Category: Refueling The Soul

I was scheduled to conduct a Wednesday evening church service in our local congregation. The schedule indicated I was to be assisted by our deacon Bill. Deacon Bill had a unique talent, being gifted to see things “outside the box” as one might say. Thus, he gave a thought provoking twist on whatever topic was being presented.

On this particular Wednesday evening service, everything progressed as usual. We sang together an opening hymn. As officiate I prayed an opening prayer. I read the text word from the Bible that was also read in all our churches across the globe for that midweek sermon. The choir sang a hymn as the congregants prepared for the sermon. Following the choir hymn I proceeded with my delivery of the sermon.

The sermon developed along the lines outlined in the minister’s guide that served to unify the spiritual message throughout the international church. When the main points of the sermon were covered, I called on our deacon to assist. I always anticipated the interesting and inspiring facets of the spirit of the service that Deacon Bill would present.

In preparation for the deacon’s serving the choir sang another hymn.

Deacon Bill began to serve and true to form touched my soul in a way that caused me to recall an experience I had not thought about for probably 30 years or more. I sat listening intently to the deacon’s serving.  The impact of my past experience conjured up in my mind by the deacon’s words was profound. However, my intellect told me that it was irrelevant to the spirit of the sermon. I subsequently decided not to mention it when the deacon completed his serving.

The deacon concluded and I returned to the altar.

I stood there absolutely empty, in fact I was speechless. For me, that is a very rare occurrence. I stood silent for what seemed to be a long time when I began to tell the story of my experience inspired by the deacon’s words. The story flowed effortlessly from my lips to a congregation intently listening to every word.
When the story ended I concluded the service.

After the closing hymn I stepped down from the altar. Immediately one of our members ran up to me. She grabbed my hands in hers and thanked me profusely for telling the story at the end of the service.

Before I could say a word in response, she said, “That story was an answer to a prayer I have prayed for the last six months. Thank you!”

I said, “Please wait because we need to talk. Thanks must be to God, not me. I must share with you what extraordinary lengths God went to in order for you to realize this message from heaven.”

I greeted the other members and then returned to our sister.

I explained, “God prepared my soul for this divine service, giving me the necessary thoughts and feelings to present the spirit of the sermon. These words opened thoughts in the heart of our deacon. When he served, the words opened an experience in my life I had not thought of for thirty years or more! However, as impressive as the experience was to me, in my mind I dismissed it as being irrelevant to the sermon’s message. I decided in my mind not to tell it. But when I returned to the altar, God emptied my heart and mind and I was compelled to relate the story which ultimately contained the answer to your six-month long prayer vigil!”

Together we gratefully rejoiced in the love of God that this experience revealed in such an impressive way. It is difficult to find appropriate words to describe the deep feeling such experiences create in our hearts and minds. The Father’s relentless pursuit of blessing us in spite of our own weaknesses is evidence of His eternal love.

Turning Points

We exercise our faith and trust in God by bringing to Him through prayer the things of life that tell us we need His help. Prayers though are not always answered in the timeliness we desire. We usually want some instant response from heaven. Coupled with this are our expectations as to what means the answer comes to us. This turning point revealed that the perfect answer in the perfect way comes at the least expected time and from the most surprising source. Further, we may not be aware when God uses us to be the harbinger of His answer to someone’s prayer.

COPYRIGHT © 2014 ALLAN EDWARD MUSTERER, All Rights Reserved

For 38 years after she was widowed, my mother-in-law Clara lived alone in an upstairs apartment in New Jersey. It was a small flat in the house of her nephew and his family. Her younger sister lived just across the street so Clara was surrounded by loving and supportive family members. Carol and I lived 2800 miles across the country in San Diego. Carol’s brother Rudy lived about an hour’s drive away from Clara in Sussex County in northwestern New Jersey.

In early June of 2014, Carol and I had just returned from our Alaska vacation when Clara’s sister Helen called. She told us that Clara’s loss of short term memory was in her opinion becoming a safety issue. She asked Carol to visit and make her own assessment of the situation. Carol and I discussed the situation and decided that Carol needed fly back to New Jersey and get a firsthand view of Clara’s true state of health.

