allanmusterer@sbcglobal.net

Collateral Beauty

Introduction

The dictionary defines collateral as “accompanying as secondary or subordinate” and “serving to support or reinforce” among other meanings. Most of us probably think of the term linked with “damage”, meaning unintended and undesired loss from some action.

The movie of the same name, “Collateral Beauty”, explores a very different perspective. The greatest loss for anyone is the tragic loss of a child, especially so for the loss of a child still in their youth. The parent grieves intensely, and rightfully so. The recent posting on social media below aptly describes the grief dilemma and accompanying struggle.

A grieving parent journeys through a plethora of deep and raw emotions evoking intense and often unrelenting pain. Each individual experiences their own unique journey through grief. It is impossible for anyone else to understand or appreciate because it is fashioned by the love relationship between parent and child that is unparallel compared to others. Attempting to understand therefore, needs be relegated to seeing the bigger picture and not the fine details of a parent’s special and one-of-a-kind relationship with their deceased child.

With this epistle, I attempt to add some clarity from my personal experience. Over my 70+ years, I have witnessed the passing of many people who, due to the relationship we shared in life, were very great losses for me. I do not believe I will ever understand the details of other’s grief nor will I attempt such futility, but hopefully thorough the writing of my bigger picture, readers will be able to find “collateral beauty” in their personal and totally unique journey of grief. Further, it is my sincere hope that collateral to this, they might find a place for their “love to go.”

My Story

My journey with grief began when I was a little more than four years old. My Aunt Frieda was a grandmother to me. She was my mother’s eldest sister. I wrote my story with her and her passing under the title: Aunt Frieda ~ My “Grandma” (June 2016) published on my blog, www.lifeturningpoints.org.

That experience gave me what I have come to realize only in retrospect as my first moments of living with “collateral beauty”. The turning point was the moment I saw my aunt in a state of blissful peace. This for me was a profound perspective that carried me through a grief I did not understand at that young age.

My next experience was the passing of my first childhood girlfriend. I was nine years old when Joy died of polio. Again I took the journey of grief but with the benefit of the collateral beauty perspective I possessed from the loss of Aunt Frieda. It still was not easy, but somehow I found a sustaining sense of peace amongst the deep sadness.

Over the ensuing years, being a member of two large families, the passing on of many relatives was a seemingly constant experience year after year. The friendships I developed outside my family also brought grief when a passing on occurred.

When I became a minister, another aspect of my personal grieving was born. Now I was asked to conduct funeral services. These were almost always for souls who in life were near and dear to me. Friends who shared their life with me and passed on to me what I deemed treasures beyond price. Under these circumstances, my grief from their loss had to be transformed into comfort and a measure of peace for the bereaved family. This was especially so for parents when a child was lost. I found this task of a minister to be especially difficult considering the devastation of such a loss. This impossible task of understanding a person’s grief was especially painful for a child’s parent. My continued hope was that in those moments I could add no more pain but rather some peace and comfort.

Conclusions

I discovered through the years of losses dear to me some fine points of collateral beauty. I hope they can open up for my readers their own fine points, for I believe that God provides each one individual collateral beauty created to comfort them along their personal unparalleled journey through grief. I hope you can find a place for your love to go!

Collateral Beauty for me:

• I have faith in an afterlife. This provides me with perspective that death is not permanent. This opens the door to the concept of collateral beauty.
• I believe that souls pass “on” and not “away” and this implies to me that they are close to me, embodied in the treasures they gave me in the life we shared.
• I believe God provides that my prayers for souls departed are made available to them, as prayers are spiritual in nature as are the departed. How and when God does this is beyond my comprehension, but He knows the perfect time and circumstance.
• Having wrestled with the dichotomy of feeling the pain of loss and the joy from collateral beauty, I have discovered the place for my love to go.
• I believe that God permits circumstances and “coincidences” to speak to us. He perfectly reminds us of the souls we have “lost” so that we can see the collateral beauty that exists.

I see Collateral Beauty in the following:

• The flight of a butterfly landing on a grave stone of a special baby girl in Garden of Innocence.
• The unplanned and unexpected opportunity to spend time with someone special just prior to their passing.
• The buzz of a humming bird hovering in front of my face as if to say “hello”.
• The unexpected visit of a mink at a trout stream in the Sierras, who paused, looked at me and scurried off but one last time stopped, looked back at me and vanished.
• The thoughts evoked when gazing at a painting and remembering how God used me to be a blessing bringing peace to a dying man.
• Witnessing God’s grace as He lifted from a grieving mother the unjustified weight of guilt she carried over the loss of her son.
• Experiencing the faith of a mother when she realizes her personal collateral beauty and expressed her gratitude for the years God gave her with her child.
• Seeing souls blessed with a moment when God winks at them through the power of coincidence. [“WHEN GOD WiNKS AT YOU” – How God Speaks Directly to You Through the Power of Coincidence” by Squire Rushnell]
• Watching a large white feather fall from the flight of a dove at a perfect precise moment to illuminate collateral beauty.

The thoughts penned here hopefully provide my readers with new perspectives that lead to peaceful comfort for their souls.

Turning Points

Each new perspective on grieving provides an opportunity to hone one’s ability to navigate the grieving process. They give new openings in the heart for the Holy Spirit to comfort the faithful. Grieving is never easy, but has the potential to cause one to grow in the depth of faith and its application to deal with emotional losses that are integral with life.

The Rice Conspiracy

It was early 1980 when a large group of Hmong families became members in our church. One of the many things we did to assist our Southeast Asian refugee families was to educate them in the art of buying food at the local supermarket. Since many of them did not have cars as yet, most of their shopping was limited to the local supermarket that was in walking distance from their homes.

During one evening at a pastoral visit to the Cha family, one of the largest families, I asked, “What is your biggest challenge?”

Their response surprised me.

The man of the house said, ”As you know, rice is part of every meal for us. Therefore we consume a lot of rice. When we arrived here, we could buy a 100 pound sack of our favorite rice for about $20. Now the price has gone up to over $40. This is really burdensome on our family budget as well as the other families here. Is there anything you can do?”

I explained that this was a subject unfamiliar to me, but I said would look into it.

The next day while at work, I had the chance to talk to coworker and related the dilemma of these refugees. He put me in touch with a food distributor. I called the distributor, introduced myself and explained my situation. He asked me for a more precise description of the kind of rice and assured me that he could help.

When my lunch hour arrived, I went to Linda Vista where our church members lived. I parked my car in the parking lot of the one and only supermarket. The store was a typical supermarket. I entered and made my way to the aisle that contained the bulk rice that came in various sizes of large white bags. I quickly noticed the 100 pound rice sacks previously described by my friend the night prior. It was distinctive with a bright red rose emblazoned on the sack. The price was $42.

I made my way to the checkout counter and asked to see the store manager. The checker got on the phone and a few minutes later the manger appeared. He asked how he could help me. I responded by inviting him to join me at the bulk rice aisle.

There I pointed out the 100 pound sack of rice with the red rose on it.

I said, “I suspect you sell a lot of these.”

He said, “Oh yes! Those are my best seller! The locals buy that brand the most.”

I said, “I understand that a few months ago, they sold for $19.99, but now they are over $40. Did you see a large price increase?”

He responded with wry smile, “No. In fact I am getting a better deal because I sell so many.”

