Author: Peri Zahnd

"Disappointment — His appointment,"
Change one letter, then I see
That the Thwarting of my purpose
Is God’s better choice for me.
His appointment must be blessing,
Though it may come in disguise,
For the end from the beginning
Open to His wisdom lies.

"Disappointment — His appointment,"
Whose? The Lord’s, Who loves me best
Understands and knows me fully,
Who my faith and love would test;
For, like loving earthly parent,
He rejoices when He knows
That His child accepts, unquestioned,
All that from His wisdom flows.

"Disappointment — His appointment,"
"No good thing will He withhold,"
From denials oft we gather
Treasures of His love untold.
Well He knows each broken purpose
Leads to fuller, deeper trust,
And the end of all his dealings
Proves our God is wise and just.

– Annie Johnson Flint

The Zahnds have only ever had cats. The patriarch of our family is not a dog lover. Don’t hold it against him. He never met a dog who didn’t want to bite him. He also says we’re on the go too much and a dog would be a headache–I don’t know if I buy that, but it’s not worth the fight.

Our first cat was Samson. Brian loved that cat. He would walk around with the cat sprawled on top of his head. No joke. He called it his cat-hat. We had a houseplant, a Norfolk pine that was about three feet tall. The cat used to CLIMB it. We would find him perched in an upper branch. How it held him I’ll never know.

There was a neighbor cat who liked to come fight with Samson at night. We would wake up to the wild wails right outside our bedroom window. Brian would go get potatoes out of the pantry and hurl them at the offending cat. He called him Mr. Potato Head.

Everything was wonderful until our first child was born. Then Samson had a little mental breakdown, triggered by jealousy over the intruder into his life. I had to keep him outside more, and he went nuts. He would climb the screens on my bedroom window. It is a little unnerving to wake up in the night and see the cartoonish silhouette of a sprawled cat hanging on to your screen. So while Brian was away on his first ever missions trip out of the United States, I gave him away. I actually can’t remember what I did with him, but he was gone. Brian was mad about that for quite a while. He still brings it up now and then.

We had a few other cats, who met their demise in one way or another, usually under the wheels of a car. One Friday summer evening, I was in our little church on 11th Street. We were singing, and an usher tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Your neighbor is here and needs to talk to you." I was so surprised, what neighbor?

It turned out to be the couple across the street, the DeVores, who we didn’t know very well. We lived on a very busy street, and you just didn’t have much opportunity to socialize with the folks on the other side. They told us our current cat, whose name I forget, (Aaron says Boots but that doesn’t ring a bell) had been hit by a car, and they didn’t know what we wanted done with it. They had him with them, and were willing to take him to the vet if that’s what we wanted. I thanked them profusely and went to check on the cat. He was dead by then, and probably would have died no matter what. I asked my neighbors how they knew where to find us–I’ll never forget Judy saying, "Oh, we knew where to find you all right!" (Be careful, you never know who’s watching you!) Glen and Judy are now beloved members of our church and have been for many years! I put the cat in my trunk and went back to church–we buried him the next day.

And then there was Hudson. We loved Hudson dearly (unlike that last cat whose name I’m not even sure of). He was a big tough cat we got when Philip was a baby. Brian had wanted to name Philip "Hudson Taylor Zahnd" after the great missionary to China. I thought Hudson sounded more like a river or a bridge and dug my heels in. We ended up naming him "Philip Taylor Zahnd." So when we got this kitten not long after Philip was born, I graciously agreed to name the CAT after the great missionary. He was part Manx, with a little stub instead of a long tail, so we named him Hudson Tayless.

We had him for over five years, but he developed a very bad habit of scratching my woodwork and furniture. We were moving to a new house, and I wasn’t going to let him tear it up, and farmed him out to the Dan Dudeck family, who do indeed live on a farm. I told them it wasn’t an adoption, but a fostering situation, and I sent support (a sack of cat food) maybe once or twice and then became a deadbeat absent parent. Eight years later they still have him, and we talk about going to visit, but never do. The kids still grumble about how I gave away their best cat.

