the Heart connection that hold us to the things of the past.

We tend to save things that mean something to us.  Old photos, Flyers from events, birth and death certificates, gold jewelry, old furniture, and yes if I had them, I would have saved those old overalls.  But this dream caused me to question my evaluation of priceless things.  What is priceless?  The smile you can bring to an old person in a nursing home, just by showing up to show them you love them.  The sigh of relief of a poor person who, realizing what you have done by buying them food, recognizes that you are showing them love.  The acceptance of someone who has strayed far out of the path, and now, having come back, realizes that your love for them was always there. What is priceless and lasting?  Love.  It is the only thing on earth that means a darn whit. It will make up for lost time, it will call the lost to be saved.  It will hold the hands of the rejected and comfort the dying and lost. 

It was my love for my Grandad that brought that dream to me.  But more than that it was the love I remembered he gave to me, to show me the way to heaven, where he now is, without overalls.  And bigger than that was that he introduced me to the Creator who came to this earth and gave His life for me because of His unimaginable love for me.  

1 Corinthians 13 The Greatest Gift 13 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body [a]to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing. 4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not [b]puffed up; 5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, [c]thinks no evil; 6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; 7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part. 10 But when that which is [d]perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away. 11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. 13 And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Happy Mother's Day!

This is a day we celebrate the women in our lives who fed and clothed us, stayed up late worrying about us and prayed over us.  We honor your courage, conviction and devotion.  We look back at the discipline you gave us, whether that was with sideways glances of “what did you do this time”, rolling eyes, threats of a wooden spoon on our behinds, or just words that we still hold fast in our memories. We are grateful that you didn’t give up on us.

This is not just for those Mom’s who gave birth to us, but for those who took us in when we were homeless, who took us into their hearts when we were heartbroken, and for those who came into our lives and gave us direction when we had no clue what to do.

It is also for those women who became our sister’s and friends.  Who shared the burden and joys of their motherhood. Those who gave us recipes for food, sleep, and a plethora of other advice that we could never have survived without.

I had lots of “Mom’s” in my life and I am grateful for every one of them.  I hope you will stop to remember them, whether or not they are in heaven or still on earth.  You would not be who you are without them.

My own mother went to be with the Lord when she was only 36, but before she left she made sure that I had a place where I was safe and cared for.  My Grandmother Linn was my next mom, and she taught me that what it means to be a “proper” lady goes much deeper than hair and makeup.  My step-mother taught me how to sew and cook, but most of all she taught me that there is some behavior that one does not have to put up with. My Grandma B taught me that loving someone is not all about flowers and romance, but about being there for them, no matter what.

And then there are all the other mom’s in my life.  Those who took me in when I had nowhere to go, who counseled me and loved me even when the choices I made were not good.

If it were not for all of these women, I would probably not still be on this earth.  My only hope is that, in some way, I honored them with my life. 

To all of the Mother’s out there I want to wish you a Happy Mother’s day! 

FACING YOUR FEARS.. REAL OR IMAGINED

Mr. BIG

There are things in our life that loom larger than life.  Problems that overwhelm us.  Tough days when it seems we just can’t do anything right.  Weeks, Months, Years when it seems that Lady Luck has left us on her back door step for the trashman. Decades of loneliness, and lifetimes of regret.  I think sometimes there are things that are meant to loom larger than life at us, to show us perspective too.  Sometimes we have to face down our fears and smack ‘em.

When I first came to Arizona and set up housekeeping, I discovered bugs.  Now that does not mean we don’t have bugs in Colorado. It means that in Arizona, where everything grows year round, the bugs were supersized and had an attitude.  Now I am a country girl, and not afraid of bugs much, in fact I find some of them quite interesting.  But spiders.  Now that is something I can live without.  Let me clarify that I consider ANYTHING with eight legs to be a spider.   This includes spiders, scorpions, and something that the Hispanic population down here calls an Alacran.   An Alacran is a strange mixture of spider/scorpion, with claws like a scorpion and an attitude.   I met up with one I will call Mr. Big one day in my kitchen.  It was not a pretty sight.

He apparently had come in to get a bite of food that my kids had dropped on the kitchen floor.  I was just happily be-bopping around the corner from the hall, when I spotted him.  Larger than anything I had ever seen.  I screamed.  I ran. 