I said, “I am very disappointed in you, sir. Here we have Asian refugees struggling to make it here in our San Diego community and their staple food is being price gouged by you. I am going to say something that will not make you happy. You have 24 hours to reduce the price to the original $19.99 or I guarantee you will never sell another bag of that rice.”

With a tone of arrogance he replied, “And who are you?”

I said, “Well, I guess you will discover that tomorrow when I show up to see if you have complied with my challenge to do the right thing.”

He turned in a huff and marched off. I left the store and returned to work.

I called the gentleman I had spoken to earlier in the day and gave him the specifications of the rice. After a few moments he told me he could deliver 200 or more of the 100 pound sacks of rice for $12.00 per sack.

The following day I anxiously awaited my lunch break. As soon as it was eleven thirty I left for the supermarket. Entering the front door I made my way to the bulk rice aisle. As I anticipated, the price was unchanged from the previous day. Once again I summoned the manager.

When he arrived, he again displayed an arrogant and smug expression. He said, “Oh! It’s you. How can I help you today?”

I said, “Well, I am disappointed that you have not heeded my challenge. Any chance you might reconsider and lower the price right here and now?”

He smirked, turned and walked away. Apparently, he did not consider what my next action would do and how it would impact his un-American act of gauging those who least could afford it. His lack of compassion and greed would soon come back to haunt him.

I left the market and went to see the Cha family. I explained my plan to provide rice at a competitive price. They were thrilled and agreed with my plan. I returned to work.

Once at the office I called the food distributor again. I placed an order for 300 sacks of rice to be delivered to the Cha’s address. It would arrive in two days. I made arrangements for the Cha’s to get the word out to our church members. The plan called for them to get one or two sacks per family at $12 each. Friends and neighbors who were not members of the church could buy them one per family at $15 each. My rationale was that the extra money for non-members would be given to the Cha’s for storing the excess rice in their home and managing the distribution.

Two days later I received a call that the semi truck would arrive at eleven that morning. I had already made the $3600 payment via a bank transfer and left work early to meet the truck just outside the Cha’s apartment.

I was amazed to see about a dozen Hmong men standing there waiting to help with the unloading.

Right on time the truck rolled up and parked. I spoke with the driver and he proceeded to open the back of the pristine sliver trailer. The unloading immediately proceeded with one sack after another hoisted on the sturdy shoulders of the men. They carried them into the Cha’s apartment and stacked them up against a wall that had been cleared of furniture. All the while members of the Cha family were keeping tally and started distribution to the nearby church members and neighbors.

The whole scene was fascinating to me as I watched in awe as bag after bag left the back of the truck on the way to the apartment for storage and distribution. The scene reminded me of the movies where they depicted the building of the Egyptian pyramids with a multitude of people carrying building materials in a continuous stream of manpower.

The whole experience left me with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. When the last bag was removed from the trailer, the driver had me sign a document and off he went.

I returned to the Cha’s home and surveyed the situation. About 150 sacks had already been distributed with the remainder stacked to the ceiling of the living room. I told them to hold onto the money and give me the $3600 when it was collected. The extra was for the “cost” of storing and was to remain with the family.

I waited a week before I returned to the supermarket. I took a stroll past the bulk rice aisle only to see that rice with the red rose was still at $42. Again I searched out the manager. When he finally arrived he was really angry. I asked if he sold any 100 pound sacks of rice lately. He wouldn’t answer. I told him if he lowered the price to where it was originally he might again be able to find willing buyers. I explained that he might have to go down to $15 a sack to get back to the volume he was previously achieving.

Ultimately, by the time the supply of rice that I had procured ran out, the supermarket manager came to his senses and provided the rice at a reasonably competitive price.

Turning Point

This experience revealed that there is truth to the old adage: “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” I found what I believed to be a gross injustice and took it upon myself to find a solution. My personal corollary to Henry Ford’s statement, “If you believe you can or you believe you can’t, you are right” is, “. . . . If you believe to can, you will!” I believed I could, so I did.

I find it interesting that when there is a mission that appears there are resources we were not previously aware of that are found and utilized to complete that mission.

What mission awaits you? Do you believe you can do it? If so, you will find a way!

When Heaven Speaks

Sometimes when we least expect it, God speaks to us out of Heaven. They are always turning points.

A week and a day ago I received a phone call that was the harbinger of sad news. My dear cousin had passed on in the night. He was an extraordinary blessing in my life. I felt a deep sense of grief and yet an equal sense of joyful thanksgiving. I didn’t give too much thought to this dichotomy, but its effects continued throughout the week.

The next day, Saturday, I wrote:
Yesterday I received the sad news that my cousin Bob Stier had passed on during the night. I was shocked at this news as I had just a few weeks prior, on Sunday November 6th sat next to him at our Paramus church for our Service for the Departed. For both of us, this service was very special as we remembered the many family members who had passed on before us. Bob was one of the most influential people in my life. He was 10 years my senior and over the years was an amazing blessing for me in so many ways. My first remembrance was when he became an Eagle Scout. That was a significant accomplishment and the precursor to the powerful character that he displayed throughout his life. I saw him as an inspiring mentor. As I reached my teens and early twenties Bob became a spiritual mentor for me. He quietly and gently guided my path of thinking and walking in life. He was able to give me truth even when the truth was very hard to swallow. But with him, his understanding and spiritual wisdom, he gave me the strength to remain faithful and thrive in my spiritual life. I remember the services he conducted always spoke to my soul and had a special way of keeping my feet on the right path. My Sunday in Paramus sitting with him before and during the service was a gift from God for which I have expressed my profound gratitude to my heavenly Father. We spoke of things near and dear to our hearts. Those moments prior to the service were a brief walk together in heaven. I normally would have sat in the front pews that day, in fact that thought ran through my mind. But I thank God that I heeded the more urgent feeling, to stay there next to Bob. In the days ahead, I will be recounting the many blessings, calmly naming them one by one that Bob’s life meant to me. All those little moments, those tender life changing words he spoke to me, will pile up as the treasures he passed on to me. I hope that I can pass them on to others and multiply the gift God gave us in this extraordinary man of God. My love and prayers go out to the rest of our family for this loss. I hope you all can cherish the treasure he was and remains for you.

During the week, I often recalled the special moments Bob and I shared in life. On Friday, a week after his passing I was able to view the funeral service for Bob at our Parsippany New Jersey church because it was on a video link. It was a comforting and inspiring service.

Also on my heart was the service for two babies in our Garden of Innocence, Karen and Bryan scheduled for the next day. My part in the Garden ceremony was the Dove release. All my documents were prepared.

On Saturday morning I left for the Garden of Innocence anticipating what new blessings would emerge from the experience. It was going to be special in a way because one of the babies, Bryan, was named in honor of the son of one of our Garden volunteers.

When I got into my car, I switched the radio from “News” to “Symphony” and listened to the gentle sound of a Mozart sonata on the way to the Garden. As I drove, I once again was in touch with the deep feelings of Grief and Joyful thanksgiving. As I contemplated this dichotomy, I remembered something I had recently read. It was posted on social media and caught my eye. When I got to the Garden I opened my phone and searched for the piece that I had downloaded. This is what it said:

When I read this again, it suddenly became clear to me. The Garden of Innocence has become the place where “Grief that is just love now has a place to go!”
I shared this thought with those assembled for Karen and Bryan today and it brought a sense of peace wherein the dichotomy of feelings of grief and joyful thanksgiving coexist within a loving heart.

