Refueling The Soul – Page 6 – The Turning Points of Life

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.

A Noble Man

Over the years that I served as a minister in the New Apostolic church in the San Diego area, I met and found friendship with some very extraordinary people. My relationships and the gifts of friendship we shared have become lasting blessings in my life. Some ushered into my life turning points I treasure.

One such friend was a man named Bill Rainey. Bill, his wife and two children moved to San Diego in the late 1970’s, shortly after the time my wife and I did. They had lived in New York City and moved to the west to southern California.

Bill’s wife Lucille and I also shared a special friendship that was originally sparked by our mutual love of classical jazz. Over time our relationship took on a deeper spiritual tone. Lucille had a special gift. Whenever I found myself feeling down from the troubles of my day at work, I came home to find one of her cards in my mail box. As I shuffled through the stack of mail, suddenly the envelope with her signature return address label appeared. It was festooned with a purple orchid. I immediately knew it contained a card written in Lucille’s hand with words of encouragement and faith. My day just got so much better!

Over the years I had many opportunities to visit with Bill and Lucille. After Lucille passed on in July 2001, Bill and I had many deep conversations. He shared with me intimate feelings from deep in his heart that had been buried for all the years I had known him. He had suffered many incidences of racial discrimination. Being African-American, he often found himself in circumstances where his skin color contracted prejudice. What impressed me was how he reacted to such injustice. Surely he would be justified to feel angry, hurt and vengeful. But Bill was a noble man. His faith and aspiration to be like Jesus allowed him to say in his heart the well-known words of Jesus at the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing (saying).”

I came to realize, that before that prayer to God for his persecutor’s forgiveness left Bill’s lips, he had already forgiven them in his gracious, kind and noble heart. The fruit of the Spirit lived and reigned in his heart.

When Bill passed on in June 2003, his daughter Valerie asked me to conduct his funeral service. I was honored to accept such a blessing. Immediately I made preparations for this special experience with my brother and dear friend Bill and his family.

Bill Rainey and his contagious smile

The first thing I needed was to find a word out of scripture that would serve as the keynote to the funeral service. In a very special way it needed to acknowledge Bill’s character, faith, heart and soul. I prayed and patiently waited for some impulse from heaven to guide me. One day while preparing I happened to randomly open the Bible. I normally used the New King James Version (NKJV), but this time I picked up my New International Version (NIV) study Bible. When I opened it my eyes fell on Isaiah 32:8 where to my astonishment I read:

“But the noble make noble plans, and by noble deeds they stand.”

I was immediately elated at this discovery. I felt that these simple words perfectly applied to Bill. Succinctly they described the nobility of this man and gave me the basis for engaging the Holy Spirit to the task of developing an appropriate sermon and eulogy. Surely the spirit of these words in Isaiah would serve as comfort and inspiration to his family and friends.

I continued my preparations and explored some additional Bible translations of this verse. The Message Bible gave me this:

“But those who are noble make noble plans,
and stand for what is noble.”

Hours of exploring this fascinating Bible verse and how it related to the man I had grown to love and know created all I needed to honor him and serve his family and friends in the service.

On July 5, 2003, the funeral service was conducted for William A. Rainey, Sr. He was born May 21, 1911 and passed out of this life June 25, 2003. In the service, the noble character of this extraordinary soul was remembered and recounted.
Noble is defined as distinguished at birth (Rebirth); an exalted character of excellence; admirable, imposing, high quality, honorable; gold & platinum (noble metals) valuable because they are durable, un-phased by adversity; highness of character & spirit.

I found the words in Isaiah sufficient to what I experienced Bill to be in life. A humble man and a pillar of exceptional moral strength, he stood as an example for all who were blessed to be his friend. Yes, my spiritual brother Bill Rainey was noble, he was a gentleman, and he was and remains such as he must surely be at work for the Lord in eternity. He will have success there, because needy souls will see his spirit and the character of his soul.

After the service was concluded, Bill’s son came to me and said with emotion, “You knew my father better than me.”

I thought, “Truly, it was God who knew him better than us all.”

Turning Point

My friendship with Bill and the deep conversations we experienced together revealed the wonderful possibilities that, in spite of severe adversity and injustice, a noble person can emerge inspired by the love of God. Applying faith and courage provides the ability to become a victor and not a victim. Bill was such a victor.

I have found ever growing confidence that a life of faith and the courage it has the potential to impart can make all the difference in pursuing a life of value. A life positioned with this attitude equips one to be a blessing to the many lives they encounter.

The Traumatic Dog Bite

It was a beautiful day in the summer of 1947. The temperature and humidity were both high in the nineties, typical of New Jersey summer days. My mother decided to take my baby brother and me for a walk around the block. My brother Roy was nine months old and I was four and a half. Roy was in a baby carriage, quiet and probably asleep from the motion of the carriage. I was walking or running as any active four year old would be.