The neighbors around here are all Arizona natives and find it quite hilarious that I have a habit of doing that.  They knew right away that there was a spider in my house as soon as they saw my entire family evacuate the premises in a screaming mass.  Then we stood outside looking at each other, like who is gonna go handle this.  I saw the neighbors setting up lawn chairs to watch the festivities.  They were cracking open some beer and settling back for some entertainment.  Huh.  Fine.  I decided that I WAS GOING TO BE BRAVE.  And I took my shoe off to go handle Mr. Big. 

I sneaked into the kitchen and eyed him from around the corner. He was busy sitting in the middle of the kitchen.  Not doing anything, just sitting.  I sneaked up on him and raised my shoe, and about that time, He turned, raised his front loaders (claws, somehow make these things look like a tractor) and ATTACKED.  I ran for my life.  Out the door with a blood curdling scream.  The neighbors clapped, hee hawwed and gave me a 10.   It was now my son’s turn.  He came in looking around, didn’t see anything and quickly retreated.  My daughter just peeked around the corner.  They looked at me like, hey you are the parent HANDLE THIS so we can get back to our video games.

I steeled my nerves.  Shoe in hand I came in, eyes alert for any movement, hair standing up on the back of my neck.  I felt like I was fighting Satan and he was using guerilla warfare and winning.   I strained my eyes all around, looking to all sides of me, and finally peeked back in the kitchen.  There he was again, just enjoying a snack and kicking back.  I raised my shoe, I charged.  He raised his claws and charged. I closed my eyes and I smacked him. 

Now I want you to know this is not just some ordinary creature here. These things have been known to flatten themselves out so much they can fit in-between the pages of a book and pop up when you open it.  Sort of like one of those artsy pop up books.  And they can use this dubious talent whenever they choose.  Mr. Big chose to utilize his at the moment of impact from my shoe.  When I pulled the shoe back, He just popped up like HA!  You missed me!  And then raised those claws and came after me.  Eight-legged freak probably would have taken my shoe away and smacked me with it if he could have.  And then he came at me.  Running full tilt, all of his big hairy legs running in tandem.  But I didn’t run, I just stood my ground.  I had armed myself, and I wasn’t giving up.  I smacked him again with the shoe.  He did the pop up thing.  Again.

I went into a frenzy then.  I ran to the kitchen sink grabbed the Raid and began to spray.  He just laughed (if spiders laugh) and chased me all around the kitchen.  I ran to my room for a boot.  This was it. Now I was fighting for my life, and I was determined not to lose.  He raised his claws, glared at me with those thousand eyes, and charged.  Only I was smarter this time.  I hit him so hard it sent him flying through the air out into the hall way and skidding across the floor back into the kitchen.  Then I chased him down.  I must have smacked that thing a hundred times, the entire time crying hysterical tears, until my oldest son came in and said, “ Mom.  I think he is dead, you can quit now.”   And then I collapsed in a heap and cried real tears.

I looked at Mr. Big.  Real hard, cause you can never be sure with an enemy that large and aggressive that they won’t somehow resurrect and come after you again.  What I saw, although gross, was amazing.  He was all of three and a half inches long.  I was 5’6”.  I must have scared him to death.  The shoe had nothing to do with it, after all.

Like I said, sometimes we have problems, heartache, loneliness that just loom larger than life.  If we are courageous and take a stand, we can face down these problems, and live to tell about it.  Had I backed down from Mr. Big, we would be living elsewhere, and he would be bigger than real life by now.  But I didn’t.  I faced my fear, head on with a shoe. 

In all fairness, I have to say, had God not been with me, I would be not living here, in Arizona, in this house.  It would have long ago been taken over by spiders, and I would long ago have moved somewhere a little more bug free.  But this is the key to my story.   God  IS always with me.  Holding my hand, comforting me, and telling me that if I need to,  go get a bigger shoe.

Finding True Treasures

We often think how wonderful it would be to discover treasure.  The word evinces images in our mind of piles of gold coins and vessels from days gone by.  But real treasure cannot be measured by how much money it will bring.  True treasure can only be found in the heart. 