We had an empty nest period (as far as cats are concerned) of maybe three years, and then one Sunday morning between services, someone handed me what I thought at first might be a RAT! It was the ugliest little creature I’d ever seen, but he was to become a beloved member of our family. This little kitty had been rescued from a farm where he’d not been fed, and was literally on death’s doorstep. He was skin and bones, with some dingy grey hair. He was at the age when kitties bounce all over the place, but could hardly walk. I was not very happy with the gift I’d been brought, but the woman swore I had asked her to look for a Siamese kitty for me. OK, I probably said it in a moment of weakness, but I didn’t remember, nonetheless I took the little creature home with me. He both vomited and had diarrhea on the floor mat of my car on the way home. We took him home and put him in a little box and he was sick all through our dinner. He couldn’t keep anything down. I took him to the vet first thing Monday morning, and the vet said he was so near starvation that he didn’t know if he could be saved. He gave him an IV, some medicine, and I took him home to nurse him. It was several days before we felt like he was out of the woods.

This little creature became a beautiful cat, with a great personality. He was Mr. Jinks. We loved him so much. It took a while before he was willing to trust us, but finally he recovered in body and spirit. The poor kitty had lost his meow, however, due to irreversible damage to his vocal cords during his sickness. It was kinda sad not to have a meow, but he took it in stride.

Mr. Jinks had more than one brush with death–he must have been one of those cats with nine lives. He was banged up pretty good a time or two after a fight–we live in a tough cat neighborhood. One day I found him hiding under the bed, and he was obviously sick–listless and not wanting to eat. I took him to the vet, he had a very high fever and again, the doc said he didn’t know if he could pull him through. He found an abscess under his arm, a wound from a fight that had got infected. Mr. Jinks had to have immediate surgery to insert a drain into the wound and be hospitalized for a couple of days on IVs, but in a week was back to his onery old self.

After a couple of years, Mr. Jinks took to roaming. He was always out catting around. Once he was gone for nearly a week, and Brian had given up on him. He was saying awful things like, "Bet that bobcat got him." (There was allegedly a bobcat seen by more than one neighbor coming out of our woods.) I told him to watch his mouth, and said I knew Jinks would come home. One evening we were sitting out on the deck, and from a long distance away, we both heard a cat loudly meow. Brian looked at me and said, "Bet that’s our cat." I started to get up, then I said, "But our cat can’t meow!" Nevertheless, I went down to the yard, and from a long distance across the yard I saw Mr. Jinks. He began running to me, and it was just like in the movies, it all went to slow motion–we were running towards each other, and he jumped into my arms, and we whirled around together a time or two. I took him in the house and got him some food, but he was too excited to eat. He was as happy to see me as I was to see him. And somehow he had found his meow, which he kept.

A year and a half ago, Mr. Jinks again disappeared for a few days. We didn’t think much of it, but the days stretched out, and after a month, it appeared we had seen the last of him. We held out hope for a long time, but have no idea what happened. And now it’s time. It’s time to think about another cat. I’m getting excited.

Mr. Jinks (in memorium)

POSTSCRIPT: I just had an e-mail from the aforementioned Dan Dudeck that our dear friend Hudson Tayless had to be put down this past October. Please join with me in mourning his passing.

Brian and Aaron, my 20 year old, left for ministry in INDIA Sunday, they’ll be gone for almost two weeks! Last week was so busy, with two-a-days prayer and preparation for their trip. I’m missing them but always have a list of goals to accomplish whenever Brian’s away traveling; I don’t give myself much time to pine away.

WE WANT A KITTYCAT!! Philip and I are looking for one–and I’m calling on my xanga friends who are close by to help out. Our beloved Mr. Jinks disappeared a year and a half ago, and it’s time to close the door on that relationship and begin again. We’re facing the fact that he’s not coming back.

We want a male kitten, pretty young–Philip says we must raise him from infancy, and he’s already named. We’ve got to find the right cat to fit the name Brian gave him before he left–Buechner (pronounced BEEKNER) We’ve had some Siamese-blend cats in the past, and we’re particularly partial to them, but not ruling out something different.

SO–if you know of a kitty needing a home, please get back with me!