Soon after her arrival, Carol realized the situation was indeed a cause for concern and something needed to be done. She collaborated with her brother Rudy and embarked on a thorough investigation as to how they would deal with Clara’s short term memory issues.

First, Clara needed a thorough physical and medical evaluation. They met with an elder care professional to get an understanding as to how best to deal with the results of the medical findings. It become very clear that Clara would need to have some level of assistance in her daily life.

Various scenarios were considered. It was concluded that the most appropriate course of action was to find an assisted living facility. But the question was where?

The two options were somewhere in New Jersey or a move to San Diego. While Carol and Rudy investigated details of available facilities in New Jersey, I embarked on an investigation of facilities in the San Diego area.

All of this transpired over two and half months. Considering all of the information that was gathered, it became clear that the best course was to bring Clara to San Diego. But that posed some challenges.

Clara suffered from claustrophobia so flying was a big hurdle that had to be overcome. Carol was under a lot of stress because there were so many details weighing on the decision. She called me for support and I told her what I had learned from two previous experiences (See “The Volunteer” and “Make-A-Wish” posts).

I told her, “Carol, pray about the decision you need to make and faithfully place it God’s hands. Then make a decision. If it is the right decision, God will bless and support it. If it is the wrong decision, He’ll change things.”

Carol prayed and handed it over to God.  She then made the decision to bring her mother to San Diego.

Once the wheels were in motion, everything went smoothly. The family helped move Clara’s furniture into storage and Carol made arrangements on Southwest Airlines for the trip to San Diego. The trip went very smoothly, as the airline personnel treated Clara with utmost care and respect. She never even thought about her claustrophobia and didn’t need any medication to counter it.

When Clara arrived at our home, I told her she could live with us as long as she wanted. So Clara stayed with us for a few weeks. One of Clara’s character traits is that she never wants to put someone out of their normal routine. So for whatever reasons she asked for her own place. That was not surprising as she cherished her independence.

I told her that there were a number of Assisted Living facilities nearby. We arranged to take Clara to view two of them. I thought that if she saw one large and one smaller facility we could get a gauge of what would make her comfortable and happy.

First we visited a small facility, the one nearest our home. Then we went to a large luxury facility a few miles further north. As we were leaving the large facility Clara said, “This place is really nice but it is so big I would feel lost in here. I want to go to the smaller place.”

So the stage was set to move mom to the assisted living facility nearest our home called The Arbors. We met with the staff and made the arrangements for Clara to move in. She would have a newly renovated room with a private bathroom. The move date was set and Carol and I set out to buy the furnishings Clara would need to furnish her room.

The day before the move in, Carol prayed and asked, “All I ask God is that my mother can find at least just one friend at this place so that if a day comes that I can’t visit her, my mother will have a friend.”
The next morning I went to the facility with the furniture kits we had purchased and the tools to assemble them. While I was busy with that effort Carol and her girlfriend went to get mom’s bed.

By the early afternoon the room was arranged and ready for Clara’s arrival. We returned home, packed Clara’s clothes and we headed off to The Arbors Assisted Living.

Clara’s Room at The Arbors

We were standing in Clara’s room when the manager from The Arbors came in to make sure all was well and to offer her personal welcome. She invited Carol and me to join Clara for dinner that evening. Unfortunately I had a business appointment that evening so I couldn’t stay.

I took my leave and went home. Carol remained with Clara to help her assimilate her new home. At dinner time Carol joined her mother for dinner in the dining room.

Carol and Clara enjoyed their first meal together at The Arbors. As the other residents began to leave and pass by their table, Carol stopped them and introduced her mother, “This is my mother Clara. She’s just moved here from New Jersey. This is her first day at the Arbors.”

After a few such introductions, one lady replied, “I’m from New Jersey! I lived in Union City.”

Carol said, “We lived in Gutenberg, right next door!”

The lady said, “I worked in Gutenberg at an embroidery factory.”

Carol said, “My mother and father worked in an embroidery factory too, it was called Solar-Bell.”

The lady said, “That’s where I worked too! My name is Dorothy.”

It soon became clear that over 70 years before, Clara and Dorothy had worked side by side in that embroidery factory. They were friends. Now all those years later they came together in their 90’s almost 3000 miles away from their early life in New Jersey.

