I met him at church. He said he was a Christian. I was a lonely, gullible, single mom who fell for his charming good looks and sugar-coated lies.
I was twenty-three. My son was three. He was thirty-six with a thirteen-year-old son that he had abandoned in an orphanage. Red flags were popping up everywhere, but stupid Cupid shot them all down.
He made me laugh. He made me feel loved. He made me as pliable as clay in his hands, twisting my Christian morals and ripping out pieces of my soul.
The more time I spent with him, the more the devil reared his ugly head. The same devil I’d seen many times throughout my life. Didn’t I see him in the glaring eyes at home? Didn’t I see him in the man who promised to love me till death do us part? Didn’t I see him behind the curtain of witchcraft?
Suddenly, his twisted lies became as transparent as glass, his heart as faithful as a harlot. He didn’t own a house, a vehicle, or even have a job. He pushed his way through life using and abusing the weak and the vulnerable, and lying his conniving head on the pillow of his victims. But I kept closing my eyes and turning the other cheek. I kept going to church, singing the hymns, hiding my shameful heart in the chamber of religion.
But each day became harder to live with the person I had become, the person I said I would never be. I was making it on my own, raising my child without any help from his father, and keeping my standards high. I was a good mother, a good person with a strong determination to do the right thing, but out of sheer weakness and stupidity, I traded my sacred heart for ashes in the wind.
Kicking him out of my life was the smartest thing I had done since I had invited him into it. I made a big mistake. I can’t go back and erase it; it’s forever etched in the shadows of my mind. But I walked away from it. I learned a valuable lesson from it, and I became a better person because of it.
It was a Saturday evening. Robbie and I were sitting on the couch watching The Flintstones when he suddenly barged through the door, waving a gun around and blabbering like a lunatic. Frantically, I pulled Robbie closer to me, watching our lives vanish in the midst of a disastrous storm.
His eyes were as black as coal; his face twisted like a raging monster as he stood in the middle of the room, threatening his way back into my life. When that didn’t work, he held up the gun and said he was going to shoot himself. With a deep sigh of relief, I gasped, “Fine! I think that’s about the best thing you can do for yourself!”
God, despite turning my back on him, in his love, mercy, and forgiveness, protected Robbie and me that day. I can find no other logical explanation why a crazy, life-threatening maniac would suddenly turn around and walk harmlessly out the door.
Being a single mom back in the sixties was as tough as being a single mom today. The challenges and temptations are the same. Human soul snatchers are the same. The need to be loved and valued is the same. And God is the same. He never leaves us. He never betrays us. He never condemns us. He lovingly takes us to the Potter’s house and diligently restores our broken souls.
Dare I trust my resurrected heart? The flickering candle of hope? The dimly lit path to freedom? The trickling water of peace?
Dare I trust the softer voices in my head? The gentle breezes in my soul? Dare I trust the raging monster is dead? That it will never rise again?
My heart was crushed by the hammer of injustice. Broken by ghosts of the past. Paying for crimes she did not commit. Drowning in tears that were never hers to cry.
It trusted the bloody hands of those who claimed to love her. The freezing tomb of silence. The glaring eyes of rejection. The coals of shame poured on her head.
But dare she trust these quiet chambers? To lay down her sword? To tear down the walls? Dare she believe in trust again?
No! I dare not trust my fickle heart. My fractured mind. My wild emotions. My murdered soul.
I dare not trust my destructive self. My racing thoughts. My doubts and fears. I dare not trust my broken self at all.
I dare to trust an unseen God. I dare to trust His tender love. I dare to trust His healing touch. I dare to trust His whispering voice.
I dare to trust His wounded hands. I dare embrace the blood He shed. I dare believe the words He speaks. I dare surrender to the cross.
Father, forgive my wounded heart. My angry tears. My shattered soul. I never wanted to hurt you. But I was afraid to trust your stubborn love. But I’m not afraid anymore.
Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me (Revelation 3:20 NIV).
Silently, he stands in the freezing cold, his knuckles raw and bleeding. His knocks are gentle and persistent, barely audible above the noise of the world. He could knock louder. He could pound the door down, barge in, and make his presence known. But he never will.
Trouble lies behind the door, hidden from the outside world: broken hearts, shattered dreams, pillows drenched with tears. Love once built on trust has been betrayed. Forgiveness is consumed in the flames of anger and rage. Peace, joy, and happiness have shriveled and died in the arms of grief. Hope has been swallowed by the darkness of despair.