Driving around town, I see so many churches with marquees out front, with sometimes the silliest things written on them! I am dismayed to think that we Christians are reducing the good news we’ve been given to clever little plays on words, or serendipitous platitudes. But the one I saw today left me really confused. It said:

Faith is not a heap in the darkness,
But a step into the light.

I was trying to get a visual on this heap—was it a heap of straw, a blanket, something you would trip over in a dim passageway? Why the analogy of a "heap" to faith—something about the quantity of faith you possessed?

And then it occurred to me, it’s a stinkin’ typo! They’re talking about a LEAP of faith! Some pastor scrawled his words of wisdom on a scrap of paper, and a dutiful assistant mindlessly picked the plastic letters out for what he THOUGHT he was reading and stuck them up one by one on the sign, never considering the meaning.

I hope they discover the mistake soon, and get a good laugh out of it.

Happy New Year!

Yesterday, New Year’s Eve, was an amazing day. We had two great services on Sunday morning, and I got home around 1:30. My plan was to do some cooking for the next day, to take a walk, and perhaps dismantle the tree. I got TWO BIG SURPRISES Sunday afternoon.

I never dreamed when I woke up this morning we would have snow before the year was out. I grumbled to someone about the crazy non-winter we were having. It had been 56 degrees the day before! That’s not a typical NYE temperature! But early afternoon, the temp started dropping, the snow started flying, and the wind was howling! Then it began to stick! I was thrilled, I was exuberant, I was giddy. I kept yelling at the guys who were watching football downstairs to look out the window.

So I went for a walk, and reveled in it all. I was dressed like an Eskimo, my scarf wrapped tightly around my face. I called my neighbors, and when they picked up, began to sing the theme song from Mr. Rodgers, "It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…." They both said, "You’re not out there, are you???!!" They declined the invitation to join me…..

I went in an hour later, just because it was getting dark. And the second surprise was beginning to unfold….

I never dreamed when I woke up this morning that the Chiefs would be going to the playoffs! What a crazy turn of events. I don’t personally care that much, but was thrilled for my guys. I thought I was going to have to tranquilize Philip to get him to our New Year’s Eve service at church!

That evening before I left for church I responded to an e-mail, a church member and friend who was asking for prayer for her husband, desperately needing God to do something major in his life in the new year. As I searched for the words, I began to hear the Lord speak to me, not to forget that He is the God of surprises, the God of "suddenlies", and the God of turn-arounds. The surprises I’d had that day were a sign that he is able and will bring great surprises to us suddenly in the coming year! Yeah, baby!

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

And now, without further ado, the winners for 2006….

BOOK OF THE YEAR: To the Golden Shore by Courtney Anderson
This was a surprise, too. A biography, for Pete’s sake, written in the 1950s. It’s the life story of Adoniram Judson, America’s first foreign missionary. Yawn, I heard that! But of all the books I read last year, it’s the one that impacted me the greatest and has stayed with me. Why? Because I saw the tapestry of grace principle at work in this man’s life, how God was able to take hard and bitter circumstances and turn them for His glory, and how Adoniram died a happy man, and would today say, "Nothing bad has ever happened to me!"

It was really a thriller, a page turner, and all true! Not some silly made up story, but a life lived with great courage, gusto, and style.

BOOK OF THE YEAR RUNNER UP: Rumors of Another World by Philip Yancey
By far the best Yancey book ever! We Christians do live in two worlds, the one we see, hear, touch, taste, and feel–and the KINGDOM, which is far more real! I couldn’t put this one down either. It’s in the stack to be reread soon.

MESSAGE OF THE YEAR: (okay I couldn’t pick one either–there were three, and they were all Friday night sermons, go figure)

GRAND PRIZE: What About Doubt? –Friday, December 15
FIRST RUNNER UP: Saints and Sinners –Friday, September 29
SECOND RUNNER UP: Born Again Christianity –Friday, October 20

All three can be accessed at the WOLC website , broadcast archives.

BLESSED EVENT OF THE YEAR: (I just couldn’t come up with a category name for this "thing" which impacted my life so much.)

