She was Bald, Toothless, Covered with Scabs…and She was Indescribably Beautiful.

December 8, 2015December 8, 2015 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 5 Comments

I had developed quite an affection for my neighbor across the street, Sandy. I had met her eight years ago when we moved into our house. She was small and looked older than her years. We invited her to neighborhood get-togethers, but she never came. In her own words, she was “backwards, shy, and didn’t go out of her house much.”

Pretty soon her habit of being a hermit became a necessity. Her heart started to fail because of years of smoking. She had to get a pacemaker and could hardly walk across the street without becoming winded. On those rare occasions that we saw each other outside, I was struck by the beauty and sweetness of her heart, buried beneath a wrinkled and toothless exterior.

I was amazed by how she was able to quit smoking cold turkey after 30 years of the habit. I was touched when she called me on the phone because she had seen a rainbow outside that she thought my children would love to see.

Once I visited her in her cute little home that had been in her family for 100 years. She showed me every Christmas card we had ever sent out, and I got the impression that she treasured them and considered us more than acquaintances. We were good friends. She could observe our comings and goings through her front window. She noticed when the boys were playing outside and how much they were growing. I realized that I should make the effort to visit her more often.

I really did try to reach out to her, but my visits were few and far between. Every time I looked out my front window, I would imagine her alone in her home except for her faithful dog. I would pray for her. Pray for her to not be lonely but to feel God’s presence. Pray for her to feel his love for her. As I prayed, day after day, my love for her grew. She became my mission field. I could not go out and do things with the freedom that I wanted to, having to be with my children and nurse the baby frequently, but I could pray for Sandy.

One night I felt the urgency to call her. I had almost never called her. In fact, I don’t call other people very often because I am afraid of bothering them and being a pest. Maybe that is how Sandy feels, I thought. Despite the fact that I had offered to help her time and again, she had never called me for help. Perhaps she was afraid.

It was late at night, but I knew her health was failing. What if I missed an opportunity? What if she was at home but in trouble? The urge was so strong, that I just had to call.

She answered and was just fine. But I got the chance to tell her that I had been praying for her and that God loved her so much.

A few months later, in the sticky heat of summer, I finally got over to visit her. Her home was messy and so dustly, it was hard for me to breath. I felt a bit sick as I sat there and chatted cheerfully. How must she feel, with her bad heart and a chronic respiratory infection? She had no energy to clean! Plus she was connected to a bulky oxygen tank by a long tube in her nose. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. At first she said no. Finally she told me that she had groceries in her truck that she had been unable to carry in from the morning.

I was appalled! It had been 90 degrees that day. Surely her groceries were ruined. But I kept a smile on my face and said, “Sure, the boys and I would love to carry them in.”

We got all the groceries in. Thankfully the perishable items had been put into the fridge earlier. I dumped the huge bag of dog food into the dog food dispenser and tried to help with anything else I could. All the while Sandy was muttering, “I hate to ask people for help.”

I pleaded with her to call me the next time she went shopping. I did not receive a call, but sometime later, Sandy’s best friend knocked on my door. She looked terribly agitated and asked if she could sit. I offered her a chair, but she never sat. She stood and paced and rubbed her hands on her legs as she explained the reason for her visit.

“Did you hear the sirens last night? Well, Sandy was back in her room using the large oxygen tank. I don’t know why she did this, but she lit a lighter and the oxygen caught on fire. She was burned all over her face, and her bed was burned. She was able to call 911, but she was unresponsive when they came. She is in the burn unit, and I don’t know what is going to happen.”

Her friend was so distressed, and now I was too! Sandy’s health was so bad, could she possible live through this? Had I lost my opportunity to tell her about Jesus?

I really prayed for Sandy over the next few days. Had I shown her God’s love the way he had asked me too? God gave me this verse.

Ezekiel 33:7-9 “I have appointed you as a watchman for the people of Israel; therefore listen to what I say and warn them for me. When I say to the wicked, ‘O wicked man, you will die!’ and you don’t tell him what I say, so that he does not repent –that wicked person will die in his sins, but I will hold you responsible for his death. But if you warn him to repent and he doesn’t, he will die in his sin, and you will not be responsible.”

I had always hesitated to lay out the gospel message when I thought that others couldn’t or wouldn’t receive it. But here God was telling me that the outcome was not my responsibility. I was simply responsible to do what he was asking me to do.

Amazingly, Sandy was back home within a few weeks. I resolved to obey Jesus the best that I could. I felt that he loved Sandy and just wanted me to introduce her to him. I didn’t know if she knew him, if she believed in him at all.

I visited and called a few times a week, bringing her food and handmade cards and encouragement. I wanted to make sure that I was there to help even if she couldn’t ask me for it. I had some lovely times sitting in her cozy home (which was now bright and clean thanks to her very energetic best friend). Sandy’s face was black with scabs. Her head had been shaved. Her body couldn’t get rid of all the fluids that they had pumped into her at the hospital, and she had blown up like a very uncomfortable balloon. Her heart had gone from working at 25% to only 10%. I wished that there was something I could do for her! I asked her if I could pray for her and she let me. Maybe Jesus would heal her to show her how much he loved her. I tried to have faith that we could see a miracle!

“Jesus loves you so much, Sandy!” I told her. “Do you know how much he loves you?” I asked. Here was my chance to introduce my friend Jesus to my friend Sandy. I could tell her about how I met Jesus and ask if she had ever met him in that way.

“I don’t know if he loves me. Things keep going wrong for me. I am so sick. I just want to be able to get out of the house and drive to the store or something.”

I felt the weight of her suffering. I felt the power of her pain. I had been going through a season of suffering as well, carrying many unanswered prayers and unanswered questions. I wasn’t sure how to answer her because I wasn’t sure how to appease the sorrow of my own heart. I knew that Jesus loved us, but I didn’t know how to explain how I knew.