I spent two days with my youngest brother going through stuff of my dad’s that he has had in storage for over 15 years.  Boxes of books, scraps of paper, and lots of really old dust.  After the first day, I was covered in dust and overwhelmed by exhaustion.  I must have looked much like treasure hunters of old had when they were digging in the earth for their expected finds.  Only I wasn’t really expecting anything except maybe a few documents for the family genealogy or a couple of my old favorites in reading.  

The next day, God decided to surprise me.  Let me back track a bit.  Well, maybe a few years.  Well maybe 49 years to be precise.  But first I will back track to two months ago. 

Back in November I was thinking about what other books I could download onto my Kindle so I would have sufficient bed-time reading, and I ran across the name of an author of some of the books I used to read at my Grandad’s house.  The name Florence L. Barclay jumped out at me, and I remembered reading a book called “The Rosary”.  So I downloaded it and spent the next few nights reading it.  For some reason the poem in the book was stuck in my head.  I had no clue why.  Sometimes Time hides important treasures.

Page forward to last Saturday. As my brother and I were going through the books, there at the bottom of a forlorn box was a book that looked oh so familiar, and I dived in to grab it.  As I pulled it up to read the title, there it was!  “The Rosary” by Florence L. Barclay!   I eagerly opened it and did I ever find a treasure.

There, written on the opening page, under my grandparent’s name, was my own handwriting.  The poem from page 51 and 52 written out.  And as I read it, memories flooded back and tears filled my eyes.

Now page back 49 years.  I was 15 years old.  My Grandad had died just weeks before and I was alone in the house in the dark.  The loneliness was nearly unbearable, so I got up, turned on the light and began searching through the bookcase for something, anything to read to take my mind off of my sorrow.  My grandparents had both been teachers and avid readers so there was plenty to go through, but my eye landed on something that I had never seen before.  A green book with a simple title, “The Rosary” by Florence L. Barclay. 

I took it with me to bed and read myself to sleep for a few nights, until I ran across the poem that the book was titled after.  As I read it, tears and memories flooded my eyes and my heart.

The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,

Are as a string of pearls to me;

I count them over, every one apart,

My Rosary, My Rosary!

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer

To still a heart in absence wrung;

I tell each bead unto the end, and there-

A cross is hung! 

Oh memories that bless and burn!

Oh, barren gain, and bitter loss!

I kiss each bead and strive at last to learn

To kiss the cross…to kiss the cross.

Memories.   My grandmother reading the Bible to me.  Sitting on my Grandad’s lap and listening to him sing his silly songs.  Listening to his endless tales that kept us entertained while we did the farm work.  Laughing at the little jig dance he did when he was feeling silly.  Listening to his quotes from the book of Proverbs and questioning him because I really didn’t understand how any of it applied to planting trees or scooping cow poop.  Endless memories, each one a pearl!  

The poem hit the mark that God intended.  I missed Grandad so, but I knew in that moment all he had taught me was true.  And I knew one other thing.  I knew I was lacking something or someone in my life.  I got up and looked for another, more familiar book, one that my Grandad had read to me a million times, about Jesus Christ dying on the cross for my sins.  And I could hear his explanation of how to be “saved.”  I never before felt that I needed that, except to save me from my crazy sister, or if my dad happened to be on a rampage. But that night I knew what he had meant.  I knew I needed the Lord in my life.  And because of that old man’s faithful teaching, I knew exactly how to go about this. 

I knelt by my bed, weeping, and asking God to forgive me for anything and everything I had ever done, and I asked Jesus to come into my heart.  Oh how I needed Him so!  Not for any specific sins, but to be my companion!  I needed Him to fill that empty space that was left when Grandad died!

And then I sat down with a pen, and did the thing my grandmother would never have approved of while she was here on earth; I wrote the poem down in the front of the book as a reminder to myself of the commitment I had made that very night.  

The very next Sunday, when I went to church, while they were giving the call to the altar, I went right down to the front and dedicated my life to the Lord.  What happened after that is for another story, and I can tell you that there were times when I did not keep that promise.  But He has always kept His.  I have never been alone since then.

He who is always faithful, brought to my remembrance that promise I made so long ago, alone in the dark with Him, when He brought the most glorious light of Himself into my darkest place, and has walked with me to this very day.   Yes, I discovered a treasure, hidden deep within my heart.