Further contemplation on this matter revealed that the great outlets for our love for those who have passed on are the prayers we offer up on their behalf. I firmly believe that our God of love allows prayers that are spiritual entities, to be experienced by those for whom we render them, whether they are for family, friends or total strangers. Imagine the feelings of a stranger, possibly forlorn because they never experienced love in this life, suddenly hearing your prayer for them.

Turning Points

We never know what gift of heaven will adorn our life each day. Sometimes we just need to escape the “news” of the day and find a “symphony” to settle our spirit and open our ears and eyes to the gift of God and embrace His message for us today. This day’s turning point for me drove that message home once again.

Scarlett

Hi! My name is Scarlett, and I am a cat. I want to tell my story, because I think you will enjoy the exciting life I lead. People really don’t understand us cats, so maybe by reading my story; you will realize that a cat’s life is filled with adventure and some very exciting things we do.

First, let me give you some of my history.

Before I was born, it was really crowded in my mother’s belly. I don’t know how many kittens were in there; all I know is that everywhere I looked there was somebody else. I tell you, it was so crowded that my tail got bent. It is still bent to this day, but that’s okay with me, it is one of many characteristics that set me a part and makes me unique and special. I haven’t seen another cat with a tail just like mine. Wherever I go people make comments about my black nose. Seems that is something else unique about me.

Another thing happened to me before I was born. I developed smaller than my brothers and sisters. Probably that was the result of the crowded belly of my mom. People said I was the runt of the litter. I didn’t really understand what that meant, but I’m okay with that too, because people seem to love little things better than big things. So when they see me now, they get all giddy and say, “Oh! Isn’t she so cute?”

Well, I was born with all my brothers and sisters and spent a few weeks fighting them for my mother’s milk. I don’t think I did too well at that game, because I remained the smallest one of the family and the only one with a crooked tail. But I was really pretty. None of the others were quite as pretty as me.

After a few weeks, my brothers and sisters began to disappear. I don’t know what happened to them, but one by one someone would pick them up and I never saw them again. I couldn’t understand what was happening. When someone picked me up, they looked at me, smiled and put me back in the box. Before long I was the only one left. That’s when the box I was in went on a trip. My mother’s owner took me and the box to a place where people take unwanted kittens like me.

I lived in my temporary home, a wire cage for a little while. One day a young couple, both with blond hair, came and took a look at me. When the tall man came near I reached out and touched him. After I touched him a few times, I must have won him over because they took me to their home. I still don’t know why they chose me, but I think maybe they didn’t see my crooked tail, they only saw how beautiful I am in my black and white coat and black nose. There is still another mystery that puzzles me. Why in the world did they name me Scarlett? I heard someone say that scarlet is a color like red, but I am just black and white so that doesn’t make sense. Someday maybe I’ll understand the meaning of my name.

When we got to my new home, I was quite surprised that they had two other cats. They were older and much bigger than me. I settled in as best I could but never really liked those other two cats. They seemed aloof and not very friendly. I guess they saw me as an intruder and competition for the love of the family. It was a good thing that they didn’t fight me because they were really big and I don’t think I would have handled that very well. I am a lover not a fighter.
I worked hard to gain the love of my two owners. I cuddled up to them every chance I got. People visiting the family called me a lap cat. I didn’t know what that meant either, but I think it was a good thing. I think they liked me sitting on their laps whenever the occasion presented itself.

One day everything changed. They came home with a very little person. They called it their baby. This baby had a name. They called him Hudson. Anyway, I had a very hard time with this change of circumstances. Suddenly I felt left out. Cuddling became a rare event. All their attention went for little Hudson. I finally got really mad. I had to find a way to get that little guy out of there. He took my place and didn’t even ask. All he did was cry and sometimes so loud it hurt my ears.

I made a plan. I found where he was sleeping and when he woke up and they took him out, I made my way to his bed. I pooped and peed on his pillow. Wow, when they discovered that they really got angry. That seemed to make things worse. But I just couldn’t help myself, poop and pee where my only weapons. I just had to get rid of that kid.

It wasn’t too long thereafter that some visitors came to the house and one lady took a shine to me. She really loved my cuddling and nestling into her lap. I don’t know why, but a few days later she came back. I was placed into a little contraption and whisked into a car. I was a little scared. I had no idea what was happening or where I was going. I just had no way out. I was trapped. I meowed a lot just because I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

After a long drive, the car stopped and I was taken into another house. I didn’t know what to make of it. They placed the contraption I was in on the floor and opened one end. But I was still scared stiff. I had no idea where I was and what was out there. I huddled in and waited a very long time.

I watched from my vantage point in that contraption, wondering if there were any other cats in this place. Surprisingly none showed up. After hours past, I decided that it was safe to get out and explore. After all I needed to poop and pee and needed to find food and water.

My exploration revealed that I was the only cat in the house. That was a good thing, I had no competition! My excellent nose quickly helped me find a nice clean and convenient litter box. That took care of the pooping and peeing. Now I needed to find the chow.

My nose didn’t fail me there either as I found a nice white bowl with some dry cat food. It wasn’t bad, but I sure wished these humans would give me some wet food. The water was good too and plenty of it.

With the pooping, peeing, drinking and eating out of the way, it was time to explore this new territory for some fun stuff to do. Little did I know, I was here on a test basis and if things didn’t go well, I would be shipped back to the old place with that little kid and those other two cats. I sure didn’t want that to happen. This place was really nice and I had the whole place to myself.

I cautiously explored each room and the furniture gave me the chance to do some jumping. I just love to jump up on things, the higher the better. I guess I like to show off a bit. After all I am one agile cat. And I have zero fear of heights.
I feared a bit that in one of these rooms another cat was going to surprise me. Worse yet, was there another little person hiding somewhere in this place too? But thankfully neither cat nor kid was found. The only exceptions were a few instances when I did got a brief scare from one of the cat statues placed around the house. I came around a corner and there staring me stone faced was one of those cat statues. At first they seemed to be so real, but my smart nose told me different. I was relieved, still no competition.

I really loved this place. There were so many little nooks and crannies for me to crawl into or jump onto to take my naps. I had a real paradise of sleeping spots. Sometimes, they couldn’t find me. I really got a kick out of that when it happened. I heard them frantically calling my name and just laid there for a while and had a good laugh.

The thing I really liked about this place was that there was always something new to get into or under. Umbrellas, boxes, coolers, suitcases, and who knows what they brought into my world and I got to climb in or got under and curled up into. Whenever I got into something new, the man of the house grabbed some little contraption and some how took my picture. Here’s a few of my favorites.

Cool Umbrella, note the matching colors!

The Cooler before the ice packs . . .

Found this box and laid claim to it!

As you can see, I do have a great time. I am beginning to think I could be a model for companies selling stuff for cats. I really find it fun to annoy the man of the house. He goes into his office every morning and I make it a point to get on his lap and poke his arm when he’s trying to do something on his computer.

I figure it must be fun if he does it every morning so I tried it out myself. The computer was warm and made some funning noises when I laid down on it but it didn’t last long. I don’t know why he took me off, I didn’t break anything.

Napping on the laptop, warm and cozy.

Napping on the Lounger, someone turn off the light please!

There is no loss for inventive places to grab a few winks. Just take a look at these pictures and you’ll get the idea. Napping is my favorite pastime, and I am very good at it. I can nap just about anywhere and at any time.

Man of the house with me.

I really get into this nap thing in my bed.