“That’s what I am praying for. I pray you will feel better and better.” That was all that I could think of to say. Perhaps Jesus would heal her through the night and she would begin to see his goodness. I would check back with her in a few days and try again to introduce her to Jesus.

Sadly, I never got the chance. Some days later we saw an ambulance sitting in the street between our houses. There were police all around. My heart was heavy. If she was truly having an emergency, the ambulance wouldn’t be sitting there like that. The police wouldn’t talk to us about what was going on, but later that night we found out.

Sandy had simply collapsed and died. I couldn’t believe it. I had no more time to develop a friendship. No more time to pray for her. No more time to tell her my testimony and find out if she had one of her own. I did not know the condition of her soul, if she trusted in Jesus and he carried her to heaven, or if she never knew him and she was separated from him forever.

All I knew was that I had not done what Jesus had asked me to. I hadn’t introduced her to him. I was distraught. I felt like the most horrible evangelist there had ever been. My mission field had been one person and I had failed. I had failed Sandy and I had failed Jesus.

I talked to God about it. How could I go through life knowing that there was something more that I could have done to save her? How could I enjoy eternity if Sandy was not there? How I longed to see her again. How I longed to see her restored and renewed and healed. I wanted to see her in all the glory and beauty that I KNEW was in her but could never be seen in this life. I felt the value of her soul and grieved because the precious jewel that she was might be lost forever.

“Is she with you God?”

He hasn’t given me a clear answer yet. I needed to feel the weight of my mistake and repent. I needed it to push me closer to Jesus and closer to his heart.

I NEED to become a better evangelist! I NEED to practice and be uncomfortable and try and try again.

What he did remind me of was this. He knew that evangelism hasn’t been one of my gifts, normally being very shy myself. He knew that this was my first big assignment (that I was aware of). He had factored in my weaknesses and failure into his plan. He wanted me to learn from this and move on with more understanding and more confidence. He did not want me to give up in guilt and despair. He wanted me to move forward, being open to talk to anyone and everyone about him.

He reminded me of how far I had come. Many places I have lived, I never gotten to know my neighbors at all! Slowly I began to become more outgoing (with help from my husband). In this neighborhood, I have a good friendship with most everyone on my block.

Over the years I had prayed and prayed and prayed again for Sandy’s salvation, for her comfort, for her healing. The Great God, who loves Sandy infinitely more than I do, wouldn’t let those prayers go unanswered, would he?

All it would have taken from Sandy would have been one cry!

“Jesus!”

A cry in her heart or with her mouth and he would have been there, rushing in with his glorious presence, wrapping her with his love and immortality! I am sure of it.

Whether she ever cried out to him, I do not know. I do know that I miss my friend. Instead of her white car with the American flag flying from the window; there is an ugly, rusted dumpster in front of her house, gathering the discarded pieces of a life. Instead of seeing the candles in her windows, all I see is darkness. I don’t know if I will ever see her again.

What I do know is that our obedience matters. It has eternal consequences that are too heavy for me to even understand. Yet our obedience has the potential to bring more joy and glory and reward than we can even imagine! And we can only be obedient if we are listening and watching what our Father is doing.

Do you know Jesus? He is my friend and he has been the best friend I have ever known. He has never left me and he never will. He is with you right now and will be with you forever if you want him to. Can I introduce you to him?

How Does God Define Success?

November 2, 2015 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 2 Comments

One day I was driving home from church and passed a big, shiny, brand new pick-up truck. It was a beauty…and it was grey. Oh, did I mention that it was really shiny with lots of chrome and cool lights. Did I tell you that it was impressive like the trucks on the commercials that are driving haphazardly through large mud puddles and hauling tons of important, manly looking items? That is about all of the technical details I can recall about this truck. If my husband had seen it, he could tell you the make, the model, the year and several important facts about it. Then he would say with a frustrated but wistful longing, “I would love to have a truck like that!”

I would love for my husband to be able to have a truck like that! He has owned at least 4 different pick-up trucks, all of them used. All of them needed a lot of repairs and were more trouble than what they were worth, in my opinion. But Chris does do a lot of hauling and hard work, and loves pick-up trucks. As I passed this particular grey truck, I wondered to myself, “What would it feel like to be able to own a truck like that? What would it feel like to be successful enough to turn Chris’ dream into a reality?”

God used that grey truck to shine a light on the inner workings of my heart. I realized that my definition of success was this: having enough money to buy an expensive new truck. Then I thought about my vision for our future, a future where Chris and I had been successful. I saw our family living in our dream house we had found on the internet. The one that has seven bedrooms, six bathrooms and ten acres. We were able to pay all our bills on time. We were able to buy a new camper. We were able to take time off from work to use that great new camper on vacations with all the children. We had enough space and time and money to open our home to missionaries needing some R &R, and maybe we even developed a ministry to special needs children on our lovely property.

In my vision, our future was so beautiful and we were so prosperous…and comfortable. My idea of success is the American dream: to work hard to earn a good life and then be able to enjoy that good life. Dictionary.reference.com defines the American dream as: a life of personal happiness and material comfort as traditionally sought by individuals in the U.S.

Exactly! That is what I wanted! Isn’t that what we all want?

But is that what God wants for us? Is that His best for us? What is God’s definition of success?

Jesus said that we should seek his kingdom first. Isn’t his kingdom all about…well, HIM?? Isn’t it all about knowing Jesus and having relationship with him and becoming like him? Anything that distracts us from knowing him is no success at all.

I realized that my definition of success was infinitely too small. A shiny grey truck could make me happy when the most beautiful, powerful, captivating treasure was waiting in the wings…waiting to be sought out, to be discovered, to be experienced, and to be loved. And that treasure was waiting to show me his love, to blow apart my mindsets and wreck my American dream if necessary to bring me to himself.

“You will not measure true spiritual fruit rightly while you are in the earth. You can only measure your true success by how much more clearly you are able to behold the LORD, by how much better you know His Voice, and by how much more you love the brethren.