Knock, knock.
So gentle. So persistent. His tender voice pleading, desperate, his heart broken and crushed by grief. His perfect, blameless body is deeply scarred, bearing the stripes of atonement for a world lost in sin. A world tricked by the evil one, the father of all lies, the prince of darkness, the silent killer of the soul.
Knock, knock.
Who’s There?
Jesus.
Jesus who?
Jesus Christ, the Son of the true and living God.
What do you want?
I want you to open the door and invite me in.
Why?
Because I want to heal your battered, bleeding soul. I want to forgive your wayward, rebellious heart from sin, guilt, and shame. I want to wash your heart clean and fill it with joy, peace, and happiness. I want to show you how much I love you. I want to release Satan’s murderous grip. I want to set you free and give you eternal life.
Knock, knock.
I created you. I breathed into your nostrils the breath of life. You are my masterpiece. You belong to me, but the evil one snatched you from my hands to devour your soul. Unless you open the door and invite me in, I won’t be able to help you. I can’t make you believe in me. I can’t give you everlasting life without the forgiveness of sin. The choice is all yours.
Knock, knock.
The clock is ticking. Don’t delay. Death is crouching at your door. The choice is yours; life and death are in your hands.
For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 6:23).
Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, himself, is the Rock eternal (Isaiah 26:4).
“I don’t like going off and leaving you all alone. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Of course, I’ll be okay. I want you to go and spend time with your old Navy buddies. It’ll be good for you. Go and have fun.”
He’s only been gone four hours, and already I feel trapped in an eerie tomb of silence. No TV, no crazy, made-up songs bouncing off the walls, no shouting, “Honey! I love you!” Nothing but the deafening sound of silence.
He’s taken little trips before without me, but this time it feels different. Maybe because I’m older, now, and realize that one day, I may face life without him. And that scares me. I think about that a lot these days. How do you learn to live without your best friend and marriage partner of 53 years? How do you adjust to living alone?
Like shifting sand, life is always changing. Nothing ever stays the same. One day, you wake up young and vibrant, the next day, you can barely drag your old bones out of bed. You don’t see it coming. You don’t even notice the slight changes. It’s like bam! And you find yourself waist-deep in the murky water of old age.
Old age changes your way of thinking. It rips the mask of denial off your face, and the ugly truth appears, like a dark, lifeless shadow dictating the final chapter of your life. Old age. The Phantom of the Opera. That younger, vibrant self, smothered in the cloak of decay.
How do we tell ourselves to stay calm when we visit nursing homes, when we see the struggles, the fear, and the sadness in people’s eyes? How can we feel safe in the hands of a broken health care system? How much money is enough to get the proper care we worked so hard and saved for?
I don’t know because I’m not there yet. But as a believer in Jesus Christ, I know that through the promises in His Word, He will take care of me, that He will walk with me through the shadow of death, and into eternal life with Him. No more sorrow. No more tears. No more old age. No more death.
Old age and I are not friends. It’s an intruder. I’m a fighter. But fighting against old age is fighting against God. Through disobedience, Adam and Eve sinned, and the world was given the death sentence. Who am I to change God’s mind? Who am I to stand before Him with clenched fists, expecting Him to change the rules? To make an exception. To remove the sting of old age.
We all face many challenges throughout our lives, and we either learn to deal with them or we learn to run from them. To stick our heads in the sand and hope they go away. Old age is a challenge that you can’t run from or bury in the sand. If we’re fortunate enough to live a long life, we must be brave enough to accept it as God’s gift to us and trust Him to walk with us through it.
I thank God for my life, for all the challenges, and for being there with me every step of the way. He created me, and He is able and willing to take care of me for the rest of my life.
The world is a scary place with all its vices and distractions. Today, more than ever, we need someone we can trust and rely on. Someone who has our best interests at heart. And God is the One. He proved it in a lowly manger, He shouted it from the cross, from the tomb, and at His glorious resurrection! I love you! I will take care of you! Trust me!
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Matthew 11:28).
There’s my yard. There’s my house. And there’s me. The control freak. The one who has a place for everything and everything in its place. If it’s broke, I fix it. If it needs painting, I paint it. If it’s out of order, I put it back in order. I am a number one self-inflicted taskmaster. Superwoman and the fairy godmother rolled into one and twisted like a pretzel.
No job was too difficult with energy to spare. Like a mean machine, I mowed the grass, trimmed the shrubs, pruned the trees, and did the weed-eating all in one day. Then I’d go to work and clean the church/school till midnight or after.