The Unvarnished Jesus Study–In March and April, the church had a Bible reading schedule, reading through the Gospels and Acts a few chapters a day, and then journalling our discoveries. We were reading the Scriptures as if they were brand new, believing to see them free from the "varnish" of religion, tradition, and preconceived ideas. Brian then preached each Friday and Sunday from the same material. He blogged his journal entries here . The study truly was life-changing. I was amazed at the things I discovered, things I had somehow glibbly glossed over. I will do that again, too!

I am SO EXCITED about a new year in the Kingdom of God, what a day to be alive and on the earth!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I had left the boys and was several states away with Brian at a meeting. In the middle of the afternoon, my cell phone went off. I don’t usually answer it when I’m in a meeting, unless it’s my kids. They rate! I left the room and took the call.

It was son #2, who was a young teen at the time. I knew immediately something was very wrong. He was upset, shaken, and was having difficulty telling me what was the matter. "I was outside mowing the lawn, and…." he hesitated.

"And what???"

"I….I think I found our cat." The words came out in a rush.

Now I was puzzled. "Our cat? What do you mean you ‘think’ you found our cat?" As far as I knew, our cat was not missing. I had been gone less than 24 hours, and I was pretty sure I had seen the cat before we left.

He didn’t want to talk about it, but I insisted. "What exactly did you find?"

"Well, just some fur and some bones."

I was having a hard time thinking that the cat I had seen just yesterday could so quickly be reduced to fur and bones. But I didn’t want to press my son any further. We were all pretty close to Mr. Jinks, our cat. My boy was traumatized, and I didn’t want to make him feel any worse. I told him to leave the mowing, and go do something else. I told him I would call him back in a few minutes. I hung up, and quickly called son #1. I explained what had happened, and asked him to go take care of the situation immediately. I told him I needed him to determine if our cat was indeed history, to take care of the remains, and to comfort his brother. I also told him to call me as soon as he could. He agreed and said he was on his way.

I went back to my meeting, feeling bad I wasn’t there for them. I was anxious to hear about poor Mr. Jinks. I waited and waited for the call from son #1, and it never came. I finally called him back.

"How’s your brother?"

"He’s okay," was the answer.

"Well, was it the cat?" I demanded.

"I don’t know."

"What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’???" I was getting upset.

"Well, I’m just not sure. The thing has an unusual skeletal system. I’m in here on the internet researching cat skeletons."

Researching cat skeletons? Now I was really upset! How could you not recognize the remains of your cat that couldn’t have been dead for more than twenty four hours? I was so frustrated that I was not there to handle things. #1 told me he would continue to work on it, and he would make sure that #2 was alright.

That night, my cell phone rang. It was my boy.

"Guess what I’m doing. I’m standing in the driveway, petting our cat!"

I was so happy to hear that Mr. Jinks was indeed still among the living. But what was that "thing" out in our backyard?

The next day, we flew home. When we pulled in the driveway, the first thing I did was to go investigate the great mystery. It wasn’t hard to locate the place—it was right where the mower had stopped in our half-cut yard. I approached the spot with some trepidation, and saw a pile of hair that was matted to the ground, yes, exactly the color of our cat, kind of a dirty white color. (He was actually a beautiful Burmese blend barnyard cat.) On top of the fur pile was a very clean intact skeleton, which obviously had spent all winter in that spot. The skeleton’s snout was long and pointed, unlike any cat I had ever seen. It was a dead POSSUM!

BZ preached last night on my space. Ha, not the other website, but the interface between heaven and earth that we inhabit. Angels are spirits, animals are bodies, but we humans are an amalgamation of the two, creating an exceedingly complex being. We are, all six billion of us who live here now, totally unique from other another!

Sometimes it’s appealing to think that we are spiritual beings and our bodies don’t really matter. It’s particularly appealing here after the Christmas season when we have gorged ourselves with holiday meals and goodie trays thrust under our faces every time we turn around. But the time of new beginnings is at hand–JANUARY–when everyone knows the gyms fill up and diets begin. I’ve got a few pounds to lose, and will increase my exercise regimen as well as throw out the leftover Christmas candy and junk food.