“You must not try to judge by the fruit that you see on earth, but do what you must because it is right.

“Even so, more that bearing fruit, your call must be to know the LORD. If you seek Him you will always find Him. He is always near to those who draw near. ..There is no higher purpose. Your victory will be measured by your seeking. You will always be as close to Him as you want to be. Your victory in life will be according to your desire for him” – The Call

A new idea of success was forming in my mind. To know Jesus more each day. To look into his eyes every moment and see his great love for me. To live in that love. To be able to see the face of God clearly enough to make out when he is smiling. To desire to make him smile with my every thought and word and deed. What joy and peace that would bring to any circumstance of life that I might find myself in.

That, my friends, is true success!

Breaking Through to Prosperity

September 29, 2015November 18, 2016 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / Leave a comment

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:2

I had always found great comfort in this verse during times of trial, knowing that no matter how hard my life got, God would not let the troubles overwhelm me. Most of these trials have had to do with finances. How many times can you drive around the same block of “not enough in my bank account” before you realize that you are in the wrong neighborhood and hightail it out of there? Seemed to me that we had tried a million different paths to a million different locations and always ended up in the same place – that run down, ugly part of town called “Lack”

otherwise known as “Hope Deferred”

or “Too many Big Dreams and Not Enough Money.”

I was praying again for some insight on how to conduct our lives in a way that would lead us to that abundant peace and prosperity that the Bible is always talking about. Again God gave me Isaiah 43. But this time I understood it in a very different way.

Perhaps the most dangerous and powerful rivers in this life were not hardships as I had supposed. Perhaps success, wealth, and the praises of man were far more perilous. Perhaps the fiercest flames were not that of failure and rejection but that of acceptance and comfort.

My husband, Chris, loves music and had gotten in the habit of watching the TV show “Behind the Music.” I don’t know very many popular bands, but I could predict the basic story line of almost every show. A few guys had some talent and big dreams to become rich and famous. They achieved their dream after varying degrees of time and effort. They were worshiped by fans. They had enough money to make every desire and whim become a reality. They had everything they ever wanted…and it just wasn’t enough. They would spiral out of control with excess; drinking, women, and drugs. Many of them ruined their families and careers. Some even lost their lives. The blessed few humbled themselves and got their lives back on track.

What I learned is that quick and easy success is no blessing! The adoration of fans is no blessing! Abundant wealth is no blessing…if you do not have the character to handle it…it will destroy you.

If all our dreams came true tomorrow, I wouldn’t become a drug addict. Chris wouldn’t become a womanizer. Yet we could become prideful without even realizing it. We could rejoice in our own wisdom and power. We might be tempted to lead others to our most excellent way rather than point them to THE WAY. We might become too comfortable to seek His kingdom first.

I began to read Isiah 43 in a new light. Chris and I had learned so much through our 19 years of marriage. How to better budget our money. How to work as a team. How to pray and trust God more. How to leave behind generational curses. We had made so much progress, yet we still did not see the prosperity that God had promised us.

Then I heard His still, small voice.

“What is left is for you to do is to seek me and know me more. Every moment of everyday, take the opportunity to sink your roots deeper into the soil of my love and truth. I am withholding the mighty river of overwhelming blessing simply because you are not yet ready to handle it. Until your roots are firmly anchored in me, it could sweep you away.”

I am so thankful that God is keeping me safe from myself. I am so thankful that his promises mean that someday I will be like Jesus; able to steward great power and responsibility without letting it control me. Being able to humbly accept both abundance and lack and be content. I will be able to follow the advice of Rudyard Kipling.

“If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;

If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same.”

Triumph and Disaster and are powerful forces that could consume all that is good in our lives. Yet if we are already completely consumed by the Lover of Our Souls, those two impostors have no chance at moving us… except deeper into his embrace.

Born on the Fourth of July

July 4, 2015 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 1 Comment

My third child becomes a teenager today. Cadin Christopher, “Confident Follower of Christ”, was born on the fourth of July with the shaggiest head of dark hair like his mom and the deepest brown eyes like his dad.

He was a good and content baby. He and his older brother and sister became a happy trio.

They were always together, yet Cadin never felt compelled to do things the way they did things. He had his own unique talents and tastes from the beginning. When the other children were happily doing arts and crafts with Grandma, Cadin would be building a model.

When Areli and Cole would be picking out bathrobes from the Disney Store, Cadin would want Power Ranger Pajamas instead.

He was a sweet and thoughtful boy, yet he had a power that could take you by surprise. When Cadin was four years old, he and Dad were chasing each other around the house and rough housing as boys love to do. His dark eyes were shining with joy and his chubby cheeks were bouncing with each step. I was sitting at the kitchen table when I observed Dad run into the living room with Cadin on his heels. I saw Cadin take a flying leap into the air right before the kitchen wall obstructed my view. I heard the most incredible “Boom!” It was the sound I had always imagined when the Giant fell to the ground at the end of the Jack and the Beanstalk story. I ran into the living room to see what had occurred. Dad was on the floor laughing hysterically, and Cadin had his arms tightly wrapped around Dad’s legs. Our four-year old had single-handedly tackled his father to the ground!

As Cadin grew, his eye for detail was incredible. I would give him the special chores around the house, because I knew that he would do them properly. He would place the pillows back on the sofas with the stripped pattern matching exactly. He would put away the silverware with every large spoon and every small spoon in its perfect place.

He struggled with reading for years until suddenly in third grade he began to read everything in sight. He would pick out special scriptures in the Bible and write them down in his notebook and read them to me. I was very often encouraged by those words of truth that he had found intriguing.

Just this past school year, Cadin was a lifesaver for me! I was tired most of the time from being pregnant. I was still trying to homeschool Cadin and do therapy with my special needs daughter, Ashlyn. All the other boys were in public school except for Cadin and Courage; the very loud, very demanding, and very active almost two-year old. Cadin would watch Courage, follow him around, and take care of him almost all day long. Cadin would even change his diaper and put him in his crib for nap, since Courage was too big for me to lift. Most of the time Cadin carried out this duty with patience and a fun-loving attitude that Courage just loved.