Then things began to change. It’s as if I woke up from a long winter’s nap to discover that my energy had dropped dead, and everything in my world was in total disarray. No matter how hard I kicked and screamed against it, old age has me in a death grip and refuses to let go. I can’t control it. I can’t fix it. Like it or not, I’ll have to learn to live with it. But it’s tough, like slowly being eaten alive.
Spring, with its fragrant, cool breezes, was followed by summer’s scorching blaze, dripping like honey from a jar. We could barely breathe sitting on the back porch, and working in the yard was impossible. But like two old dogs digging for a bone, we kept trying.
My husband prefers taking things slow and easy, while I like to get everything done before sundown. But some days, just getting him in the same boat with me was like pulling a stubborn bull by the horns. So, between the weather, yellow jacket attacks, blood, sweat, and tears, and getting nowhere, I was more monster than human. All I wanted was to put everything back in order, but all I got was a head-on collision with reality.
This summer has been one of the toughest seasons of my life. A season of being crushed and broken. A season of surrender. A season of change. And in the midst of our brokenness, anger, tears, and frustration, my husband and I found a church that feels like home. It’s truly a God-thing because I never wanted to set foot in a church again.
But God had other plans. While I was tenaciously working on the yard, He was tenaciously working on me: my stubborn will, my delusions, my idealism, my pride. He revealed to me my insecurities and lofty, unrealistic goals I set for myself and those around me. For me, old age is a slap in the face; a wake-up call I never expected. A bubble-buster of the worst kind.
God never gives up on me. And he never gives up on you. He knows our struggles. He knows our weaknesses. He knows all our dirty little secrets and loves us anyway and takes us just as we are. He is the Mighty Fixer, the Majestic Super Power, the Creator and Ruler of the universe, the crucified Savior of the world. The Devil puts blindfolds over our eyes and leads us to destruction. God removes the blindfolds and leads us to righteousness, peace, joy, and contentment. All we have to do is believe.
Today, I look out my door and windows with a deep sigh of relief. Not because every inch of the yard is perfect, because it isn’t. But because I have a clearer vision without the blindfolds blocking my spiritual and emotional view. Things don’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. I’m slowly learning that.
The night was long and hard, and I thought the sun would never shine again. But it did, and continues to shine as I stop following my illusions and follow God. He is my light and my salvation, my solid Rock, the only One who never leaves me stranded on a dark and treacherous road. He always shines his light to brighten my path and to lead me safely home.
This is after removing all the rocks and numerous shrubs. Too much upkeep.We removed some of the shrubs and put all the rocks back in order.After downsizing. This agelea has white blooms in the spring. It’s beautiful, but it grows really big. I will cut it back next spring after it blooms.We moved tons of rocks this summer from one place to another. And they’re heavy!All we need now are a few low-maintenance bushes and mulch.I can’t believe we did this all by ourselves. As you can see, it goes on forever. No wonder I bawled my eyes out!Weeds had taken over this area. I don’t pull them anymore, I whack them with the weed-eater. Works like a charm.For several years, I considered doing away with this natural area. This summer, we did it. Our ten-year-old great-grandson helped us remove the rocks.We cut down two crepe myrtles in this area. We’re working on getting rid of the stumps, but without success. The trees are not dead, and we’re constantly cutting down the suckers. I wish we had kept the trees!We replaced the smaller rocks with these larger ones. They won’t sink into the ground so deeply. I hope!Our plan is to plant low-maintenance shrubs this fall to replace the ones that died.Going to add a few low-maintenance shrubs this fall, and hopefully some mulch.Can you see the two stumps? Crepe Myrtles are hard to kill!These are fire power Nandinias that turn red in the fall. They are low-maintenance. I rarely have to trim them. Yay!And this is the end of my yard story. You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to do it all over again! But I’m happy that we kept plowing through and finally crossed the finish line. I’ll post some more pictures when the planting and mulching is done. It won’t be tomorrow, so don’t hold your breath!
If you want to know the whole yard story, I’ve posted two other links below:
And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.
Why was Humpty Dumpty on the wall? How did he get up there? What made him fall? Was he drunk? Was he old and disoriented? Or was he just plain stupid?
I don’t really care; it’s just a silly riddle. But I know people who are like Humpty Dumpty. They risk everything to climb the wall to success, working day and night by the sweat of their brow, making a fortune, and hoarding it all for themselves. Like a lover, they squeeze it to their breast, smother their minds with it, and would rather die than live without it. They are so consumed by greed that they don’t even realize they have fallen off the wall.