This is a favorite place because it’s up there.

I like altitude, just a thing with me. The higher the better for me. Another thing about this place is they leave stuff lying here and during the night when they are sleeping I get a real kick out of knocking them off and then kicking them around the house. Sometime I even get to knock them down the stairs.

Now this is as high as I can get in my special tree house. the top shelf of my tree.
It’s cool up here; I get to see stuff from here.

I snuck under the covers, shhhhh, don’t tell anyone.

I have become very creative with my napping positions. Since that is what I do most of the time, I figured I might as well make each one as unique as possible. So positioning became my daily challenge. I know I have scored a good one when the man of the house scrambles for his camera or cell phone to capture a picture of my new gymnastic position. I think he’s jealous because he can’t possibly get into these positions.

Next to napping, I love to jump onto the banister. That just drives the man of the house bonkers. I haven’t figured out why, but here are a few shots he took before ordering me down.

Here is my Banister Pose

Every morning, the man the house is first to get up. I race him down stairs and take my begging for fresh food position. He just can’t help yielding to my beautiful face as I look up to him.

I don’t need to say a word, with this look the food comes fast.

But if this doesn’t work I have this one up my sleeve.

Another favorite pastime of mine is to lay claim to anything new. In this case it’s the man of the house computer brief case.

The briefcase lying position

Lying for a few minutes on the counter, and I am on it like flies on a cow pie. I have never seen flies on cow pies, but I have heard that phrase for a similar situation. I hope I use it correctly here to get my point across.

My favorite spot on the couch. Is this what’s called a couch potato?

This is my look-out spot. I am here because every once in a while a cat shows up on the other side of that door. We look at each other, sometimes for a long time, and suddenly all hell breaks loose. I guess it’s good that there is a glass window between us.

Here are a few more pictures to show my creativity. If you ever come to visit us, I’ll be sure to grace you with a nap on your lap!

Hiding in a closet, door was left open, inviting to me!

The only problem lying on the bed is it’s so big, choosing the right spot can be daunting.

This is s big box, so I just couldn’t resist exploration.

Well dear readers, that’s my story. I hope it gives you a look into the life of a cat. I really have a great life. I offer you one last little tidbit before I sign off. The man of the house just goes crazy when I jump up onto the bathroom sink. The reason is he sees me eyeing the ledge of the shower wall. I love to jump up there and it really annoys the heck out of him. So in order to counter my temptation, he fires up this little gadget he has on his night table. Suddenly there’s this bright little red spot on the floor. I go crazy chasing it as it flits around the bedroom floor. I still can’t figure out why I can’t seem to catch it.

Thanks for reading my story!

Sincerely,
Scarlett

Miranda Eve ~ A Voice from the Past

On the morning of May 19, 2016 my dear friend Elissa Davey, founder of Garden of Innocence, received an unusual request. A lady living in San Francisco was having her house remodeled. The construction company needed to remove a slab of concrete from the floor of her garage. The broken slab uncovered a unique casket containing the body of a young child. The casket had been there since the late 1800’s. Elissa was contacted because the local coroner’s office knew of Garden of Innocence and the work they do burying abandoned and unidentified babies (www.gardenofinnocence.org). They trusted that the situation this discovery posed to the homeowner could best be resolved by Garden of Innocence.

In order to realize the gravity of the situation, some history needs to be understood. San Francisco at the turn of the 20th century was growing at such a rate that land was at a premium. The city fathers decided that all cemeteries within the city needed to be removed to make room for houses. It was reported that their justification for such an extreme measure came from the fact that some cemeteries were not being cared for and people were using them as a “lover’s lane.”

Sometime around 1920, nearly half a million bodies were exhumed and placed in mass burial sites in a number of cemeteries in Colma, a small town just south of San Francisco. It became obvious that some of those interred so many years ago in San Francisco were left behind.

With the unexpected discovery during excavation, the homeowner was faced with a real dilemma with this casket and the child’s body it contained. It was lying in the open in her backyard. She discovered that reburial was going to be very expensive, one quote being $7,000. She was told by the authorities that she couldn’t just bury the casket again without a death certificate. That posed an impossible situation. How could she get a death certificate for someone without a name or date of death? Added to that issue was the fact that the homeowner was living out of the state while her home was being remodeled. It was a logistical and financial nightmare. More investigation at the suggestion of the authorities revealed a quote in excess of $20,000. The situation looked very grim. That is when Elissa was contacted.

In spite of the fact that this was not an abandoned baby, when Elissa was apprised of the situation she decided that Garden of Innocence had to step up and step in to rescue this child and provide her a dignified reburial. Now Elissa’s work began in earnest. She was not one to worry and fret over difficult challenges. As is her nature, she jumped in and got to work with the belief she could and so she did!

The casket was unusual in that it was metallic and hermetically sealed. The child it contained was obviously from a wealthy family able to afford such an elaborate casket. It had two glass windows and the little girl of about three to four years of age could be seen through them. She was perfectly preserved. Her blond hair was laced with lavender and she held a rose in her hand.

Unfortunately, the coroner broke the seal of the casket and the child’s body began to decompose. The positive result was that Jelmer Eerkens, Professor of Anthropology at UC Davis and one of Elissa’s team of investigators, was enabled to retrieve samples of her hair for DNA testing. It was hopefully a door to attain her true identification. We hoped we could find who she was and learn her name.

Elissa’s first challenge was to secure the casket that lay in the lady’s backyard. No authorities would take it as it wasn’t in their jurisdiction. But if its discovery were to hit the news, there was no telling what would happen to it. Elissa contacted our Garden of Innocence director in Fresno and he drove to San Francisco, secured the casket and brought it to Fresno until the reburial could be planned. Research and discussions were still ahead.

There was a lot of work to be done. The San Francisco Public Administrator, Michelle Lewis asked Elissa if she could name the baby Eve. Later, Elissa thought that the home owner, Ericka Karmer should name her as the baby had been a spirit in her home all this time. When Elissa approached her, Ericka asked her four and six year old daughters what the baby should be named. They named her Miranda. And so she became known as Miranda Eve.

Elissa engaged a number of volunteers to search the available records in an attempt to find the girl’s true identity. It was determined from the early research that she was interred in what was the Odd Fellows cemetery. It was also determined that most of the remains from that cemetery were moved to Greenlawn Memorial Park.

Elissa and her team of volunteers made significant progress. They determined that rules existed that allowed for Miranda’s burial without a death certificate. They were able to get Greenlawn Memorial Park to donate a plot for Miranda’s internment. They found a grave stone company , The Headstone Guys of Fresno, to donate Miranda’s head stone of unique beauty.

Elissa had relatives who owned a cabinet shop. Together with them, a beautiful wooden casket designed to match the design of Miranda’s casket was fabricated during a seventeen hour marathon effort. The casket had to be a custom casket to hold Miranda and her special original metal casket.

On Sunday May 29, Elissa and her team had made sufficient progress to announce that Baby Miranda Eve would be laid to rest at 10 AM on June 9th in Greenlawn Memorial Park, 1100 El Camino Real, in Colma, California. This was deemed most appropriate due to the understanding that most of the bodies from the old Odd Fellows Cemetery were taken here. It was believed that Miranda’s parents most likely were buried at Greenlawn.

Elissa and her supporters went to work to complete the final details normally a part of Garden of Innocence burials. These included flowers, rose petals, a poem, the Knights of Columbus and the minister to present a sermon.