I have not yet successfully potty trained a child before the age of three. There might be hope for Courage, however, because Cadin has made this his personal mission. One day I simply suggested to Courage that he should try to go pee. Cadin appeared out of nowhere, scooped up little Courage and held him with one arm. With the other arm thrust out in front of him and pointing towards the upstairs bathroom, Cadin tore through the house at top speed yelling, “GO! GO! GO! This is not a drill!” This time Courage was the little boy with the bouncing cheeks, loving every minute of this adventure in potty training.

Cadin would complete his homeschool assignment each day while Courage was playing with blocks or sleeping in his crib. Cadin was very self-motivated. He has always been a whiz at math, being a year ahead in his math curriculum. He would organize numbers and solve math problems in ways I had never thought of. He loves to read books with all sorts of science and history facts. His joy of learning is evident as he tells me from memory how many feet long the Titanic had been or that a squid has 10 arms.

He has a good heart that wants to do what is right. He will walk away from watching a TV show if he senses an inappropriate scene is coming.

He has a fun-loving heart, full of songs for every occasion.

He is sensitive yet strong; painfully shy at times yet confident.

I cannot believe he is a teenage already.

I cannot believe he is my teenager and how incredibly blessed I am to call him my son.

Nobody Knows in Advance Which Day Will Be the Day of Their Death

February 4, 2015 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 5 Comments

For my Grammy, that day was February 4, 2011. Sometimes you get an inkling that this life is drawing to a close. With Grammy, I was completely shocked. I was thinking that she could live another ten years, being from a family of long livers. She was even improving and starting to eat and walk again. I had no idea that February 4^th was her day. I simply thought it was my last day with her for a time, since I was flying back to Pennsylvania on February 5^th. I am so thankful for that last day with her.

Grammy was cozy in her new room at Harbor House, a memory care facility. She was confused about a lot of things, but she kept on insisting that she was going to move back to her apartment at Primrose. She had spent the Christmas holiday in rehab after a stroke. She was unable to get any of her mail. So she and I spent a long time on her favorite love seat, reading every single Christmas card she had received. I was amazed by how many people still sent her cards and how detailed their letters were. She remembered every single person and told me nice things about each one.

Then I read to her the scripture God had given me when I was praying for her before this trip, Isaiah 43:1-4. I saw Jesus carrying her through this strange new trial like a lamb on his shoulders and he was saying, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. You are precious and honored in my sight and I LOVE YOU!”

Grammy paused from her talking for a moment. I wondered what was going through her mind, and I hoped that she felt God’s love. Then she started right back into discussing moving back to Primrose.

Soon she became very tired, and we tucked her into bed for an afternoon nap. She looked comfortable and peaceful. I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye.

Chris and I spent the evening with relatives. What a wonderful evening we had! We returned our rental car since a shuttle would be taking us to the airport in the morning. Our relatives drove us back to our rented room at Primrose. Chris and I were so worn out from our busy week. We wanted to just flop into bed and sleep as much as we could before our early morning flight. However, we still had to pack our bags. As we were getting everything ready to return home, we received a phone call. A young nurse from Harbor House informed us with a shaky voice that Grammy had passed away! She had slept away the afternoon. One of the nurses had tried to rouse her for dinner, but Grammy said she was too tired and just wanted to keep on sleeping. When they checked on her again, she had no pulse.

My heart started to beat fast. Was this supposed to be happening? Grammy dead, this soon? I had left too early in the day! I should have stayed at her side all evening. I had missed the moment when she left this earth. I immediately felt sad and guilty. Chris quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

“There was no way that you could have known. You did just what you were supposed to do this week.”

I began to feel a peace fill me. All I could do was what I had done. Grammy lived a long life and died peacefully in her sleep. She didn’t have to suffer. May we all have a death so sweet!

We called our relatives and asked them if they could drive us back to Harbor House. We wanted to say our final goodbyes. I had never experienced death so closely before. When I entered Grammy’s room, she looked just the same as I had left her, peaceful and snuggled under her blankets. I expected her to open her eyes and see me standing there, yet she was still. I felt that I was standing on holy ground. Jesus himself had just been there to gather Grammy into his loving arms and carry her home. His presence still lingered, and it was so sweet.

I really couldn’t know Grammy’s personal relationship with Jesus, what transpired in the depths of her heart and spirit before she died. But the presence of Jesus in the room gave me the peace that I would see her again in heaven. None of us can make it to heaven on our own. It is the same as trying to get to the moon by jumping our very highest. It doesn’t matter how hard we try or how well we train, we just can’t reach the moon. Jesus lived and died in order to carry us there. He is alive right now, constantly loving us and praying for us that we will trust him to do it. So let’s do less jumping and more trusting. There is nothing to fear and EVERYTHING to look forward to. For those who trust in Him, death is a reward and it is holy.

I Heard God Serenading Me

January 29, 2015January 29, 2015 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 5 Comments

It was late January of 2011. Christmas had just passed. It was the bleak midwinter, and Chris and I found ourselves emerged in the cold and snow of Wisconsin. We were in a situation we never anticipated and were unprepared for, in over our heads and praying for strength and wisdom.

My grandmother, who I always affectionately called “Grammy”, had suffered a stroke. She was placed in rehab and we expected her to make a full recovery and return to her assisted living apartment. Then my mom received a call from the fancy, new rehabilitation facility. A social worker informed her that Grammy had refused all rehab and had hardly walked since the stroke. Grammy had developed dementia and was deemed unable to make her own decisions. She certainly couldn’t return to her apartment and the very expensive room at the rehab facility was doing her no good at all. Yet she was still paying for both places. We were told that if a relative didn’t come to Wisconsin and become her guardian, she would become a ward of the state.

