Stories that Inspire Turning Points – Page 4

Garden of Innocence

I have had many amazing experiences at Garden of Innocence San Diego and Orange County. I have documented some of them on my previous blog posts. You can find them by Searching for Garden of Innocence.

Recently, a very moving set of experiences took place at the burial service for Baby Zoey, a baby I named to honor a very dear friend. At the ceremony, my friend Zoey’s uncle was in attendance. He was moved by the Garden experience.

Earlier this year, his cinema company created a Public Service Announcement video in support of Garden of Innocence. This June, he and his wife won two Emmys for their work on the PSA along with their team at American Dream Cinema.

The touching and dramatic message captures exquisitely the noble mission of our Gardens. Please watch it and follow your heart. If it touches you as it has so many, please donate. Even small amounts can and will make a difference for our babies. If you can’t donate, please forward this website to your friends and direct them to this post so they can watch this amazing video.

Click on this link: GOI-PSA-100

Grieving

The great inevitable in life is the experience of losing someone you have deeply loved. Sooner or later, this event enters our life. It is feared and dreaded by most because it is so final. When it suddenly or slowly becomes our reality, it brings with it intense pain and suffering. So much so that it has the potential to be utterly debilitating. The action that follows is our grieving.

Grieving can take on many forms. Crying, withdrawing, anger, resentment, and many more forms too numerous to mention. But what I have discovered in my life of grieving is that despite the utter sense of devastating personal loss, there can be a shining light of hope and comfort. It is that light and the comfort it brings that I want to share with my readers.

Years ago, I read a book entitled “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Victor E. Frankl. As a psychiatrist thrust into the hell of Auschwitz concentration camp in World War II, Frankl found himself positioned in a unique moment in time for observation. He discovered that if a person can find meaning in the circumstances they are in, no matter how horrid, they can and will survive. Meaning provides a means to find that light beam of hope that comforts the grieving heart.

I began my “search for meaning” of the grief that grips my heart and mind with an interesting note that was recently posted on social media. I found this to be a good starting point in my search.

So, grief is really our love. The love we shared with the one whose death has instigated this grieving was the evidence that we loved and were loved. This is quite profound. I once watched a television show that was based on an extraordinarily busy emergency room in a large city. The head doctor was speaking to a patient who perceived the doctor’s underlying grieving. He wanted to help the doctor and in his thoughts, remove the grieving. Her response was epic.

She said, “I never want to escape my grieving because it is a constant reminder that I have deeply loved, and I have been deeply loved. No, I will never let my grieving go.”

Hearing that was very touching to me. I stopped the recording, back tracked, and replayed it repeatedly. It spoke to me, and added value and understanding to my own grieving. This led me to another statement of grief.

For me, I took issue with one part of this statement. For me, when I came to embrace my grief, like that doctor, it is a place I wanted to stay. Because now my grief no longer brought those negatives of withdrawal, anger, etc. Now my grief was that constant reminder of the treasure of loving and being loved by someone very special and important to me.

So how could I go about cementing the positives of grief into my soul? I was invited to the funeral of a young girl I did not know. I knew her mother, and other relatives. I attended the funeral and found a real treasure for perceiving my grief. The father of the deceased teenager spoke and as a preamble to his eulogy he said, “When someone dies, people say that they “passed away.” Where I come from however, people say that they “passed on” and I want to share with you what my daughter “passed on” to me!”

His statement struck a tender chord in my soul. It burrowed deep into my heart as this grieving father eloquently spoke of all the gifts his daughter gave him during their short life together. Following the funeral, I pondered this perspective for days. I began to realize that this was a critical component of embracing the blessing of grieving. I thought of the motto of Garden of Innocence, “If no one grieves, no one will remember.” I realized that focusing on what my dear one passed on to me I had a bridge for keeping them alive in my memory. Never forgotten, they continued to give me what they so graciously bestowed upon me in life.

Further consideration of this “passing on” vision brought the thought that “passing away” implies that our loved one was moving away from us, farther and farther away each day. But “passing on” implies a continuation of their presence in my life, a living relationship as I named the gifts they gave me. This evoked a sense of comfort amid my grief.

Grieving was not a constant feeling I discovered. Rather it was like the ocean, it came in waves. And the intensity varied, triggered by special moments and events in history. A birthday, an anniversary, a graduation, a marriage along with many other moments triggered the sense of loss. Like waves at the beach, if you are not looking for them they will knock you off your feet, tumble you under the water and fill your pants with sand. If you have ever experienced that you’ll know how miserable it can make you. So, what are we to do? There is a solution that I have found that works for me. I call it “Prism Vision”.