On Friday June 3rd, at about ten o’clock in the morning my phone rang. My wife answered the phone and walked into my office and said, “Allan, its Elissa Davey.”
I had forgotten the date of Miranda’s funeral so I did not have any idea why Elissa was calling. I answered the phone and Elissa asked me, “Are you available this coming Saturday, June 9th ?”

I said, “Elissa, I am sorry but Carol and I will be in San Jose to celebrate our son’s second restaurant’s grand opening on Thursday. We didn’t plan on coming home until late Saturday. Why do you ask?”

Elissa almost cried and said, “Wow! Thank God, you will be there! I wanted to ask if you would officiate with the sermon at Miranda’s funeral service.”

I said, “Oh Elissa, I would be honored!”

Elissa breathed a sigh of relief, as the last part of the program had just come together. She had been running full speed for weeks getting all of the unique issues surrounding Miranda’s reburial resolved and finalized.

That Friday night I prayed for an inspiration for the sermon for Miranda. The next morning I sat at my computer and wrote the sermon outline from the inspiring thoughts that came to me during the night in response to my prayers.

The Bible text that formed the foundation of the sermon was Philippians 4:7-8 (New King James Version-NKJV)

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.

I collected my thoughts and decided to investigate the meaning of the name Miranda. I was touched when I read that Miranda means “Worthy of Admiration, Wonderful”. I immediately made the connection to the word “praiseworthy” in the Bible text.

This Bible text guide offered inspiration to admire this child and her soul that lives on. This thought opened my heart to two more bible verses:

Song of Solomon 6:8-9 The Message Bible (MSG)
There’s no one like her on earth, never has been, never will be.
She’s a child (woman) beyond compare. My dove is perfection,
Pure and innocent as the day she was born, and cradled in joy by her mother. Everyone who came by to see her exclaimed and admired her— All the fathers and mothers, the neighbors and friends, blessed and praised her.

Proverbs 31:30-31 The Message Bible (MSG)
The girl (woman) to be admired and praised is the girl (woman) who lives in the Fear-of-God. Give her everything she deserves! Festoon her life with praises!

The sermon content was quickly flowing from my mind onto the page. I finished the sermon outline and reread it numerous times prior to leaving for San Jose.

The following Wednesday Carol and I flew to San Jose for our personal festivities. Along the way I received an email from Elissa stating that she remembered one last detail. Normally we place a small doll in the grave for a baby girl. She said how nice it would be if we could find a period doll from the 1980’s for Miranda. I recalled that there was an antique doll shop just next door to our son’s restaurant in Campbell.

When we arrived at Randy’s Campbell restaurant Wednesday afternoon, I went next door to the Twice Nice Doll Shop. I spoke to the proprietor, Bonnie, and related Miranda’s story. Then I told her about our Garden of Innocence and what we had planned for Saturday in Colima. I told her that we normally placed a doll in the grave of our baby girls. I made a proposal. I asked if she would be able to find it in her heart to donate a small doll of the late 1800 period for Miranda.

I said, “Don’t make your decision now. Here is my Garden of Innocence card, check out our website and I’ll get back to you for your decision. We appreciate anything you can do for Miranda.”

On Friday afternoon I phoned Bonnie at the doll shop. Before I could ask, Bonnie said, “I went to your website and found the wonderful work you do. I have found a doll. She isn’t of that period but she has a bright red period dress. I gladly donate it for Miranda.”

I was thrilled and later that day went to the doll shop to pick up Miranda’s doll. It was perfect. I expressed my sincere gratitude to Bonnie for her joyful generosity and prepared to bring it along with us the next morning.

On Saturday morning, Carol and I drove the forty miles from San Jose to Colima. We arrived at Greenlawn Memorial Park around nine in the morning. The Knights of Columbus were arriving and all the details were coming together. Slowly people began arriving to witness this unusual event.

I placed the doll at the edge of the green carpet that was covering the grave for Miranda. A swarm of professional photographers hovered around every photo opportunity. Some were independent while others were affiliated with various news media. It was sort of comical watching them getting into some awkward contortions to get just the right angle of view for picturing the little doll in her bright red dress.

The beautiful heart shaped gravestone was placed off to the side waiting to be placed over the grave after the ceremony was completed. Usually, only the face of the gravestone is polished, but in this case, both sides were polished in hopes that her real name would one day be found. That way her real name could eventually be engraved on the stone.

Prior to the sermon a poem written especially for Miranda was read with deep and sincere emotion by its author, Kevin Fischer-Paulson. The sentiment that flowed as Kevin read his poem embraced the assembled audience as the words created touching images and feelings.

MIRANDA

A California Sister comes to rest
At Land’s End, before the Pacific sea.
Dusk and orange forewings to the west.

A pause, a flutter as antennae test
The fog that circles the serpentine lea.
A California sister comes to rest

The ocean rushes, brushes her perch, crests
But cannot touch her who is free,
Dusk and orange forewings to the west.

The sun drops through the sky, this zest
of rock who stays, of wave who flees
A California Sister comes to rest

Eucalyptus wreaths, lavenders pressed
Against a child sleeping, a silent she,
Dusk and orange forewings to the west.

There is not one moment that is not blessed.
The wind we feel, we here but cannot see
A California Sister comes to rest.

Kevin Fisher-Paulson

During the sermon, I noted that some might question why we were doing all this for a baby we did not know and who had obviously been given a dignified Christian burial more than a hundred years ago. I proposed that it was the wrong question to ask.

I said, “Rather we ought to ask, ‘Why has Miranda Eve come into my life today?’”

I offered one possible answer to that question.

I said, “Perchance Miranda’s message for us today is: remember your ancestors who have long ago passed on, and honor them for what they passed on to you that has over generations made you who you are today.”

Over a hundred people were in attendance. Many from the Odd Fellows, others who had heard of Miranda from the media, many media professionals from television stations and newspapers and Garden of Innocence volunteers from Fresno, San Francisco and San Diego.

Since then, many hours have been invested by interested people around the globe to find answers to the question, “Just who is this child?” This effort continues.

One of Elissa’s cousins is an artist, and based on the available photos recreated this image of baby Miranda.

Recently, an eighty two year old descendant of Miranda was found. He was excited to provide a sample of his DNA for further testing. It is hoped that this will open the way for some definitive information regarding Miranda’s true identity.

Turning Point

This experience was for me another profound indication of God’s love for all souls. It was another inspiration to never forget my forebears who by their life gave me mine. Once again, the Services for the Departed in our church took on yet another dimension.

NOTE: Elissa Davey and her growing team of expert volunteers are working to determine Miranda’s identity. Donations to support this effort and Garden of Innocence and their noble work to care for the dignified burial of abandoned and unidentified babies are welcome. Go to www.gardenofinnocence.org for ways to donate and support our Gardens. News of the ongoing efforts to find Miranda’s true identity will be reported on Garden of Innocence website. You can follow the story of Miranda Eve by Googling her name and engaging the many links to published stories and videos. After a year of intense research Miranda’s true identity was discovered. She was Edith Howard Cook, and the continuing story will be presented in a new post.

NOTE: January 27, 2024 The researchers that were engaged in the work to find Edith Howard Cook’s true identity were part of a fascinating PODCAST that is worth listening to if Edith has touched you as she has me.