Solar Bell Factory
Dorothy upper left, Clara upper right and Clara’s future husband Rudy upper center. (Circa 1940)

When Carol told me this story later that evening, I wrote a report to the local news station telling this amazing story from Carol’s point of view. We were contacted by a reporter from the news station the next day and within a few weeks a meeting was arranged at The Arbors.

The reporter and her camera man from the News Station arrived and we set up for the filming in one of the offices at the Arbors. In the days leading up to the meeting I obtained from Dorothy some old photos that she had from the days in the factory. I made a number of copies and even had some of the photos enlarged.

Carol, Clara and Dorothy were arranged around a table with the photos I had made strewn across the table. The reporter asked the three women questions that inspired nostalgic conversation among them as the cameras rolled.

    Dorothy, Clara, Carol & Abbie (News Reporter)

The amazing story broke on the news broadcast a few evenings later. It was such an amazing story it aired on national TV a day or two later.

Quickly social media became a buzz with the amazing story as well. The family members in New Jersey were shocked that their Aunt Clara, who lived in New Jersey for almost 90 years and never made a wave, now in less than a month in San Diego made national news!

Dorothy, Carol and Clara

Turning Point

Once again the turning point experienced with my marine friend years before served me when Carol needed support in making a critical decision. As the numerous events that followed that decision attest, God supported it in so many ways. The most amazing being the answer he gave to Carol’s simple and humble prayer. I am always moved when I witness God’s hand in our life, multiplying blessings for us without end.

COPYRIGHT © 2014 ALLAN EDWARD MUSTERER, All Rights Reserved

Decades after we opened a congregation for our church in Linda Vista to accommodate the large number of new members from the Hmong tribes of Laos and Vietnam, some of the families moved to Temecula. Temecula is a town about 45 miles north of San Diego.

One Hmong family that moved to Temecula was the first to have joined our church in 1980. They were instrumental in helping us start our congregation among the Southeast Asian refugees that included people from Laos and Cambodia. This family had moved to the central valley of California in the mid 1980’s along with many of their relatives.

One of the women in that family, Tang, called me with some tragically sad news. A single mother, Tang was distraught over the death of her only child, her son Joseph. I was deeply saddened as she told me the tragic story of his untimely death in a motorcycle accident. Since I had lost touch with the family for a number of years, Tang filled me in on what had happened and the background I had missed since our last meeting.

The family had been living in Temecula for a few years where some of the family members found employment at the local Indian Casino. Joseph was in his late twenties and married with two children. At some point, Tang bought her son a motorcycle. While riding one evening, he was hit by a drunk driver and suffered fatal injuries. The tragedy created immense guilt in Tang that seriously exacerbated her grief. She insisted on blaming herself for her son’s death because she bought him the motorcycle.

I immediately made arrangements to visit Tang the next day.

When I arrived the next day I found Tang distraught and visibly shaken as she explained to me the circumstances surrounding Joseph’s death. Amidst her outward grief, Tang explained that prior to his death, during a heart to heart mother and son talk, Joseph said that should he die, he wanted to be cremated. He wanted his ashes scattered at sea. At first, Tang dismissed this statement as her son was still very young and she didn’t anticipate such an early death of her son. When he was killed in the accident, Joseph’s words came ringing back to her.

To honor her son’s wishes, Joseph was cremated. During my visit, I attempted to comfort Tang and convince her that she was not guilty. I couldn’t convince Tang that her son was at peace. I offered to pray with her and the family in hopes that it would bring her some measure of peace and comfort.

After we prayed together, Tang asked me if I would join her and her father when Joseph’s ashes were to be buried at sea. Of course I agreed. We made plans to meet at their home a few days later for the journey to Newport where they had contracted a yacht for the scattering of the ashes.

The day of the scattering dawned and I drove to their home where I found Tang still in anguish, weighed down with incessant feelings of guilt. Before we left I prayed with her and the family, seeking to help her deal with such oppressive guilt.

We traveled to the mortuary in the town of Lake Elsinore and picked up Joseph’s ashes. Then we drove toward Newport marina some 85 miles north. Along the way I continued to work with Tang, gently seeking to help her with her deep emotional struggle. She kept saying to me, “If only I knew that my Joseph was an angel.”