Simply put, prism vision is looking at circumstances in life through a prism that, under your control determines what you see. When I found myself unprepared for the waves of grief, I chose to peer through the prism of “Collateral Beauty”. “How does that work?” you ask?

A prism has the characteristic of taking white, invisible light and, as it passes through the prism, breaks it up into all its component colors. In other words, it reveals what hereto for was hidden, invisible. So when I used the prism of collateral beauty, in the sudden onslaught of unexpected intense grief, it revealed the hidden beauty of the relationship I enjoyed with the one who passed on.

Allow me to give an example too illustrate just how this works.

I was drowned in work and activities during an extraordinarily busy week. The many things and events that filled my week consumed my undivided attention. I had little time to think of anything else but what was on my plate that week. Sunday arrived and my wife and I headed off to church. When I arrived, I looked at my phone to turn it off and suddenly realized it was the anniversary of the passing on of a very special friend, one who means so much to me. A tidal wave of grief crashed over me. I fought to hold back tears as deep feelings squeezed my inner parts and a huge lump found its way into my throat evoking pain. I felt empty with every part of me aching.

Then I peered through my collateral beauty prism and bigger waves of remembered special moments shared with my friend loomed immense before me. So big were these visions that they overwhelmed the waves of sadness and pain. They buoyed me up and lifted my soul out of darkened depths. Immediately I decided on a course of action for that day. I wanted a quieter time to reflect, to connect with all the beautiful moments shared with my friend.

The sermon at church offered more triggers of the beauty of my connection with my friend. After I returned home, I put my plan into action. I went to the Garden of Innocence where abandoned babies are given a name and laid to rest. Some months prior, I had named a baby in honor of my friend. I thought, “What better place to go to meditate than in the beauty of this Garden and see how God would help me use my prism.”

I arrived at the cemetery early in the afternoon and proceeded to walk up the hill toward the Garden. The warmth of the sun blanketed my back on the journey upward. Birds sang their sweet melodies and a gentle breeze wafted through the trees. As I walked I found myself in deep thought wrapped in anticipation for what was to come. Again, my thoughts went to my friend who loved butterflies. At least one black and yellow butterfly almost always visited us in the Garden when we had a burial ceremony.

I wondered, “Wouldn’t it be nice if when I reach the Garden, I would find many butterflies flitting about? Surely my friend would be happy at such a sight.”

As I continued my walk, I thought again, “What would really be extraordinary to find a butterfly landing on the grave stone of the baby I named in honor of my dear friend!”

What were the chances, considering that butterflies rarely landed on the ground and there were over a hundred seventy grave stones in the Garden?

I arrived at the entry to the Garden of Innocence and my heart was overwhelmed as I was greeted by what must have been a couple dozen butterflies dancing in the air above gravestones. I was moved to start my phone and activate the camera. I pushed the movie button to catch the many butterflies that filled the air. To my utter surprise, as I panned around, my eye and camera caught a butterfly zoom in on the very gravestone of my special baby. As I walked filming this extraordinary moment I caught the butterfly sitting on the gravestone slowly opening and closing its wings. After a few moments it lifted off and continued to fly around the Garden.

I was overwhelmed with joy and thanked God for giving me such a glimpse of collateral beauty with my precious friend. The pain of grief melted away as I basked in the joy of the moments that followed. This profound connection with my loved one continued to bring joy and comfort to my soul.

It is my hope that sharing these thoughts will help my readers suffering from grief and loss to find their own prisms to reveal the hidden collateral beauty they share with those who have passed on.

NOTE: The video of the butterfly landing on the gravestone can be viewed using this link: http://www.dropbox.com/s/3imdicpiepafazd/20160807_220021_66160173695203.mp4?dl=0

If this post has been a blessing for you, you might enjoy other posts similar to this. Search specific key words to find them.

Prism Viewing

An old adage states: “When your only tool is a hammer, everything you see is a nail.” This perfectly describes the filters that color our perspective. How we see profoundly influences our attitude and our attitude dictates the quality of our life. These thoughts prompted contemplation with regard to my personal turning points. I found repeatedly that as I reflected on my many turning points, I become more deeply grateful for them and the realization of how I had been blessed through them. Turning points caused me to look at my life through a different prism.

My thoughts were guided by a recent introduction to prisms in a way quite different from my previous view. My technically focused education introduced me to prisms and their unique effects many years ago in physics classes. But now I saw them more figuratively as prisms related to our viewpoints. I found the following descriptions useful as a basis.