Shadow Clock | Episode 6 – “Child”

Spotify

https://open.spotify.com/episode/1X9iKPdFTfavVlSqNMJOn5?si=578SvyczScSYPq_v5prYwQ

Apple:

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/shadow-clock/id1713030117?i=1000642619024

www.shadow-clock.com

Butterflies and Zoey

On February 20th 2016, my birthday, we honored my dear friend Zoey by naming a baby in her honor at the Garden of Innocence. You can read the full story of that experience under July 2016 “Honoring Zoey” on this Blog.

Sunday, August 7th 2016, was Zoey’s 4th anniversary of her passing on. I realized this milestone while sitting in church that morning. I thought that it would be a special moment when I would be at the Garden of Innocence that afternoon for a meeting.

I was invited by Elissa Davey, founder of the Garden of innocence, to join her at the Garden that Sunday afternoon for an interview with two sociology researchers. The two PhD sociologists where from UCLA and Rice University and they were engaged in research regarding what causes people like us with the Garden of Innocence to do what we do.

I decided to go to the Garden about a half hour early just to spend some quiet time reflecting on my friend Zoey and all she means to me. Once again I would also reflect on the experience we had when we honored Baby Zoey on my birthday.

I arrived at El Camino Memorial Park and parked my car. The day was spectacular with the sun brightly shining and a cool breeze gently flowing over the grounds. I slowly made my way up the hill toward the Garden.

As I walked I thought, “It would really be nice if there were some butterflies flitting around when I get to the Garden.”

Whenever we have a burial of a child at the Garden of Innocence, there always seems to be at least one butterfly gracing us with its presence. More often than not it is a yellow and black tiger swallow tail. So it wasn’t an extraordinary thought that there would be some butterflies there when I arrived.

I continued to walk and then I thought, “It would really be special if a butterfly would land on Baby Zoey’s grave stone.”

I have very seldom observed butterflies landing on the ground. So this thought was rather extraordinary due to the rarity of such an event.

I arrived at the Garden to witness not one but half a dozen butterflies of varied species flitting around in profusion.

As I stood in awe, I got out my cell phone and started the camera in video mode. I was panning around when lo and behold I captured what I had hoped for on a video! Not only did I capture a butterfly landing on the ground, but it landed on Baby Zoey’s grave stone! Of all the grave stones in the Garden, well over a hundred, it landed on the very grave stone I had hoped for.

Link to Zoey’s Butterfly: https://youtu.be/rzEyToL0U-o

Alternate link to video: Buterfly Z

Leave it to Zoey to make my day yet again!

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I replayed the video a few more times and shared it with Zoey’s mother. We were both elated at this experience. Once again I had an exceptional Garden of Innocence experience.

My Samaritan

Beginning in mid April 2015, I experienced a two month string of personal struggles. An agonizing death in the family, multiple cross country trips, a significant illness, medical biopsies and a severe lack of business all combined to create significant stress and frustration. Consequently, I developed a mild case of shingles from the intense stress. I battled to climb out of this seemingly endless succession of negative circumstances.

Then on June 14th, Father’s Day, an extraordinary thing happened. In order to understand, I had to be prepared five days prior.

During the previous five days I mulled over my fascination with the topic of conversation from our midweek small group discussion at church. The subject that captured my attention was the implications of the story of the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4: 5-10). I had read the story many times before, but suddenly it had new meaning that prompted deep thought throughout the time leading up to Sunday.

The experience of Jesus and His disciples indicated a purposeful plan on His part. He knew that His disciples had a deeply negative perspective on the Samaritans. In fact, they were forbidden to associate with them. So Jesus deliberately chose a path that led through Samaria. His point, also shown in His parable of the Good Samaritan, was that even though we may not agree with someone’s views, it is not reason to reject them.

I was convinced that the Holy Spirit planted a thought deep in my mind. It was “Each of us have Samaritans in our life, people we just don’t like, maybe even despise. We may have legitimate reasons for such thoughts and feelings, but to be like Jesus, we must overcome them and open ourselves up to them just as Jesus did for the Samaritan woman.”

When Sunday dawned, Carol and I decided to go to our National City church for Sunday service. Normally we would have gone to our Vista church that is not bilingual. Our Bishop was in National City to conduct the divine service that included Confirmation of one of our youth.

My wife and I arrived at the church, greeted a few of the members and took our usual seats. I prayed for our blessing before the service began and sat quietly in anticipation of how the Holy Spirit would answer my prayer.

The service commenced at 10:30. Then, about fifteen minutes into the service, a man and woman came in and sat across the aisle from us.

I glanced over and saw a man who looked exactly like a coworker I had not seen since 1988, twenty seven years ago. During the ten years I worked with him, he verbally abused all of the engineers in my department I assigned to work on his projects. His management tactics were diametrically opposed to mine. His destructive methods were a bane for me; he was a big and painful thorn in my side for ten years.

My mind raced with the thought, “Could it really be him?”

I tried to dismiss it and tried to justify that he was really someone else. I just could not believe that this man would have ever come into our church. He was the very last person on earth that I expected to see in a New Apostolic Church. Even more remote was that he would come to National City, a bi-lingual congregation. This was the last congregation in the USA or the world that I imagined he would be. Taking all this in really shook me up.

I quietly prayed and asked the Lord, “If this is who I think it is Lord, show me what I should see? What is Your purpose?”

Immediately the thought came, “He is your Samaritan, whose antics you despised and so often told others about. Now here he is, welcome him with open forgiving arms.”

Moments later the choir arose to sing. The couple got up, came across the aisle and sat right in front of me. Now I couldn’t take my eyes off him and finally accepted it really was this man from my past!

After the service, I retrieved my voice recorder from the altar, turned and noticed the couple leaving. I worked my way through the crowd and caught up to them in the foyer.

The woman looked at me and said, “Evangelist, many years ago you baptized my son here in this congregation.”

Surprised, I replied, “I am sorry, but I do not remember you.”

Immediately I looked at the man standing next to her and said, “But, I remember you.”

The man looked at me surprised and said, “You don’t know me, we have never met!”

I looked him in the eye and said, “Oh yes we have, you are Mike Smith .”*

He retorted, “How did you know my name? Who are you?”

I said, “I am Allan Musterer, we worked together from 1978 to 1988.”

My mind was pulsating rapidly realizing what God had just done in extreme measure. He took a church member from Florida who had a connection to the National City congregation and with me and connected her in a unique way to my Samaritan. Then He brought them to San Diego for Father’s Day where she invited him to join her at our church. I was overwhelmed with a sense of awe at all this.

We stepped outside and I spoke with Mike for only few minutes because he and his companion were running late for meeting their sons. I gave Mike my business card and he said he would be in touch.

Afterward I reflected on what had transpired and harbored pangs of guilt for not furthering a conversation with his companion who I still didn’t recognize. She was an essential part of God’s plan. I hoped to get in touch with her as well to understand more details of how everything came together that morning. It was all still incomplete.

For the next few weeks, this couple returned to the services each Sunday in National City. My wife and I attended our Vista congregation those weeks but a friend was able to get their contact information. I eventually contacted both of them after they returned to Florida.

I learned that they worked together in Florida and had come to San Diego to visit their respective sons for Father’s Day. I learned that the woman’s name was Marilyn and when she told me her son’s name was Allan, I finally remembered the baptism that took place many years before. My conversations with Marilyn indicated that Mike had changed his management style from the years I had worked with him.