After almost two hours on the road, we reached the marina. We walked along the docks until we reached the yacht that the family hired. Apparently, this yacht was frequently hired to perform the task of scattering a loved one’s ashes at sea. Since I was the only Caucasian with the family the Captain spoke to me first, not knowing that Tang spoke perfect English.

I realized by his sensitive demeanor that he was well experienced in providing a dignified procedure for scattering ashes at sea. He explained to me the procedure that they follow according to the legal requirements and his specific plan to maintain a very solemn and respectful program.

I explained to Tang and her father what the procedure would be and we took our places on chairs near the bow of the ship. The crew disembarked and we headed out into the bay.

There was a cool gentle breeze that wafted over our faces and gave us a refreshing feeling as we sailed out. We were approaching the spot for the scattering when the captain came to the bow area where we were sitting. He carried a basket that contained Joseph’s ashes now wrapped in a white cloth scarf neatly but loosely tied together at the top. He said to me that in a few minutes, the ship would be turned around and be positioned to be pointed toward the shore.

With the ship in position, the captain asked if we wanted to say anything. First, Tang’s father offered up a prayer in his native Hmong language. Then Tang knelt down behind the basket of ashes and wailed, crying out, “Please let my Joseph be an angel!”

After Tang arose, she looked over at me and I offered up a prayer, specifically asking God our Father to bless Joseph and to give his mother Tang the peace that defies our human understanding. I asked too that He would send His Holy Spirit, the great Comforter to comfort Tang and her family as only He can do.

At the conclusion of the prayer, the captain led Tang to the basket that held Joseph’s ashes and instructed her how to hold the white scarf at the corners and position it over the edge of the ship’s bow.

Tang held the corners of the scarf that held her son’s ashes just as the captain had directed. The signal was given to the crew and the ship began to slowly move backward. At the captain’s word, Tang released the scarf and the ashes gently dropped onto the surface of the sea.

Tangs’ father, the ship’s captain and I stood at the railing watching as the yacht continued to slowly drift backwards. The ashes floated on the surface for a few moments before beginning to sink into the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, as the three of us and now Tang stood at the railing watching the ashes float upon the waters, they created the perfect form and image of an angel!

The captain of the ship poked me and whispered, “Do you see what I see? An angel!”

I said, “Yes! I see it too.”

For a brief moment I stood their stunned until the eerie silence was broken when Tang saw it too. I heard her excited scream declaring, “My son is and angel!”

In that miraculous moment, the oppressive weight of guilt was lifted from Tang’s heart and she was finally at peace. I rejoiced that God had answered our many prayers.

Slowly the ashes settled into the depths and the image of the angel drifted away, only to remain indelibly etched into our memories.

On the way home Tang asked me if we could have a memorial service for Joseph at our church in Vista. I told her that we would plan it as soon as possible.

Shortly thereafter we conducted a memorial service. I explained to Tang that Joseph was more than an angel; he was a child of God and as such was in a very special place in the heart and love of God.

Turning Point

It never ceases to touch my heart when I witness the extraordinary means that our God exerts on behalf of those He loves to comfort and sustain them in their most difficult days. These experiences are evidence of those famous words God gave to Paul when He said, “My grace is sufficient for you.” In our struggles of life, prayer changes us and our situation. We should not underestimate what God can and will do for us, if we will only believe and trust in Him.

COPYRIGHT © 2014 ALLAN EDWARD MUSTERER, All Rights Reserved

This experience had its beginnings in April 2015.

My brother-in-law Rudy Jr. had become seriously ill. Carol and I journeyed to New Jersey to see and support him and his family through the difficult last days. We stayed with our nephew Rudy III, his wife Christine and their two young boys. Daily we visited Carol’s brother with his daughter Rene and son Rudy III at a nearby hospice facility until his passing.

The day after my brother-in-law passed on, Carol, Christine, Rene and Rudy III went to Carol’s brother’s house to retrieve some legal documents. I stayed at home with Christine’s step mother Karen who had come to watch the children while their parents were busy taking care of details for the funeral.