In those days we never locked the door to the house, especially when just taking a walk around the neighborhood. Mother and I had just turned the corner from our street onto Spring Street when we met our neighbor lady walking her dog Smokey. She was the wife of our dentist and they lived just a few doors further up Spring Street from where we met. This lady faithfully walked their Alaskan husky twice a day. Mother stopped and the two women engaged in a friendly conversation.

I was jumping and running around in circles and apparently spooked or angered Smokey because suddenly he jumped up and bite my right cheek. I screamed and began running a fast as I could around the corner and down our street toward home. It must have been a sight, my little four year old legs scampering full speed down the street and mother running with the carriage after me.

Our House

In that moment, a series of fortunate things happened almost at once. Our next door neighbor Mr. Barton was a truck driver and had decided to stop home for lunch that day. He had just parked his truck in front of his house and was exiting the cab when he looked up and saw us running toward our house. Immediately he realized something was terribly wrong as he heard my screaming and saw mother in a full sprint. He called his wife and she emerged from her house as I was rounding the corner of our house toward our side door.

I ran past both of them, pulled the side door of our house open, bolted through the kitchen and into the bathroom. I climbed onto the edge of the bathtub, leaned over the sink and twisted my head in front of the mirror. I looked at my image in the mirror and saw my teeth through the gaping hole in my cheek. A large flap of skin was hanging down from my face and blood seemed to be everywhere. Before I knew it I was in my mother’s arms.

She came into the house right behind me; having passed my brother off to Mrs. Barton’s waiting arms. Mother took a clean moistened face cloth and placed it over my mangled cheek carefully placing the flap of flesh back to it proper position. Then out of the house we went.

My mother had no car and didn’t drive. Mr. Barton had his car waiting and whisked us away heading to our doctor’s office a few miles away. As we left, Mrs. Barton took Roy inside her house and called our doctor to fill him in on our pending arrival.

We arrived at Dr. DeBell’s office some twenty minutes or so later. It was in a section of his residence in Passaic, the town just next to ours. Dr. DeBell was our family doctor, but he was also engaged in plastic surgery research, a relatively young specialty in 1947. He took me from my mother’s arms and into his surgery room. I don’t know if he sedated me, but I learned later that he performed some minor surgery along the margins of the torn flap and “sutured” it with what eventually became known as butterfly bandages. The tear was a long arc the general shape of the dog’s snout. The doctor used a single standard stitch to close a puncture wound from the dog’s lower canine tooth. I was released to my mother shortly thereafter and Mr. Barton drove us back home.

When my dad came home that evening from work, my mother had a real wild story to tell.

Allan before the bite

By the grace of God, the surgery and unique bandaging along with the follow up visits to Dr. DeBell, my wounds healed without a scar, save for a small pock mark where the doctor had to use a standard stitch on the puncture wound. The amazing success of the treatment caused the doctor to take pictures of my healed face to accompany his report to the Plastic Surgery Society.

Turning Point

This experience created a lifelong fear of dogs. During my years as a newspaper delivery boy, and at other times growing up, I suffered attacks by dogs and subsequent dog bites. One large dog even jumped through a window to attack me. None of them were as severe as this first one, but I gained a great respect for dogs.

On a more positive note, I witnessed the extraordinary measures God goes to in order to care for those He loves. Our neighbor’s unusual return home for lunch coupled with the precise timing of his arrival enabling him to instantly fulfill our critical need to get to the doctor made all the difference. The meticulous choreography of the right people in the precise place and at the perfect time during those thirty minutes of my life I can only attribute to kind and gracious God.

Broken Body – Living Soul

My mother and I were always very spiritually close, evidenced by many extraordinary experiences confirming this truth over the years. One day my mother suffered a brain aneurism that caused a stroke. After all available treatments were exhausted, and due to complications that caused brain seizures heavy medications became a necessity. Her physical and mental condition forced me to place her in a special care facility. This was very difficult for both my dad and me, but I made every effort to insure that she received the very best of care. What made it most difficult for me was her inability to recognize me.

During the week I visited her in the evenings. Approaching her she would look up at me from her wheelchair and ask, “Who are you?”

Most often she mistook me for my father or my brother. Even though I understood the cause, it still hurt and painful tugs gripped my heart. However, God saw fit to show me something important that eventually brought peace to my heart with the situation.

Each Sunday after conducting the morning church service in one of the San Diego area congregations, I took whatever detour necessary to stop at the convalescent home. I wanted to serve my mother with Absolution, Holy Communion, and to pray with her. I had a living hope that in spite of her condition; somehow the blessing of God would reach her soul.

Without failure, every Sunday I walked into the entrance of the convalescent home, the first thing I saw was my mother in her wheelchair. She was first in the line of wheelchairs at the entry to the dining hall. She was hunched over, her eyeglasses askew and smudged to the point that she could not see anything very clearly through them. I entered the large reception room from the foyer and Mother immediately looked up, raised her “good” right arm and called out my name saying, “Allan! Is that you?”

I always responded with, “Yes, it’s me.”

Mother, loud enough for the whole room to hear, said, “Do you have my Holy Communion?”