Turning Points

How great is our God! I remain in awe of what extraordinary lengths He will go to in order to teach me and help me to grow past the remaining obstacles to my spiritual progress. I search for other Samaritans in my past that I need to put into the new category of “Beloved Neighbor.”

* Mike Smith is a fictitious name

How Vivian Found Her Hidden Talent

Do you ever wonder what God-given talents you possess but find them hidden from your view? Do you ever wonder how your life experience would be different if you could discover them? This is the story of one young woman who discovered her hidden talent, a turning point that became one for me and others as well.

The congregation in our El Cajon church was placed under my care as evangelist for the San Diego area churches. One Sunday morning while serving the congregation in the morning service, I was prompted to focus the sermon on the gifts that God gave to each individual for the purpose of serving all. I explained that we sometimes overlook a talent God gave us for a number of reasons. It may be fear of failure, or fear of criticism, or maybe just thinking there was something about exercising a talent that was uncomfortable. Sometimes it is a hidden talent we never thought we possessed.

I encouraged the church family to explore their talents and even ask a fellow member their perspective of a talent we thought we had, hoped to have or didn’t know we had. I urged them to take courage and apply it in the congregation and thereby be a blessing for the family.
The service concluded and I greeted each of the members at the back of the church. One of the young adult members, Vivian, told me that she always wanted to do the flowers that weekly adorned the altar. She confessed she was reluctant because she didn’t see herself as talented as those who usually took turns doing them.

I suggested she ask one of the ladies who normally did the flowers to mentor her and teach her how best to exercise her desire to learn flower arranging and hopefully discover her talent.

Some weeks passed and once again I was serving in El Cajon. I made my preparations prior to the service and walked out of the sacristy to begin the service. On my way to the altar I passed the offering box and put in my offering. I looked up the center aisle and saw the altar arrayed in the most beautiful flower arrangement. It was so impressive it virtually took my breath away. I continued my walk up the aisle to the altar, and offered up a silent prayer as the congregation sang the opening hymn. I proceeded with the sermon.

At the conclusion of the service, I once again greeted the members. Eventually, I greeted Vivian.

I said to her, “Vivian, I want to show you something very special. Please come with me.”

Together we walked up the center aisle to the front of the altar.

I said, “Vivian, look at this amazing flower arrangement. When I first saw it, my soul was touched and it took my breath away. This would be a great model for you to follow as you develop your desired skills in the art of flower arranging.”

I looked into Vivian’s eyes and saw tears welling up that caused me to wonder if I had said something to make her sad.

When she composed herself, she humbly smiled and said, “I did these flowers.”

I embraced her and expressed how proud I was that she was able to find in herself such God-given talent. She said that she had worked with one of the ladies as I had suggested and found the courage that weekend to do the flowers for Sunday’s service.

From that moment on, Vivian was a regular contributor to decorating the altar with her amazing flower arranging talent. Some years later Vivian moved with her family to Orange County and was a member in our church in Anaheim.

One Sunday morning I was serving in the Anaheim congregation and once again the theme of the sermon was finding your hidden God-given talents. After the service I was greeting the members. A young woman said to me that she always wanted to be able to have the talent to decorate the altar with beautiful flower arrangements. No sooner did the words come across her lips, I spotted Vivian a few feet away.

I said to the woman, “Come with me, you need to meet someone.”

We walked over to Vivian and I said, “This is Vivian. She has a story to tell you about decorating the altar with flowers.”

Vivian and I knowingly smiled at each other and the two women went off to share Vivian’s experience in El Cajon years before.

Months later, I again served in Anaheim and witnessed the results of new found flower arranging talent in an amazing display of flowers at the altar.

Turning Points

Vivian’s turning point moment was a life changing event for her that opened a whole new way of expressing her faith and love for God and His family. It further encouraged her to try new things and investigate other talents that lay hidden in her heart. It was a further revelation when she was able to share her turning point and help another find hers.

My turning point came when I experienced how one little word of encouragement led to multiple life changing turning points for those with whom we share our life.

A Four Second Transformation – Ogre to Prince

Did you every have an impression of someone until suddenly, in a matter of a few seconds that impression took a 180 degree turnabout? You thought you had a person nailed and then suddenly without warning it happened. This is my story of a four second transformation that became a turning point for me.

Being a teenager with a strict father had a way of creating a short memory. All the things my dad did for me as a child disappeared from my memory as I struggled with his strict ways in my teenage years. When in retrospect I reflected on the fact that I saw him in the extreme, as an ogre, I became sad and filled with regret. To my immature and in-the-moment mind, all I saw was a strong, strict and limiting father. My mother on the other hand was understanding and tried to balance dad’s stern and unwavering ways.

My mother and I had a very close relationship forged in my very early years. Unlike my dad I never forgot her kindness and loving ways when I was a teenager.

When I was about sixteen, my brother and I saw my mother as our coach. In fact we teased her at times with that nickname. We could say things to her we could never think of saying to our dad. Mother gently and wisely coached us in many situations typical teenagers experience. She had a special way of getting us to agree with whatever she said, while in contrast, we resisted most of our father’s words. Thankfully, the wisdom hidden in Dad’s counsel, eventually found its way into our realization.

One time my mother had to have a hemorrhoid operation. In those days it was one of the most painful surgeries one could experience. The day after the surgery Mother was recovering in the hospital. Dad, Roy and I had dinner together in our small kitchen. About to finish the meal, Dad announced to Roy and me that he was going to visit our mother in the hospital. We responded expressing our desire to go too. Dad resisted but we pressed him until he gave in.

Dad drove to Passaic General Hospital and parked on the street behind the hospital. The parking lot in front of the hospital had very limited parking space so it was out of the question to even think of parking there. The path to the hospital from the street where we were parked was comprised of large flights of steep wooden stairs. The stairs were serpentine as they twisted and turned up the steep hill.

Dad ordered us to wait fifteen minutes before we headed up the stairs. He said he needed “time to get mother prepared for our visit.” We wondered what he was talking about, getting mother “prepared” for us.

Obediently we waited and firmed up our plan for the visit. It was a brash plan to enter our mother’s room and ask her, “Hi Mother, how’s your ass?”

Being teenagers we didn’t give a thought as to how that would be received by either of our parents, we just thought it would be “cool.”

When fifteen minutes had passed, Roy and I got out of the car, locked it and headed up the steps. It seemed like forever to reach the top. Like everyone else climbing those stairs we were out of breath when we reached the top and began the short walk to the hospital entry.

Roy and I found our way to our mother’s hospital room, paused outside for a few minutes to compose ourselves and marched in with an air of arrogance.

A few steps into the room and we stopped dead in our tracks. One look at my mother’s face and I froze in a state of utter shock. The fact that she was in such excruciating pain shocked me into total paralysis. I felt as if I had a watermelon in my throat, making it impossible for me to utter a single word. I wanted to say something to comfort her, but it was simply impossible for me to speak.

After a few seconds, I saw Dad sitting at the edge of the bed, Mother’s hand in his as he gently stroked her forehead with his other hand. He was comforting my mother. Instantly, my father changed from an ogre to a prince as I realized he did what I could not do, comfort Mother in her moment of need and pain.

I felt so inadequate and useless in the face of the man who loved Mother with such gentle strength. Without a word, the scene put my arrogant teenage attitude into its proper place. The respect I had lost for my dad returned in that instant. Life in the family would never be the same as this big-time turning point changed the course of my attitude forever.