I was in the kitchen warming up my cup of coffee when Karen came in. The boys had fallen asleep and Karen was taking a break. We struck up a conversation that eventually took on a spiritual nature. Shortly, Karen remarked that she found it easy to talk to me and asked if I would pray for her dad whose health was deteriorating. His name was Harold Haas. I agreed and prayed for Harold often during the weeks that followed.

My brother-in-law’s funeral took place a few days later. A day later, Carol and I returned home to San Diego. I frequently included Harold’s condition in my prayers as Karen had asked.

We had previously made plans for a trip to the east coast for my 50th college reunion at the end of May. Since the Air Force was going to give my brother-n-law the military honors that had not been done at the funeral, we included a visit to the family again for the Memorial Day weekend.

While we were visiting with family and friends at Rudy and Christine’s home, Karen asked if I could visit her dad before we left for my reunion. Harold’s health had reached such a low point that Karen had moved him into her home where she hoped he could find some peace.

In the early evening that day, we travelled to Karen’s home where Christine’s dad gave us a tour of their home and the grounds around it. It was a very old house with a large barn and a stream that ran through the property.

Following our tour of the grounds, we made our way to the house. We entered the living room to find Harold seated on the sofa. From his appearance it was obvious that he was very weak and ailing. He was bundled up in a sweat suit and had a knitted beanie hat on his head. We were introduced and spoke briefly. His voice was weak and speaking was labored. I chose not to engage in a conversation at that moment in sympathy for his weakened condition.

I turned away from Harold and immediately noticed extraordinary oil paintings hanging on the living room walls. Drawn to them, I gazed in awe assessing the effect they had in capturing my undivided attention. Closer inspection revealed an exceptional detail of the entities on the canvas. I moved from one painting to another. The trees and other flora were painted so lifelike that they had the appearance of a photograph and not a painting. When I finally caught my breath, I remarked to Karen’s husband Rudy that the paintings were quite impressive. He told me that they were all painted by Harold.

I gazed again at each in a state of awe, as the details and artistic effect were simply captivating. I wondered how Harold had developed such a talent evidenced by his work.

After some further discussion about the paintings our house tour continued. At the end of the tour we were sitting on the outside porch when Karen came out. She asked me if I would sit with her dad for a few minutes as she had an important phone call to engage. I gladly agreed.

I entered the living room where I found Harold still seated on the sofa. I sat next to him wondering what to say. I again surveyed the room taking in the amazing collection of paintings adorning the walls.  As I studied the art created at the artistic hands of Harold, it became clear to me, a fellow artist, that Harold possessed an extraordinary God-given gift for replicating the fine points of the Creation. His ability to capture nature on canvas allowed the observer to actually feel the depictions as though being present at the very moment it was painted.
As impressed as I was at the sheer beauty of Harold’s handy work, I was much more deeply impressed when I spoke with him. I inquired as to what inspired him to take up painting.

In a soft and shaky voice he said his wife suggested he take up a hobby when he retired. I asked how he learned to harness his natural talent. He softly said that he practiced and practiced till he got it right. I imagined he invested much to achieve his mastery.

But then something happened that revealed his character. Suddenly his voice became stronger when he said “I only could paint if the painting had a destination.”

That unexpected statement caused me to stop and think. Harold’s gift came to life when the purpose of his painting was being a blessing for someone. This struck me as an amazing gift and legacy. All the paintings in that room were destined for his daughter Karen.

The conversation about the paintings opened Harold’s heart and strengthened his voice. No longer a weak and struggling voice, he spoke with firm resolve.  I listened as he poured out his heart with many things that troubled him and had stolen his peace. These will forever remain only with me. But I will share what they revealed to me about this extraordinary man.

Harold revealed himself to be a man of character and principle. He was kind and understanding, willing and able to forgive others; no matter the hurt he may have been dealt. He lived the words of Jesus at the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do!”

Harold showed me his humility, kindheartedness, courage and graciousness.
When Karen returned to the room I offered to pray with them. Karen and Harold welcomed my invitation and I prayed. I asked that Harold be blessed with the peace he had lost and that he be visited by the Holy Spirit who could comfort him as only He could do.