From the dictionary:

PRISM: NOUN
• Geometry: a solid geometric figure whose two end faces are similar, equal, and parallel rectilinear figures, and whose sides are parallelograms.
• Optics: a glass or other transparent object in prism form, especially one that is triangular with refracting surfaces at an acute angle with each other and that separates white light into a spectrum of colors.
• used figuratively with reference to the clarification or distortion afforded by a particular viewpoint: “they were forced to imagine the disaster through the prism of television”

A prism then has the quality of breaking down invisible components of light and revealing the hidden colors that make up what is referred to as “white light”. Figuratively then it reveals the detailed truth about any viewpoint.

How then can this fact help understanding our viewpoints?

Consider the thought: Prism Viewing

Prism viewing affords the person the ability to see the elements of life in finest details of the heretofore unseen. Depending on the choice of prism we engage, we will see the beauty or the ugly, the good or the evil of a scene in our life.
I sought to look at some possibilities both “negative” and “positive”.

The prism of anger opened up many unseen minute details of what in general had prompted anger in the first place. The anger prism view gave countless more reasons to increase one’s anger and become more consumed by its effects. Unchecked, it would create a spiraling effect ultimately resulting in an unprovoked physical action. I perceived this as a “negative” prismatic viewer because if the potentially destructive effects of anger.

On the contrary, the prism of kindness produced a very different perspective of the same situation. The kindness prism opened visions of fine details of what may have caused an otherwise angered response. With kindness there was opportunity for one to see new ways to assuage whatever was awry. Prompted with this prism view we would be enabled to reach out and help resolve situations and potentially reconcile the issues at hand. This I perceived as a “positive” prismatic viewer because of the potentially corrective effects of kindness.

I expect some readers will take issue with this viewpoint, citing righteous anger in the face of some injustice. Of course that perspective has it merit. I propose one looks at this from the standpoint of the outcome of the revelation of the prismatic view. Does it produce good or does it produce evil?

It is important to realize and appreciate that we have full control as to what prism we choose to view our life circumstances. These thoughts prompted me to investigate positive prisms available. It was very obvious that the negative prisms are many fold. With little thought, here are some negative prisms that come to mind: prejudice, being offended, judgment, anger, resentment, hatred, covetousness, jealousy, envy, fear and the list continues.

To better understand the positive prism arrows that populate my personal quiver, I went to my reliable source, the Holy Bible. There I found the following:

Galatians 5:22-23 New King James Version (NKJV)

22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, and self-control. Against such there is no law.
This passage provides a concise but thorough list of positive prisms. As usual, I go to the Message Bible to see an additional word set to describe these qualities.

Galatians 5:22-24The Message (MSG)

22-23 But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.
23-24 Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.

With these perspectives, I found that the careful choosing of appropriate prisms produced results very beneficial for me. New opportunities to be a blessing for someone seemed to appear more often. I found more words that expanded the population of my prism quiver beyond the nine in the referenced scripture. Words like Graciousness, Meekness, Accessibility, Altruistic, Availability, Understanding, Compassion, and Humbleness described more quality positive prisms from which to choose.

What remained for me was mastering the act, or art, of choosing the appropriate prism for every circumstance. Communion with the Holy Spirit offered the opportunity for His influence on my choices, making each one progressively more beneficial. However, such mastery did not come easily; it took a determined, deliberate and constant effort. And it had to be viewed as a process of growth that would continue forever. Years of inappropriate prism viewing created strong inclinations, habits of choosing the wrong prism. Slowly, with steady concerted effort coupled with prayer and a sincere desire to change, I experienced progress in the quest to rid myself of the undesired prisms. Replacing them with the blessed ones was much slower than I had hoped. The road seemed endless. Along that road I discovered many turning points that provided encouragement on the journey.

One such turning point was found in an old lesson from the book “The One Minute Manager” wherein it suggested one work at “catching” someone doing something right and praising them for it. This approach was in opposition to the tendency to employ the prism that inclined one to catch someone doing something wrong and seize the moment to correct them. This offered an interesting set of contrasting prisms.

I recently revisited a story that touched me and inspired further contemplation. It was entitled the “Second Mile” by Robert Wells. It is an excellent example of how changing one’s viewing prism made all the difference.

THE SECOND MILE

The great road stretched for miles in both directions and was very crowded. Groups of people on foot traveled steadily onward. Donkeys, heavy-burdened, passed along. A long train of camels, with great bulky loads high on their backs, plodded by.

The boy, David, standing by the side of the road, watched everything with eager eyes. “Someday, I’ll follow this road for a long, long way” he thought. “I’ll follow it all the way down to the Great Sea, and I’ll not stop even there.”

His eye fell upon a single figure, walking alone, along the crowded road. “He’s a Roman soldier,” thought David. “I can tell by the way he’s dressed. How I hate the Romans! If it weren’t for them we Jews would be free again. Then we wouldn’t have to pay their taxes or obey their laws. I hate them all!”