Turning Point

At times it takes a powerful traumatic emotional experience to create a turning point for us. We must understand that it may take time for the turning point’s lesson to reveal its profoundness. Sometimes though, it can hit home instantaneously. Whatever course the turning point may take, it behooves us to cherish them and the treasure they have the potential to be.

I have found that looking back and recounting my turning points, they can help others to get past misunderstandings such as I had for my dad when I was an impetuous teenager. Fortunate for me and my brother, we saw the truth of his wisdom rather quickly and that became a treasure to our benefit.

Stepping Up and Stepping In

Years ago I read a book by Charles R. Swindoll entitled “Living Above the Level of Mediocrity ~ A Commitment to Excellence.” The book fascinated me as the author revealed insights into what it took to answer the call of God. In detail and with illustrative stories he described what enabled a soul to step up and step in to fulfill God’s call.

One particular Bible verse changed my perspective. It was Ezekiel 22:30.

“I looked for someone to stand up for me against all this, to repair the defenses of the city, to take a stand for me and stand in the gap to protect this land so I wouldn’t have to destroy it. I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.”

The author notes that in many instances in the Bible history, God searched for just one person to fulfill His will and blessing upon the world’s people. He was looking for that lone eagle to fly above the fray, willing to step up and step in to be a tool in His hands and bless the people.

That person did not need be the most talented or the most perfect, but simply needed to be the most willing. As most people, I felt inadequate, imperfect, flawed, and unworthy of godly tasks. Hence for much of my early life I shied away from God’s calling. I compared myself with others and found myself wanting. When opportunity came I sat down instead of standing up. I assuaged any guilt I felt with the excuse that I was not as good as everyone else.

I remember an instance after graduating from college; I joined a deacon from our church on a pastoral visit. Afterward, I felt very inadequate and seeing so many others who I deemed better than me, I wondered why God would want me to engage in such an important task in the church family. My job soon took me out of town for the next six months and so I was spared having to make a decision.

For nearly a year, my job as an engineer required me to travel and so the opportunity, or better said, God’s calling, slipped out of my thoughts. I began advanced schooling toward a master’s degree and again found reason not to step up and step in.

Rennie, a deacon and friend of mine at church said, “Allan, if you ever want to join me on pastoral visits to our members, just call me.”

I spent two and a half years pursuing a master’s degree, attending evening classes year round. During those years in graduate school, I married and moved to Parsippany with my wife Carol. Evenings were spent attending classes. It was a very busy life.

Shortly after finishing my last class, I came home to my wife one evening after a hard day at the office. I was in a bad mood and was not very pleasant to Carol.
Carol’s father was a priest in our church. Leaning on her experiences in her family and in response to my bad mood she urged me, “Go visiting!”

I said, “Do you really think that’s a good idea considering my attitude right now?”

She said, “Yes! Do me a favor, do yourself a favor and do God a favor and go on a pastoral visit tonight!”

I didn’t agree, but in spite of it I acquiesced. I called my deacon, Rennie, who had years before given me an open invitation to join him on a visit. He was thrilled that I wanted to join him and we arranged for me to meet at his house that evening.

When I arrived at his house, Rennie told me he had previously arranged a pastoral visit to one of my childhood Sunday school teachers. Doris had married a man some years before who was not interested in attending church. I wondered what the visit would be like.

When we arrived at Doris’s house Rennie and I prayed together before we left the car. He asked for the Holy Spirit to guide our words to inspire the man of the house to consider coming to church at least once. He prayed we would be used to be a blessing for the family.

At the front door we knocked and Doris answered. She welcomed us in and we were led to the living room. There we were introduced to her husband, Joe. After shaking hands we were seated on a large comfortable couch opposite Joe who sat in an easy chair across form us. Doris quickly left the room explaining she had to take care of the children.

Rennie began to talk with Joe and immediately was confronted with resistance. He argued at times heatedly with the deacon, pointing out his extensive readings of various religions. Joe made his points by pointing to the many books in the bookcase behind him. I felt so sorry for our deacon and quietly prayed for God’s assistance. Each point Rennie attempted to make was met with adamant resistance. Rennie tried his best to keep the conversation void of such controversy, but every attempt seemed to fail. After about thirty minutes of this, Joe offered each of us a glass of water. He left the room to retrieve our drinks.

During Joe’s brief absence from the room, Rennie looked at me and said, “I am obviously not getting anywhere with this conversation, so when Joe returns, you speak to him.”

I had prayed silently during the deacon’s conversation for his success, but now I had to face stepping up and stepping in to a situation that was quite unfamiliar to me. I quickly prayed a very short prayer and asked God for guidance.

Joe returned with a glass of water for each of us and returned to his seat.

I began saying, “Joe I understand what you are saying. I can attest to your assessments of all these religious books you have read. I had an interesting and corroborating experience when I went to college. I attended a university in Pennsylvania. We did not have any of our churches within my reach. I decided to attend each of the seven churches in town on successive Sunday mornings. I entered each with an open mind and heart and a thirsty, hungry soul.”

As I spoke, Joe, leaning forward in his chair, was paying intense attention to my narrative.

I continued, “I found that each church offered me something of value, something that satisfied a need and longing in me. One, for instance, had a spectacular choir. The hymns and music soothed my soul, but the sermon was uninspiring, simply reporting on the news of the week. Another church had an extraordinary speaker who delivered an entertaining sermon but it was lacking in spiritual content. I discovered that each church satisfied some aspect of my being, but all lacked satisfying my spiritual hunger and thirst resident deep within my soul. It showed me that what I had been experiencing in our church had been encompassing my whole need.”

Joe was now shaking his head in agreement with my message.

I mentioned that I didn’t get satisfaction until I began to read transcripts of sermons from our church.

I said, “Joe, I feel that with your deep interest and searching, evidenced by what you have shared with us this evening, you owe it to yourself and your family to explore what our church has to offer. Why don’t you and your family come at least once to see what I have found to be so valuable?”

Joe responded with a willingness to try it, but made it clear he would make no promises.

Joe asked Doris and the children to join us and the deacon offered up a prayer. We shook hands and departed. I sensed being used by God to make a difference for Joe and his family.

On my drive home I reflected on the experience of the evening. I felt that God used my experience to touch Joe’s heart. Carol was right; putting myself into God’s hand for His work, allowed Him to change my heart and attitude. I returned home a new man that night with a transformed attitude and spirit.

Joe and the family attended at least one of our services, but apparently did not find what he was looking for in our church.

Though somewhat disappointed, I valued the experience of that visit to their family for the turning point it created for me.

A few months later, we moved to San Diego and another call to ministry came my way. Together, Carol and I stepped up and stepped in for another ministry and mission on the other side of the country.

Turning Point

This experience was a turning point in my self-perception as it caused me to realize that in spite of my flaws and weaknesses, as long as I was willing step up and step in, God could and would use me. He would add to me whatever was lacking to affect His perfect divine purpose for those He wanted to bless.

The ensuing years have been filled with experiences wherein I was faced with situations lacking the attributes for success. I somehow found the courage to step up and step in with willingness, faith and trust that God would do what He does best. In our most inadequate moments He does His best work with us, for us and by us.

Not every experience has our expected outcome. The plan of God is not always clear but is always perfect. Sometimes the divine purpose for our experiences takes a long time to unfold and for us to see God’s plan bring forth the intended fruit of the planted seed. This too is a turning point lesson, to patiently wait, trusting that the fruit of God’s perfect will is eventually revealed.