Jesus told a parable in Luke 12:16 about a rich man who had such an abundant harvest that he tore down his small barns and built larger ones. And there he hoarded his goods and said to himself, “I have plenty for years to come. I will sit back, eat, drink, and be merry.”
In today’s language, he propped up his feet, turned on YouTube, and said to himself, “I am filthy rich! And I ain’t sharing with nobody, nowhere, no time. It’s mine. All mine! And don’t even think of stealing it. I will hunt you down. I will find you. And I will kill you!
And Jesus said, “You fool! This very night, your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?
Although the times have changed, people’s attitudes are no different today than they were two thousand years ago. We all have selfishness and greed running through our veins, some more than others. Not just with our money, but with ourselves, our time, and our priorities. We are so consumed with ourselves that we fail to see or even care about the needs of others.
There are many Humpty Dumpties in the world, sitting on the wall of superiority, thinking they’re living the good life with all their riches and fame. That, like the rich man in the parable, they believe they are invincible to tragedy and loss, as if their riches can buy eternal bliss. But when they fall off the wall and are broken beyond repair, there is a King who can put them together again. His name is Jesus, the Great Physician. The Almighty King of Kings.
But what if they want nothing to do with Jesus? What if they think they’re smart enough to fix themselves? What if they don’t even know they’ve fallen off the wall and keep hobbling along as if nothing is wrong? What if they’re just too blind and stubborn to ask for his help? What if they don’t even believe in Jesus and his healing, saving grace?
Then, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put them together again. They will never be happy, never be satisfied, never experience an abundant, fulfilling life. Like Humpty Dumpty, they will be nothing more than a riddle of their own folly, forever lost in their own pride and foolishness.
What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes (James 4:14).
I always feel a twinge of sadness after spending a wonderful day with my family. Like the child of long ago, lying in bed, frightened and alone in the dark, I feel a sense of grief, as if a piece of me has died. The only things that exist are the ghostly shadows floating around in the chambers of my mind. And my heart mourns the death of another, fulfilling day, never to be lived again.
I try to remind myself how short life is and to live each day as if it were my last, but I’m not very good at it. I take each day for granted, as if there’s a million more to live, to wipe the slate clean and start over again. Then one day, I stand in front of the mirror, hopelessly searching for my younger self trapped in another time zone.
Each day is like manna from heaven. We can’t store it, borrow from it, or save it for a rainy day. We have twenty-four hours to live it, and then it’s gone. What we do with those twenty-four hours is up to us.
In the short time Jesus walked this earth, he taught his listeners how to live each day, but they didn’t get it either. Help the poor, he said. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Trust me. Love your enemies and do good to those who hurt you. Follow me, I am the only way, the truth, and the life. I will lead you safely home. I will give you peace and rest for your weary souls.
I’ve been blessed with many years, some I wasted, which I regret. But I can’t go back in time and change a thing, and if I could, I’d probably make it worse. All I have is today. Maybe it’s a sunny day, maybe it’s a stormy day, but it’s the only day God has promised me. How I live it is up to me. And I can’t do that very well without God’s help because some days are just too hard, and I’m too tired and frustrated to deal with it.
Life on Earth will end one day, and that is frightening. But eternal life will begin either in Heaven or in Hell. Today is the only day you have to choose which one it will be. And salvation is simple: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life John 3:16).
Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19: 11, 12).
We were doing great. I threw in the bloody towel and hung up my tattered boxing gloves. My fighting days are over. God touched and healed my heart. I’ve been reformed. I am no longer the same.
Then one daunting day, the earth rumbled and shook, like a violent earthquake. The birds stopped singing. The sun stopped shining. And the rain burst through the heavens like a gushing river.
Words, as hot as fire, spewed from our mouths like molten lava, destroying a lifetime of hopes and dreams we had built together. Now our mangled hearts lie dead in the smoldering ashes of doom.
We messed up. We broke our promises. We held each other’s hearts in our hands and crushed them like broken glass. Now they are slowly bleeding to death. Our love for each other suddenly turned to hate, anger, and frustration. And like a roaring lion trapped in a foreboding cage, I broke loose and fled out the door.
The woods were peaceful and quiet. The stump on which I sat was damp and draped with moss. Beneath my feet lay a grungy blanket of withered leaves and broken twigs, and tree limbs. The earth smelled pungent, like a dank, musty cellar. But like a kindly, old grandfather, it comforted me. It held me safely in its strong, rugged arms, as it always has throughout my tumultuous life.