He stared at the Roman soldier who was almost opposite him now in the road. Suddenly, the soldier stopped. He shifted the heavy pack he carried, and eased it down to the ground. Then he straightened up again and stood resting a moment. David still stared at him, thinking angry thoughts. Then, just as the soldier turned to pick up his pack once more, he noticed David standing not far off. “Hey, boy!” he called. “Come here!”

David wanted to turn and run, but he stood frozen in his tracks. No one dared to disobey one of the soldiers of Rome. David went nearer, slowly. The soldier motioned to his pack. “You will carry it for me,” he said.

David knew that there was no help for him now. He knew the hated Roman law. Any Roman soldier could make any Jewish boy or man carry his load for him in any direction he was traveling for one mile. “But only for one mile!” thought David, angrily, as he unwillingly lifted the pack.

The soldier had already turned away and had started on along the road. He did not even bother to look back to see that David was following him. He knew that he would not dare do anything else.

David followed. The pack was heavy, but David was strong. He swung along easily, but his thoughts were angry. He wanted to throw the soldier’s pack down in the dirt and stomp on it. He wanted to shout and rage at that hated Roman soldier striding easily ahead of him. But he could do nothing except follow along, keeping his bitter thoughts to himself. “Just one mile. He can’t make me go a step further. Only one mile.” The words made a sort of song in his mind in time to his steps. “One mile, one mile…”

Then, as he was plodding along, David suddenly remembered another day when he had walked along this very same road. One day he had gone out a little ways from the city with some of his friends, to find a young teacher of whom they had heard about. They had found him out on a hill side among a large crowd of people. David had stopped with the others to listen to what he said.

“What made me think of him now?” wondered David with one part of his mind. Another part was still repeating over and over, “One-mile-one-mile-one-mile-“

“Of course,” he remembered suddenly. “The Master used those very same words. What was it He said about one mile?”

He walked on frowning for a moment before he could remember. Then he said the words to himself: “Whosoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go with him two.” That was what He said! David had not paid very much attention to it at the time. He remembered now other things the Master had said. “Love your enemies.” “Do good to them that hate you.”

Then once more David found himself repeating the strangest of them all, “Whosoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go with him two.” “Does he mean–could he mean–like, now?” David puzzled. “But why? Why should I go more than one mile?”

David was so busy thinking that he did not notice that the soldier had stopped, and so he almost ran into him. “You have come one mile,” said the soldier. “Give the pack to me.”

“I will go on,” said David. He did not know why he said it. “It has not been far, and I am not tired.”

The Roman soldier stared at him in surprise, and for the first time David really looked into his face. He saw that the soldier was very young. He saw, too, that he was very, very tired, in spite of the straight soldierly way in which he stood.

“You have come a long way,” said David.

“Yes,” said the other, “a weary way of many miles.”

“Have you far to go?”

“I go to Rome.”

“So far!” said David. “Then let me carry your pack for another mile.

“You are very kind,” said the soldier, but his face was still full of surprise.

So they went on, only now, the Roman soldier waited for David and walked beside him along the road. And suddenly, David found himself talking to the soldier as if they had known each other for a long time, and he told him all about his home and his family. And David listened while the soldier talked of his travels in faraway places. They were so busy talking that the distance seemed very short.

“Tell me,” said the soldier at last, “how did it happen that you offered to come this second mile?”

David hesitated. “I hardly know,” he said. “It must have been what the Master said, I think.”

Then he told the soldier all that happened out on the hill and all that he could remember of the Master’s teaching.

“Strange,” said the soldier thoughtfully. “Love your enemies. Do good to those that hate you. That’s a hard teaching. I should like to know this Master.”

They had come now to the top of a hill and the end of the second mile. David looked back along the road toward his home.

“I must go back,” he said. “The hour is late, and my parents will wonder where I have gone.”

The soldier took his pack and shouldered it again. The two clasped hands.

“Farewell, friend,” said the soldier.

“Farewell, friend,” answered David, smiling up into the soldier’s eyes. Then the two parted.

As David strode back along the road, the words of the Master kept running through his mind: “Whosoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go with him two.” And as he repeated the words he found himself adding, with a strange, deep joy, “It works! It really works!”

It’s so very true! I walked one mile with an enemy — I walked the second mile with a friend.”

I henceforth must endeavor to choose well the prism I peer through in each and every circumstance.

Turning Points

How we see things, circumstances and people and our subsequent reactions and underlying feelings reveal our attitude. I endeavor to choose well the prism I peer through in every circumstance. What new turning points await revelation as this journey continues I do not know. But assuredly, my eyes will be watching, so my “pen” can be reporting.

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.

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.

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.