We all felt that Chris was the best candidate to travel to Wisconsin. He would take care of Grammy’s finances and get her situated in a nursing home. He was so gifted at organization and decision making. His time as an employee of Home Instead Senior Care had well acquainted him with the needs of senior citizens. At the last minute, it worked out for me to go as well. I left my seven children with trusted friends and traveled with Chris into the unknown. I felt a special grace for this time, yet I felt a huge weight of responsibility as well. Grammy had always been able to take care of herself, being very healthy and as sharp as a tack. Now at 96, she was to become our responsibility. I was used to Grammy telling me what to do, not the other way around!

We rented a guest room at Primrose, the assisted living community where Grammy had an apartment. It was new and beautiful and very comfortable. We were only supposed to be there 3-4 days which meant our schedule would be non-stop. We had to see a lawyer and then a judge to be granted guardianship. Then we had to visit nursing homes and chose one. We had to visit Grammy several times, of course, and work things out with rehab and Primrose. We had to think about applying for financial aid. Although the nursing homes were not nearly as nice as her current home, they charged a lot more, and we had no access to Grammy’ financials until the judge said we did. Once the judge granted Chris the guardianship, we had to visit all Grammy’s banks and clear out her apartment. We had to sell her car and forward her mail. The list went on and on without end. I kept a pen and paper with me constantly to write down every new name and number, every new appointment. My mind was so overwhelmed with details that I could hardly think straight.

When visiting Grammy, my heart was torn. She spoke so intelligently. She sounded so much like the Grammy that I had always known. I would think that I was making a horrible mistake by taking control of her life and moving her to a nursing home. Then she would remind us of why we were there. She would think Chris was one of the nurses. She would talk about the “seed soup” that she loved to eat. It turned out that “seed soup” was just tea with thickener added to it so she wouldn’t aspirate. That was about all she would ingest. She had stopped eating most food and had stopped walking. Yet the nurses would mash up a horrible concoction of all her medications and force her to eat it, usually on an empty stomach. Awful!

She would take a phone call from her boyfriend. After a minute, the phone would slip out of her hand and into her lap, yet she would continue talking as if the phone was still up to her mouth.

I knew we had made the right decision, transferring her to a memory care facility. Grammy was still very strong willed and feisty, and I wasn’t sure that she would agree that we had her best interests in mind. I told her gently that she couldn’t return to her beloved apartment but that we would be moving some of her things to a new place. She became so upset that she started feeling sick and displaying all manner of symptoms. Then she promptly fell asleep, sitting up and in the middle of our conversation. I prayed desperately that God would comfort her. She woke up a few minutes later and was in much better spirits.

It was Tuesday morning and like every other morning of the trip, I woke up at 4am and my stomach fluttered with nervousness. I felt so overwhelmed with all we had to do that day, and it seemed like more than we could handle. In addition, I was supposed to be flying home on Wednesday to be with the children. There was a historic winter storm with blizzard conditions and freezing rain from the Rockies to New England. The airports were being shut down, and I wouldn’t be able to fly home. My heart ached for my children. I hated to ask our baby sitters to stay with them for a whole week, but we had no choice.

I felt sad that I hadn’t visited Grammy in the past 12 years. We didn’t have the money to travel to see her, and it was hard to coordinate to take the whole family all the way to Wisconsin. Yet, here I was now, when I had to be. I was grateful to be able to help Grammy in any way that I could. Yet we still didn’t have the money to travel, and we weren’t sure how we were going to purchase plane tickets home (whenever the snow cleared) and how we were going to pay our babysitters.

I thought about how we had to go through all of Grammy’s belongings and decide which things she would like to keep with her at Harbor House and which we had to get rid of. I thought of going through all her personal papers and financial documents, all of her private memories and treasured trinkets, and I felt wretched, as though I was betraying her trust!

I felt awful about putting her in a nursing home. I wanted to bring her back to Pennsylvania to live with us, but I just couldn’t see how that would work. Could she even travel? Would she be devastated to leave the town that she had spent most of her life in?

All these thoughts wouldn’t allow me to get anymore sleep. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could and got into the shower. The spiral of thoughts and emotions continued until I just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“I just want to go home and be with my children, but there is no way that I can!” I said to God.

Then sweetly and softly I heard God singing over me! It was a song by Mercy Me that I had heard on the Christian station, and God sang it to me something like this:

“You’re Beautiful! You’re Beautiful! You are treasured, you are sacred, and you are mine. You’re beautiful.”

I felt wretched. I felt homesick.

God was calling me beautiful!

I felt overwhelmed. I felt inadequate. I felt like I was doing everything wrong.

God was calling me beautiful!

And I experienced his deep, deep love for me when He sang it. It was like the love of a husband watching his wife have a stressed induced meltdown over some silly thing. He understands her thoughts and knows the depths of her heart. He is used to her swirling emotions. He knows that all the details that she is so concerned about will simply fall into place. He knows that she doesn’t need to worry at all, and her freaking out will accomplish nothing. Yet he looks at her and he can’t help but love her, despite her failings…because she is his beloved bride. Even though her face is red and blotchy with tears, her husband can’t help but see her overwhelming beauty. He is totally and completely in love with her at all times, no matter what.

That is how God made me feel that day in the shower. Isn’t He an amazing God! That He loves us so completely! His love was all I needed to take courage again and keep pressing forward, through the rest of the week, through moving Grammy’s stuff and moving Grammy and preparing everything that needed to be done before we returned to Pennsylvania.

Now, years later I look back on that frozen week in Wisconsin with awe and wonder. It was a blessed miracle. I saw God give us favor with the right people and witnessed Him work out all of the details. I got to spend precious time with Grammy. And the blizzard? God worked it out for my good. Instead of traveling home early, I was able to see Grammy comfy and cozy in her new little room. I got to see her happy in her new home (even though she did call it a “nut house”). I got to see her enjoy food and walk again! I got to kiss her and say goodbye before she took an afternoon nap. It turned out to be the last afternoon nap she would ever take on this earth. She finally felt at peace enough to let her spirit fly…and I got to be there…while God sang.