I assured her I did, gave her a kiss and wheeled her back to her room. There I shared the highlights of the morning church service. I spoke to her as though there was nothing wrong with her comprehension. We prayed together the Lord’s Prayer and to my constant amazement, she prayed that pray as though nothing was wrong with her! No slurring of her words, no saying the wrong words, perfectly prayed as it would by a fully healthy person.

I followed the Lord’s Prayer with pronouncement of the Absolution. I prayed a brief prayer of thanksgiving, consecrated the elements and served her Holy Communion. Finally I pronounced the Benediction.

We said “Amen” together and mother looked up at me and said “Who are you?”

I released the brakes on the wheelchair and took Mother to the now filled dining room for lunch. I kissed her again and said goodbye with mixed feelings flooding my soul.

The first few times I had this experience, I left my mother deeply saddened and aching in my soul but also thankful I could serve her. Eventually, I realized that God was showing me something very important.

There was a lesson in all of this for me. It became clear once I was able to extricate myself from the emotional pain I felt. Now I saw that even though her physical faculties were impaired; her soul remained healthy and strong! I am forever grateful for that insight and the comfort and peace it offered.

Turning Point

This experience became a turning point in perspective. I wondered why I hadn’t recognized it sooner. Strong emotions have the effect of blinding one to the obvious. This turning point perspective equipped me to serve others to overcome their emotionally induced blindness in similar situations and see the truth of a broken body with a healthy soul.

The Judas Goat

My dad often took me places that were profound learning experiences for me. I don’t know if they were part of a deliberate plan of his, but regardless, I learned lifelong and life changing lessons as a result.

I remember one day, probably a Saturday afternoon he took me and my brother to the last place I would have expected. He took us to a slaughterhouse in Secaucus, New Jersey. I don’t recall how old I was at the time, but most likely I was eight to ten years old. It was for me a very interesting experience.

We arrived sometime in the early afternoon in summertime. The sun was high in the sky. It was hot and very humid, typical of a New Jersey summer day. Dad parked the car amidst a sprawling complex of wooden corrals. The smell of farm animals permeated the air. The corrals were jam packed with animals waiting for their turn to enter the bowels of the slaughterhouse. Pigs populated some of the corrals we saw and lambs others.

Dad led us to a large corral that had hundreds of lambs housed within. As I looked over the crowded arena, I noted that there was one animal that stood out. It was bigger and had curled horns and a long white beard hung from its chin. It also had a bell hanging from its neck. I recognized it as a goat.

I asked, “Dad, why is there a goat among the lambs?”

He said, “In a little while, you will understand why he is there.”

Dad reached into his pocket and retrieved his pack of Camels cigarettes. He removed a cigarette and reached over the top of the corral. I climbed up onto the bottom rung of the corral’s railing and hung my arms over the top. It didn’t take long for the sensitive nose of that goat to smell the tobacco aroma from dad’s little unfiltered cigarette.

Quickly, the goat weaseled his way through the crowd of lambs and snatched the cigarette from between dad’s fingers. He ate that thing so fast that in a split second it was gone. The goat stayed there, looking at dad as if to say, “Can I have another one?”

My dad pulled another cigarette from the pack, carefully keeping some distance from the goat. I imagine he was fearful that if he were to get too close the hungry goat eyeing him with anticipation of another treat would snatch the whole pack from unsuspecting hands.

Dad and the goat entertained us with a few more cigarettes for the next few minutes. Then the real purpose of the visit began to unfold before my eyes.
I don’t know what the signal was that caused the next activity to commence, but suddenly the goat began to prance around the corral. The bell around its neck announced that something was happening and it attracted the attention of every lamb in the corral. They all began to move about; increasing their speed, the activity became more and more agitated.

That is when my dad began to tell us what was about to happen.

He explained that the goat was a Judas goat. For some reason, the lambs instinctively followed the goat. The goat was trained to lead the sheep and in this case, lead them to slaughter.

I watched as the Judas goat made his way through the throng of lambs. Soon he had all of them following and he made his way to the edge of the corral. He passed by where we were standing and I saw a gate open a short distance from us. The goat led the lambs through the gate and into a narrow chute. Suddenly, another gate opened and the goat returned to the corral, but none of the lambs returned.

Dad explained that as soon as the goat got the lambs into the chute, the goat was diverted and the lambs went into the slaughterhouse.

We watched as the last of the lambs entered the chute. Dad summoned us to return to the car. Dad of course didn’t want us to witness the actual slaughtering process. That was not part of this lesson. He was very wise that way. What we witnessed, however, was a lesson that evolved over years to come, providing understanding that proved to be a blessing in many circumstances of life.

TURNING POINT

This turning point was one that developed over many years. One crucial lesson it taught me was not to be sucked in by what everyone around me was doing. Peer pressure was a powerful force, especially in one’s youth. The desire and need to fit into the “in crowd” was very deceptive in so many instances. This lesson gave me courage to be different and not follow blindly the course taken by those around me. It caused me to seriously and deliberately consider the potential consequences of actions, and equipped me with the wherewithal to make wise decisions in life.