It is so much FUN to lose weight, especially when it’s a significant amount. Well, maybe not the self-denial and the exercise when you’re first getting started, but the gratification that comes when you start to see results, and then the startling revelation that you really do feel better when you eat healthy and exercise. I love walking my four mile route, sometimes running stretches to get my heart rate up. It revitalizes my energy at the end of the day, decreases the stress level. Sometimes when I come home after dealing with all kinds of issues, I feel so tired and crave comfort food (simple carbs–bread, pasta, SUGAR) but if I can muster up some steely resolve and will myself to put my tennis shoes on and hit the pavement, I’ll get the same gratification after a few miles that a handful of cookies would have given me.

That gratification is a chemical that gets released into our bloodstream, called ENDORPHINS, which is a feel-good hormone. When you stimulate their release by exercise, you feel good for the rest of the evening and you are motivated to go back in the house and eat a healthy meal. You lose that drop-dead feeling you brought home with you. When you stimulate their release by COOKIES, you create a boomerang effect with your blood sugar that wants MORE junk in a couple of hours. More and more I am learning to listen to that inner voice and say no to the cookies.

I’ve lost 20 pounds at two different times in my life. It was so much fun! I felt so good. Getting off the sugar initially was life-changing. I was a sugar junkie, and didn’t know it. I imagine someone reading this just now and rolling their eyes….but it was a life-controlling addiction. I used to get SICK if I missed lunch. I would sometimes feel so bad if it was an hour late that I would have to go to bed and sleep it off. I would get terrible low blood sugar headaches. A meal wasn’t complete if dessert wasn’t included.

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, why I would feel so bad. Was it a disease? No, I was just abusing my body and feeding it the wrong diet. I was having such huge swings in my blood sugars. My poor pancreas, anticipating the huge amounts of sugar I routinely dumped into my blood stream, was compensating by dumping huge amounts of insulin in to compensate. When I missed a meal, and DIDN’T make the expected deposit, my blood sugar plummeted. I may have been also setting myself up for diabetes to eventually set in.

I read a book that explained this phenomenon to me, and decided the only way to deal with it was cold turkey. I studied up on the Atkins thing, and one day jumped into a total protein diet. And as expected, I got sick. I felt HORRIBLE. But I was so desperate that I persevered, eating huge amounts of meat and cheese and just about nothing else, and feeling pretty lousy. But after five days, I suddenly woke up feeling GOOD! My pancreas had finally figured out it had to make some adjustments, and I felt an energy I hadn’t known in a long, long time.

I kept on the diet, and the pounds started falling off. I lost twenty pounds in a little over two months. It was amazing, and life-changing. After a while, I didn’t need the huge portions of protein–that was just until my blood sugars stabilized. I stayed on the total protein for about six months, but no one can live like that forever. After a while, I started adding back in the old foods, and after a couple of years, I found myself right back at the same old weight! Imagine! I think of that Bible verse that talks about a dog going back to his VOMIT!

So a few years later, I did it again. This time it was harder for the weight loss thing to kick in. I’ve read that other people have the same thing–you can’t just keep putting your body through this back and forth cycle, it wises up or something. It takes consistency.

I’m not an Atkins for life adherent. I believe that good carbs are vitally important! I’ll confess I’ve gotten back to eating those bad ones a little too frequently, and I have some work to do now. But it’s one of the lessons of life, quit falling off the wagon, because you get HURT when you do.

A beloved 86-year old man in our church died this week. He was a gentleman who loved God, loved people, loved serving in the church. And even though he had been in poor health, his friends’ initial reaction has been shock. As if it is a surprising thing for an 86-year old man with heart trouble to die.

He died in the hospital, surrounded by family. His heart just finally ceased to beat. Not a bad way to go, if you ask me.

Why are people always so startled at death? Is it not the most inevitable thing to occur to every man?

I have absolutely no fear of death. I am so confident of eternal life. I do have a fear though of PAIN at death. I particularly don’t want to die a MESSY death. Fear of blood? No. I used to be an OB nurse. That’s bloody. It’s not scary. That blood is natural, but the blood of trauma is not.

I cringe and look away when there is a deer lying by the side of the road. I took a walk with my sister recently, and she had seen one that had been hit near the drive to my parents’ house. As we walked that direction, she made a point of going over to look at it. I made a point of staying away. When she came back to where I was standing, she said, "Broke its neck and shoulder really bad—must have been going pretty fast." I wished she hadn’t commented.