“He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” Zeph 3:17

I Love a Good Birth Story: Part One – Areli Endura

August 12, 2014 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 2 Comments

I love hearing about the miraculous journey that brings a new baby into the world. I adore talking with a mother of a newborn to hear her entire story. I enjoy reading about births, and I must have watched about 30 episodes of “A Baby Story” on TV. But 15 years ago, when it was time for me to give birth for the first time, I had none of these inspirational and informational stories under my belt. I was young and rather clueless.

I got married at 20 and had my first baby at 23. The birth of my first child was the first birth I had ever been to. I didn’t have older sisters or close friends who had given birth to talk to, so I didn’t have many stories to draw information from. My husband and I did attend a birthing class while I was pregnant, and I learned a lot. They showed us a video of three births. Wow! Talk about graphic and horrific and wonderful all at the same time. Still, I wasn’t scared to give birth. I figured that women have been giving birth since time began and if they all could do it, I could do it too! Many women have very easy labors, and maybe I would be one of them. Maybe I wouldn’t even feel much pain at all!

I quit my job as a bank teller two weeks before my due date. I spent those two weeks cleaning every inch of the house, taking walks, taking naps, and enjoying some alone time. Finally, I had done everything I could think of to do, and waiting was all that was left as my due date came and went.

Chris and I snuggled on the futon for a three-hour movie that Saturday night. I was getting Braxton Hicks contractions and Chris decided to time them. They came every 20 minutes like clockwork throughout the entire movie. We decided to try to get some sleep since the next day, we might be having baby! I lay down and got comfy in bed, but I just couldn’t sleep. Those contractions kept coming! We headed to the hospital at 3am.

We arrived to find that my doctor was the doctor on call that night. I was thrilled, because I really liked him! He said I was dilated 5 cm (only half way there), and without explaining or asking my permission, he pulled out something like a knitting needle and broke my water. Experience has taught me to keep the bag of waters intact as long as possible. Boy did the contractions become intense after that!

I sat in a rocking chair and just rested with my eyes closed. When a contraction came, I felt like my entire body would cramp up, and I couldn’t relax it. Chris encouraged me to try all the wonderful positions we had learned in birthing class to bring the baby down. All of them made the pain worse! So I resumed my post in the rocking chair as my mother-in-law and a dear friend of the family looked on.

The sun began to rise and the contractions started to come one right on top of another. I never cried out, but sat as still and relaxed as possible, breathing slowly and deeply.

“Do you think you want to push?” asked my mother-in-law?

“I don’t know.” I said. I really didn’t know anything about giving birth or pushing. Now I could tell you that I was in transition and that the baby would be coming soon. But at the time, I had no idea whether it was going to be 5 minutes or 5 hours until I was ready to push.

They called the doctor in and he confirmed that I was completely dilated and could start pushing. He had me lay in the bed and push with every contraction for 1 hour and a half. Most exhausting work I had ever done! With subsequent births I have learned that it is best to wait to bear down until you really feel the urge, rather than start pushing with all your might as soon as your doctor gives you the go ahead. I was unsure what the urge felt like, yet when it comes…whoa baby!!! Heaven and earth couldn’t keep you from recognizing and obeying that powerful force. Using gravity to help the baby descend is another great idea. Standing, swatting, or kneeling are great positions! When that baby is in just the right position, your body and the baby work together in a beautiful dance of spirit, hormones, and love. It is glorious when you don’t even need those red-faced, blood vessel bursting efforts. Without much exertion at all, your baby will slip from you quickly and peacefully. But I am getting ahead of myself and telling a different birth story!

This time I didn’t know any of that, so I was in bed on my back pushing for a very long time. The doctor gave me a local anesthesia and an episiotomy before the baby emerged. Again, he did not explain or ask; he just did it. I would recommend not doing those things and talking about it with your doctor beforehand. The postpartum pain was 10 times worse and the recovery time was 10 times longer than with any of my other 7 births.

But I wasn’t even thinking about any of that at that moment! No pain, no worries…just joy and excitement and bliss!

“It’s a girl!” I heard someone announce at 9:21am on Palm Sunday.

The precious dark-haired princess latched on right away and nursed for the next hour. I was so happy and complete. I was holding my Areli Endura, “Heroic Lioness of God with Endurance.”

My doctor visited me the next day.

“You had a wonderful, natural birth. It was good for the nurses to see that.”

I marveled at his comment. I thought my birth was pretty normal, but perhaps not, if the nurses were not used to witnessing a birth like mine. I have since learned that most births do contain some interventions and medications that often lead to complications and other interventions. As the years went by, I started collecting birth stories from other women and a common thread emerged.

PAIN! Intense pain that would push the woman to submit to any procedure recommended in an effort to escape it. This was a little curious to me. Sure, I had experienced the worse pain I had ever felt in my entire life! Yet I never felt like I couldn’t handle it, and the thought of medication never enter my mind. Why? I just don’t think I experienced the pain that most women do when giving birth. But why, I kept asking myself.

Then I remembered a teaching tape I had listened to before I was ever married. The preacher was talking about the verse in Genesis 3:16 that refers to “multiplied pain” in child-birth. He said that it was a curse and that ALL curses were broken when Jesus became a curse and hung on that tree. I could be free from the curse of multiplied pain in childbirth! I prayed that prayer right then and there in my bedroom 4 years before I ever gave birth.

“Jesus, I thank you that you have taken every curse. In your name I break the curse of multiplied pain in childbirth. I will not believe the reports and stories that say that childbirth has to be excruciatingly painful! I will give birth without multiplied pain!”

And it really did work, all those years later without me even actively thinking about it. And guess what? Jesus died to take every curse from you as well! Pray that prayer, I dare you!