Beneath the canopy of trees, the sun filters through the rustling leaves, as if attempting to warm my shivering heart. Tiny bugs crawl up and down the brittle, peeling bark on the tree beside me, as birds flutter from limb to limb, singing happy songs. If only I could be as free as the trees. As free as the sky above and the gentle breeze caressing my tear-drenched face. If only I could sprout wings and fly a trillion miles away.
The few hours I spent crying and meditating in the shelter of the woods were not long enough. I wanted to pitch a tent and stay there forever. But, I whispered my goodbyes to the tranquil, captivating haven and, like a weary old pack mule, plodded back home, wishing I could wake up from this gut-wrenching nightmare.
The house was dark and quiet, like a morgue. Everything felt dead; I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to turn back the clock to that Sunday a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in church, wiping tears of conviction from my eyes. I wanted to feel the joy and happiness, and to hear the music and message again. I wanted to feel God’s presence and the safety of his strong arms again.
Just when I thought the worst of the storm was over, it started back up again, and my husband packed his bags and stormed out the door. Just like that, our fifty-three-year marriage was stuffed in a suitcase and thrown in the car like a piece of worthless trash.
Betrayal! Abandonment! Devastation! Two hearts once joined together by love and faithfulness are now shattered to smithereens by hatred and rage, never to be the same again. They are crushed and broken beyond repair.
What happened? Where did these two monsters come from? Who let them in our house to rape, plunder, and destroy our hearts, minds, and souls? Who gave them permission to rip apart our happy home?
I should have seen it coming, or at least been on guard. Satan is always ready and eager to mess things up. But I thought I had it together now. My husband and I were back in church. God was restoring my rebellious heart. I could feel his healing touch rippling through my wounded soul like a soothing balm.
For days and weeks, my heart and mind were finally at peace with each other. No more depression. No more monsters kicking and screaming inside me. No more anger. No more rage. I’m all better now. I’ve surrendered my life to God; he has everything under control. Then suddenly, the current changed, and once again, I was drenched by the flood of failure, shame, and remorse.
A sobbing, pleading hour later, my husband came back home. I put on a pot of coffee, and we sat and talked things out. Our marriage is solid, like a tree planted by the water. It’s battled the storms of sickness, pain, and grief, arguments and disagreements, and will continue doing so till death do us part. But the chaotic events of that dreadful day nearly destroyed us both.
Spiritually and emotionally, I am still sorting through the aftermath of disbelief and confusion. Where is God? Is he so disgusted with me that he abandoned me? Have I let him down one too many times? Is my faith too watered down with doubt and grief? Has my love and trust in him drowned in my tears of anger and frustration? Will we ever be on speaking terms again?
Sitting here writing the ending of my story, tears roll down my face as his love washes over me. Tenderly, he opens my eyes, and I see that I am the one to blame. I am the one who ran away, too ashamed and broken to face him. Too afraid to trust him again. I am the one hiding and shivering in a cold, dark cave of hopelessness and despair. I am the one who left him; he never left me for a second.
He stands there, whispering my name and telling me to get out of the cave. To stop running from him. To stop trying to fix myself. In his hands, he formed my soul, and in his hands, he restores it again and again. In his hands, I am safe. If only I could learn to stop jumping out, to get it through my fearful, rebellious heart that running from the shelter of his love and protection always leads me to the depths of despair.
Conclusion: I spent weeks writing this article and agonized over whether to publish it. I came close to deleting it, because it’s too personal to share. But I kept coming back to it, rewriting it as the fog began to lift, lending a better perspective and understanding. And yes, it is personal, but it’s real. Life is real. Suffering is real. Failure is real. We can all relate to the harsh reality of living in a world consumed by evil forces. We can deny it, but we can’t hide from it. And when we take a stand against evil, we can expect the devil to slither through the smallest cracks of our relationship with God and everyone around us. If you get anything at all from this article, I hope you can identify with the emotional and spiritual struggle between good and evil, and know that no matter where you are at this moment, there is hope in God. There is deliverance. There is salvation. There is peace and joy. Life on Earth will never be perfect. But just as God molded and breathed life into a clump of clay, he can also fix it when it breaks. There is nothing God can’t do for us when we invite him into our hearts. Life is tough. Don’t live another minute without God leading you through it.
Straight From the Heart 