I’m happy for Bill, the 86-year old. He loved God, he loved people, he loved serving as an usher, even at his age and in his frail condition. When I heard about his death, on the 21 ^st of December, I thought to myself, "Bill went home for Christmas."

But I know his poor wife of 65 years will be devastated. She will be lost without him. I’m so very sorry for her.

I just lost a pair of friends, a beautiful young newlywed couple on Thanksgiving evening, killed instantly when he lost control coming home from dinner at her parents house. They were 26 and 28, and had been married in our church only six months earlier. I loved them both, I was close to them both, and there was no joy in their death. It wasn’t right. I was and still am very sad, even mad. Yes, they’re in heaven, but they weren’t supposed to be there yet. The funeral home told us there was hardly a scratch on either of their bodies. That wasn’t much consolation.

Jesus himself wept at a funeral once. Kind of funny when you think he must have known he was going to raise his friend Lazarus from the dead in just a few minutes. Why weep? I think he was weeping for the billions of people who are touched by death throughout the ages, for those who weep at gravesides, for lonely widows and fatherless children. He was weeping for all of us, because death relentlessly hunts us all down and we cannot escape the pain it brings. Jesus went to the cross and conquered death, a mystery I cannot fathom, but believe because He said it.

If it weren’t for what Jesus did, what would be the sense of going on living, when you know the inevitable end?

THERE IS ANOTHER WORLD!!! One where death no longer reigns. Not just heaven, but the KINGDOM. A Kingdom we can live in and be a part of, even while we live here on the earth. A Kingdom that continues when our bodies wear out and leave this earth, an existence that is forever. Eternal life doesn’t start when we die, it begins NOW.

You can’t make these things up! I always marvel when I see a funky looking undersea creature or the intricacy of some insect, thinking what a good time God had designing those! I imagine Him chuckling to Himself, and then longing to share it with someone–so He made US!

He promised to provide for us, to take care of all our needs, but sometimes I imagine it gets dull and He wants to think of a especially creative way to do so, to show off His brilliant originality. Here’s a story of something special He did for me in 1984….

I was graduating from nursing school at last. I was 24 years old, with a husband, a toddler, and a little church we had started at the ages of 21 and 22. We were hanging on for dear life till that first paycheck, as my school loans had run out, and we frequently didn’t have any income from the church. It was hard enough to keep the lights on THERE, let alone at our little house.

I had considered going to nursing school after high school, but was more interested in being married to the love of my life. It was only after Caleb was born that the longing to go to school intensified, and my dream was to work in OB. I was one out of four hundred who applied for the thirty spots in the program, and was thrilled to be accepted as an alternate. This meant I didn’t know if I would really get to go until shortly before school started. Sometimes we call our Father "Jehovah Nick-a-time" for a good reason!

I had lots of college hours, and managed to finish the program the same month that Caleb turned three. I knew that nursing was a great profession and you could always get a job. That has always been true, except for 1984, the year I graduated. The local hospital has always had jobs for nearly every new grad from our local university, but that year only ONE girl was hired by the hospital. The rest of us were left stunned trying to figure out what to do.

My dream job was NOT to work in a nursing home. But the checkbook was screaming loudly. I knew nursing homes notoriously paid pretty low, but something was better than nothing. I was making $5.00 an hour now, working evening shift every other weekend at the hospital as a nurse’s aide. The nursing homes were paying $6.00 for registered nurses. I was a little dismayed as I thought about the $2.25 extra I could make if only I could work at the hospital, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. I trotted myself over to a local nursing home, and got an appointment with the owner/administrator.

The lady was a little eccentric. When I told her I was a new grad looking for a job, she literally started jumping up and down, saying "Praise the Lord!" (That, incidently, was the first and last time I ever heard her say that.) THEN she asked me what kind of money I needed. Her behavior sparked a boldness that shocked even me, as I heard myself say, "I can’t work for a penny less than what the hospital is paying–$8.25."