The first step to experiencing a natural birth with very little pain is to believe that it is possible! There are hundreds of factors that come into play to determine the outcome of labor. Many of these factors we have no control over whatsoever. But God is in control of everything, and I am convinced that He meant childbirth to be an honor for a woman to participate in with overflowing joy! Jesus suffered pain so that we would not have to. And the pain that we do experience in pregnancy, labor, and motherhood can always be used by Him to bring forth something beautiful!

Our Love Story is My Favorite!

August 3, 2014 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 5 Comments

The first time I met my husband, I was in a church gym surrounded by cheap lunch meat and the overpowering smell of raw onions. My “boyfriend” Jesse had invited me to a sub-making fundraiser for the youth group of his church. I must qualify the term “boyfriend” by saying that we were in junior high, and our “serious boyfriend/ girlfriend” relationship meant that we had each acknowledged that we liked each other, and on rare occasions our parents would drive us to see a movie together. This time, my parents had driven me to Jesse’s church.

It was there that Jesse introduced me to his best friend who had just coasted into the gym on a skateboard.

“Anne, this is my friend, Chris.”

And that was the first time I met him, the man of my dreams. Of course, at the time he was still an awkward teenager who simply said, “Hi,” and then skated off again.

I became very involved in Jesse’s church until it became my church as well. I went to every Wednesday night, every Sunday morning, and every special event. Chris and his brother and mother stopped going to church, so I never saw him. Jesse and I broke up, but stayed really good friends.

About two years later Chris showed up for the annual youth group retreat. During that retreat, I realized that Chris had been an integral part of my circle of church friends before they had become my circle of friends. He easily became part of the gang again. We all had a lot of fun.

We were all together again at Jesse’s birthday party when Jesse blurted out, “Chris, you should take Anne to your prom!”

This seemed like a totally bizarre outburst on Jesse’s part, but Chris answered as though he had been already thinking about it.

“Yeah, do you wanna go?”

“I guess so,” I replied. I never thought it would happen. He was a senior, I was a junior. We went to different schools. We didn’t know each other that well. The prom was three months away. He would most certainly have a girlfriend by then.

Chris started calling my house a few nights a week. Then he asked me to accompany him to pick out a tux. It was on that little date that he asked if I was his girlfriend.

I sat in stunned silence for what seemed like five full minutes. I thought that in order to be his girlfriend, he had to ask me to be his girlfriend. Perhaps I had missed something very important during our interactions the past few months.

“I don’t think I am,” I replied.

“Well, do you want to be?”

Again, silence. I hadn’t thought about it. I just didn’t know what to say.

“Could I think about it and let you know?”

We got together the following weekend to discuss our relationship. I told him that I wasn’t ready to be in a serious relationship, and when I did get into one, I wanted to be sure that it was what God wanted. Chris agreed and didn’t seem too discouraged.

Our friendship grew and deepened, and we did go to the prom together.

We spent my entire senior year just “being friends”, although everyone else knew that we were more that just friends. We would go on marathon dates that would consist of wandering around the city for 10 hours or more. We became youth leaders and had fun and wild times at church functions.

We would pray, teach, preach, and put on crazy skits. I played a party animal and heavy drinker in one skit, though in real life I had never had a drop of beer. Chris dressed up as a nerdy scientist for another drama. His entrance into the youth room was supposed to be especially dramatic as flash pots exploded behind him. Unfortunately the flash pots were poorly timed and went off right in Chris’ face. His eyes were sprayed with part of the explosion, and they were watering profusely for the entire skit. Chris didn’t miss a beat and continued to act his part perfectly.

Once, the youth group went white water rafting. It was great, except there was no white water. We were floating lazily down the river. This was ideal for Jesse and me, but Chris required more excitement. He proposed taking the bailing buckets that our raft was equipped with and using them to douse a nearby raft with water. Jesse and I insisted that such behavior would be rude and uncalled for and would ruin the peaceful boat trip we were enjoying. Chris proceeded to fill up the bucket and dump the entire load of water on my head. As I was dripping and gasping in utter disbelief of the horrendous treatment I had just endured, Chris leaned in to my soggy ear and whispered, “I love you!”

When time came for me to graduate, I had decided to spend a year doing missions with Youth With a Mission (YWAM) rather than go straight to college.

For the next year I was training in Texas and then went on outreaches to Belize, Central America and many places in the US. I would write Chris long, chatty letters almost everyday. Chris would write maybe once a month. There were no cell phones and no land lines in the girls’ dorm where I was staying. Chris and I would plan via letter weeks in advance to talk on the phone on a specific day and time. I would take my quarters and go to the pay phone in the cafeteria, praying that there was not a line.

Both of us had to answer the question our hearts kept asking, “Is this the person I will marry?”

In my training classes, there was a teaching about laying everything important in our lives on the altar before God. Being a Christian didn’t just mean believing in God. It also meant giving Him everything! I spent a good prayer time with God giving Him my dreams, ambitions, and Chris. I wasn’t sure that God would give him back.

I knew that I loved Chris. I loved his sense of humor, his incredible work ethic, and his high morals. I loved that he always respected his mom. I loved that he loved God. I loved his dark brown eyes and his single dimple that would show itself when he smiled. I truly felt that he was the most handsome man I had ever met. But perhaps he wasn’t THE ONE. Maybe God’s perfect plan for my life didn’t include marrying Chris. I was willing to do anything He told me to do.

I was talking a walk around the lake in the beautiful countryside of the rural mission base when I felt God speak to me so clearly.

“Do you think I blessed your relationship with Chris just to take it from you now?”

From that moment on, I never doubted that he would be my husband. It took Chris a little longer. He was talking classes at a community college, renting a room from a gentleman at church, working as a waiter, taking impromptu road trips with his crazy guy friends, driving fast in his sporty CRX, using his limited spending money on CDs instead of food, sporting a new bleached blond hairdo, and turning down offers from interested pretty young women. I was a bit worried about him.