She shook her head and said, "I don’t know how I’m going to pay that, but you’re hired." We finished up some details, and I went out to the car and did some praisin’ the Lord myself. She later hired another girl out of my class and said, "Don’t tell her what I’m paying you, cause I got her for six bucks." I kept my mouth shut.

I worked there all summer. It wasn’t my dream job, but we were breathing a little easier at home. We were no longer needing to juggle the shut-off notices from the utility companies, which was so nice.

Then one Monday in August I went in to work my shift. The new schedule had been posted on the bulletin board, and everyone was crowded around looking at it. I put my finger on my name and followed the line over to the right–funny, there were no X’s on that line, and I said out loud, "What’s the deal? Are they trying to tell me I’m fired?"

Just then a hand reached into the crowd, got hold of my arm, and pulled me into an office. It was the Director of Nurses, who said, "I’m so sorry. Someone should have told you before now. We’re letting you go. We’ve hired someone else for less money. It’s not your work, it’s just a financial move. I’m so sorry."

I think I gasped, and then the tears came. I wanted to fall on my knees and beg, to say, "I’ll work for $6.00–I was just pulling your leg! I’ve got to have the job!" Instead, through the sobs, I said, "What about today? Do you want me to work today?" She said, "It’s up to you, you can stay or leave."

All I could think about was the $64 I would make if I stayed, but I was crying so hard I didn’t know how I would get through my shift. I called Brian and told him, and he said, "For Pete’s sake, come on home. We don’t need the money that bad. I’m on my way to pick you up." We only had one car, and it was a clunker. He had to pull Caleb out of bed every night at 11:30 to come pick me up.

So now I was unemployed. I may have taken the next day off, but by the next, I was out job-hunting. I went to the hospital, even though I had just applied there three months earlier.

It turns out that they were starting a brand new program just that week, designed to take care of the hospital’s needs when the patient count was up and they needed more help. Nurses working in this program would need to be available each day an hour before their shift was to begin, and they would receive a call if they were needed. There were no hours guaranteed.

This was not going to work for us at all, I needed guaranteed hours, but then I realized that the four week orientation program WAS guaranteed hours. So I accepted a position that started the next week, reasoning at least I would have four weeks of work and maybe something else would turn up in the meantime. And then I asked, could I be assigned to OB? I was thrilled when the answer was YES!!

And so I began my four weeks of work, and loved it. This was my dream job, if only I could have a real job there. I liked the director of the unit, Kathy. On the last day of my orientation, a Friday, I went into her office right before my shift started, and asked again if there was any way she could change my status and put me on the schedule as a regular employee.

She responded, again, that she would love to be able to do that, but that there were no positions available at that time. That was an understatement. The OB unit is the most popular place to work of all, and no one is EVER hired from outside the hospital, as any new positions first have to be posted for current employees to apply for. The nurses working in OB had all been there for years, and there were others who had been WAITING for years to get in.

I thanked her, and went to work. An hour or so later, I was sitting at the nurses station as we watched two hospital security guards escort Kathy down the hall. We were all shocked, and guessing what might have happened. No one realized that a major organizational shift was taking place in the hospital, that every manager at that level was eliminated that afternoon in the same way. They were told to clean out their desks and escorted to the door. We were all shocked.

But I was far more shocked early the next week when I found that my status had been changed, and the job I had so longed for was mine! Some of the other employees were shocked too, and some a little disgruntled. "What did you do to get that preferential treatment? There are others who have been waiting for years to work here."

I had no idea what had transpired, and still don’t. I never saw Kathy again. I often wished I could ask her. I worked there for over three years, and totally loved my job. I only quit when they began working twelve hours shifts (which were always closer to 14) and I had a new baby in addition to my kindergartner. The job just didn’t work for my family anymore, and I began to work in Home Health until the church grew to the point that I could give up my nursing career.

God is so good–He gave me the desires of my heart, but He did it in a way that was so special, a kiss from heaven to prove to me His love, and that with Him all things are possible.

Now I have a daughter-in-law who I dearly love. She, too, is in nursing school. She told me just the other day she wanted to work in OB, at the very same hospital I worked in. I started to tell her how impossible that would be, how it was so very difficult to get a job there. But then I remembered this story, and just laughed….