He decided to fly out to Texas to visit me in May, even though he was basically a starving student. He must have gotten his answer during that trip. As soon as he returned home, he drove straight from the airport to the jewelry store to pick out an engagement ring. I had no clue. In my slow-moving fashion, I thought marriage would be years away, perhaps after college. I did have a small scholarship to Eastern College that I was planning on using to study Elementary Education. Yet I thought God might have other plans.

When my training school with YWAM was coming to an end, all the students were encouraged to ask God for our next step. I was determined to hear His voice. There were so many opportunities to be a missionary in any country in the world with YWAM. I really thought that God would tell me to take everything I owned in a backpack and go to some exotic place. His answer surprised me.

“Go Home.”

I was home only a month when I decided to plan a special picnic dinner for Chris’ birthday. I wanted it to be a special surprise. My best friend, Autumn, was over, and she helped me prepare four courses and pack them carefully into a picnic basket. When my mom heard of my plans, she offered the good china and a special table-cloth.

As I laid out the feast for Chris at our favorite date place (Negley Park), he seemed distracted and hardly ate anything. After the meal, we sat together on the swings that overlooked the Harrisburg skyline as the sun set and the lights made the city sparkle.

Chris got up and then went down on one knee.

“I had a long talk with your parents….”

He took out a tiny box and I knew what he was going to say! I gave him a huge hug and again, I was speechless! I was overjoyed to become his wife, yet I was so surprised, I could not respond.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

I nodded.

Eleven months later, we became Mr. and Mrs. Brandenburg! That was 18 years ago today. So many volumes I could fill with all the adventures we have had, all the mountain tops and all the valleys, all the joys and all the sorrows, all the faith and all the doubt…but mostly all the love! Perhaps that story is being written here on this blog, one precious chapter at a time. It is my favorite story!

I Love My Tribe

July 14, 2014 / Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 4 Comments

The music washes over me. It is not just melody and rhythm…it is the very atmosphere of heaven. The lights are bright, the stage is full of musicians, and I am surrounded by my tribe. Almost every Sunday morning I find myself here, in the sanctuary of Life Center and saturated with the swirling presence of God and humanity. There are so many worship leaders that share the stage, so many musicians that rotate from week to week. They are full of talent and resurrection life, and I love them all! They have birthed an abundance of CDs out of the overflow of their lives of praise.

I watch the senior pastors in the front row, boppin’ to the rockin’ music. They are in their sixties, but they enjoy the youthful expression and energy as much as anyone. They actually lead the rest of us in radical, “out of the box” thinking! They have served this church for over twenty years, and I love them! I see one of the younger worship leaders, passionately singing a song that he wrote; and I think about how I used to babysit him when he was a boy. I look over and see his parents in the front row, beloved pastors who raised me in the youth group; still loving, still serving, still standing for all that is true.

Some folks are out of their seats, dancing. Some are swaying to the music. Others are sitting with their eyes closed. Others are kneeling on the floor. My teenage daughter is up front, worshipping with her friends. I observe many gray heads in the crowd, faces lined with wisdom and love. I see parents holding their little ones. I see children twirling scarves and prancing on bare feet. Life is always bursting forth at Life Center. There are more pregnant women than I can keep track of, and I love them all! I long to be able to tell each one of them how gorgeous they are and how precious they are to God, carrying His little children of promise!

I notice women running to each other in joyful reunions, laughing and hugging. I see people spontaneously begin to pray for the person next to them, passion and concern on their faces. I see others exchanging gifts or notes.

It is time for the offering and one of the “newer” pastors takes the microphone. He and his family have become so precious to me. Every time I see him take the stage, I am alert with anticipation. I know that some stunning revelation will spill from his lips that will rock the way I see the world.

The music subsides and there are announcements of births and deaths; family business that herald joy and tears all at the same time. How we each know that thrill and that pain, and how we each long to share those with our brothers and sisters. I walk to the back of the sanctuary during the meet and greet time, and I am enveloped in a warm and healing hug by a beautiful black mama.

“Look at you! You’re beautiful! Just beautiful!” she always says to me with her eyes shining and her amazing, white smile blazing. She is the beauty! I wish I could describe the indescribable, how dark and lovely she is…but her beauty is so deep and so true, I am at a loss for words.

It is time for the message and another pastor comes up. He and his wife are treasures to me, having led countless youth events, missions trips and prayer times that I was apart of. We have even lived with them a couple of times. Some folks in the crowd are a little confused because he talks too fast, as though he has 4 hours worth of revelation to impart in 45 minutes. Chris and I are fluent in “speed talk” since we grew up under his tutelage, and we just chuckle to ourselves. In his message, he talks about a mission trip that he led 20 years ago. I was part of that trip, and how I cherish those memories!

After the service, I hug my dear and longtime friends. I greet friends I grew up with and friends who were in my wedding. I talk with my children’s pastor, who I went to school with. I see more recent friends, who have quickly taken residence in my heart. I identify new acquaintances as well. I notice many fresh faces and hope to call them my friends someday too. So many personalities, so many gifts, so many stories, so many ways that God reveals Himself to me; represented by these precious people.

“I love my tribe!” I always think to myself on a Sunday morning. The love wells up within me, along with pride. I love my tribe! There are children of God all over this earth, in different denominations, different countries, varying cultures and traditions. But I am so glad that my boundary lines have fallen here, at Life Center. I started coming to this church in 1989, when it was meeting in the old casket factory. My husband Chris started coming earlier than that, in 1985. We left for a time and moved to Colorado Springs. In the eight years we were there, we couldn’t put our roots down, no matter how hard we tried. Now we are back in our promised land, surrounded by family. How good it feels to watch our family tree grow tall and strong with a wide trunk and thick bark, an oak of righteousness, a planting for the display of His splendor.

How glorious it feels to let our roots descend into the rich and fertile soil of Central Pennsylvania! How refreshing to drink the deep, deep waters. How thirsty we had been for those waters!