My husband Brian’s grandma was a nice enough lady, but we were never close. I know he has lots of good memories of her as a child, but she was old when I came to know her, and developed dementia shortly into our marriage and had to be put in a nursing home. She was there for several years, and couldn’t remember anything. She never knew us when we went to visit. We were so glad, however, that she was always pleasant, seemed happy, and laughed when you told her anything funny.

So therefore, her death was not a time of great sadness, but of genuine relief that her time on this earth was up and that she could be free of the haze and confusion that the deterioration of her earthly body had caused. We all knew she was in heaven with Jesus.

We all knew too, the story of how Grandma Mary was the first of her family to have a real relationship with Jesus. Her own mother had died in the influenza epidemic of 1917, and she and her sister had come to live with Aunt Elizabeth. Aunt Elizabeth, a spinster, was a strong Baptist woman, and she saw to it that her two young charges were in church every time the doors were open. And when Mary began to be courted by Lloyd, Aunt Elizabeth made sure he came to know Jesus too. Lloyd and Mary were married for many years, very active members of the local Baptist church, and Lloyd was a deacon there until his death. They had three young boys when Lloyd was drafted to go fight in WWII, and Mary ran the family clothing store, the Quality Shop, while he was away. When he returned, they continued to run the store together, and put all three boys through college, a Baptist college.

Lloyd had died unexpectedly a few years before Brian and I were married. Mary continued to run the store, until she no longer could, and the Quality Shop went out of business. Times were changing, there wasn’t much need for a smalltown independent shop specializing in overalls and farmer’s hats.

And so Mary’s life was over, and I was sitting on a pew filled with her progeny, listening to Mary’s pastor preach her funeral. The service was progressing just as I expected it to, the organ was played, the appropriate hymns were sung, the obituary was read, and now the pastor was giving the eulogy.

He said he hadn’t known Mary when she was healthy and active in the church, so there were not many personal stories he could tell. He said he had therefore gone back to the church records, and found she had made her Profession of Faith many years ago, on November 9, 1919. This information was to most of the hearers just a useless bit of trivia, but I was stunned. November 9, 1974, was the date that my husband, Mary’s grandson, had had his own powerful encounter with Jesus–exactly fifty-five years later! How significant–it was as if a door in heaven had been opened with Mary’s conversion, and that some kind of power was released for that date years and years later–a generational outpouring. I took my mind off autopilot and really began to listen to what that preacher had to say about Grandma Mary.

He talked about how the records showed she’d been on every committee and done everything a person could do to support the ministry of the church. She’d taught Sunday School–she’d been active in the Baptist Women’s Ministry, supported missionaries through the Lottie Moon program, had even had a missionary to the Phillippines stay with her for extended periods while she was on furlough. He talked about the three boys she’d raised–I was raising three boys myself. I began to think about all the things she and I had in common, things I’d never realized. He talked about how much Mary loved a good joke, how she had been known for her jokes. I began to see her as a woman who loved life, as someone I would have loved to have known, not the worn-out, senile old woman I had come to think of her as. I realized that had we not been separated by sixty years, we could have been good friends.

That’s when I began to cry. I still remember the startled look I got from some family members, the raised eyebrows from my sister-in-law sitting several places down on the pew. I hadn’t expected to cry at Mary’s funeral. And I wasn’t crying for Mary, I was so glad she was free, and once again living, really living, living as she’d never lived before. I was crying because I understood that heaven is really going to be heaven, and in addition to all the other unspeakable riches we’ll experience, we’ll have the chance to love and interact with people as we never have. I won’t know Mary as an old woman there, and she won’t know me as a young one. We will be women together, women who lived life on this earth, struggled through whatever we struggled through, and came through in victory. I will know Mary in another life, really know her! We can and will be friends–there will be no restraints of time or age or location or busyness.

I have a lot of life left to live here, but when my time is up, I don’t want to have any sadness or regret. I want to live a great, rich full life here, with an anticipation of even greater things to come. I’ll see you soon, Mary! I wonder who else I’ll meet, what else we’ll do, the places we’ll go, the adventures we’ll have……eternal life has begun!