I took my leave of Harold and his family, and afterward felt that he had found peace with God and the life he led. I was convinced that his peace was eternal.
I was blessed having met Harold that day and marveled at how God had employed my appreciation for art to open a door for Harold and me to come together.  I cherished those few moments shared with him and hoped they would continue to be a blessing for him.

Shortly after I returned home, I received word that Harold had passed on. I was grateful for what Harold had passed on to me. Karen wrote me and expressed that she really believed I was were able to help her dad that day.  She said that after I left she saw her dad was more at peace. She felt that the peace and comfort we prayed for had come to him. Karen said she too felt the peace and believed I was put in their house at that time for a reason.

Turning Point

It always seems to become a turning point for me when I see that God’s meticulous planning arranged our position, timing and God given talents to affect the confluence to be the blessing He had in store for someone He loves.

COPYRIGHT © 2015 ALLAN EDWARD MUSTERER ~ All Rights Reserved

In 2007 I was serving as a minister in the New Apostolic Church with the office of evangelist. I was responsible for caring for two congregations in the San Diego area when I was given the mission of caring for a third congregation located in Anaheim.

After a few months serving in Anaheim on Sundays, I wanted to make an effort to grow even closer to this new congregation. To accomplish that, I scheduled myself to serve the congregation on a midweek evening service. This plan required an earlier than usual departure from home due to traditional traffic conditions on the trip from San Diego to Orange County.

On Tuesday prior to my journey, I received a call from our priest in the Anaheim congregation. He advised me that a member named Harold Haase, who had not attended services for many years, was near death due to a severe illness. He asked if I wanted to take the opportunity to visit this man in the hospital prior to the service on Wednesday. When I heard his name I was moved to answer in the affirmative. I knew this man’s family very well, though had never met him. I especially wanted to visit Harold because his name indicated he was from my home town, Garfield, New Jersey and considering his age of 79, most likely knew my parents.

Early Wednesday afternoon I took to the road wending my way through heavy traffic northward on Interstate 5 toward Los Angeles. I wondered what to expect when I met Harold. I prayed that in some way I would be a blessing for him and that my visit would make a difference. I easily found the freeway exit. From there it was just a brief drive to the hospital.

I parked my car in the hospital parking area, but before leaving the car I prayed again and sought the guidance of the Holy Spirit. I really did not know what to expect meeting Harold especially considering his physical condition. Even though I knew his twin brother John and another brother Henry, I was not aware of Harold’s existence or the circumstances surrounding his estrangement from the church.

I knew Harold’s brother John because some years before I was caring for a small mission congregation in Mission Viejo where John regularly attended. I got to know John quite well, but he never mentioned that he had a twin brother.

I also knew Harold’s brother, Henry, because he and his wife Ethel attended our Vista congregation form time to time. Henry and I had a deep friendship partly due to our roots in New Jersey and his knowledge of all my family there.

After my prayer, I exited the car and made my way to Harold’s room. I entered the room clad in my black suit white shirt and black tie. I greeted him like a long lost friend, “Harold!”

He looked at me surprised and responded, “Who are you?”

I answered, “I am Allan Musterer.”

Quickly and excitedly he said, “Sampson Street? Garfield, New Jersey Musterer?”

I said, “Yes, I am Eddie’s eldest son.”

Still excited he said, “You’re Eddie’s son! What are you doing here?”

I said, “I am a minister in the New Apostolic Church. As you are a member of the spiritual family, I felt compelled to visit you considering your terminal illness and imminent passing.”

Harold rather forcefully responded, “Let me tell you why I don’t come to church, and haven’t done so for all these years.”

With that pronouncement, Harold proceeded to tell me his story.

When Harold was about 7 or 8 years old, he and his family lived in Garfield,  New Jersey on the same street as many of our church families including many of my family. He and his brothers often went to play at the Pump House, the nickname kids gave to Dahnert’s Lake, a large pond at the end of the street. One Saturday Harold and his brothers were doing just that when some bullies came by and gave the boys a hard time. One of them started pushing Harold around and pushed him into the pond at the deepest end. Since none of the boys could swim, Harold floundered and quickly submerged not once but twice. Gripped in fear of death as he went under the second time, Harold believed he would never come up again.

Harold’s twin brother John at their house on Sampson Street early 2000’s

As Harold related this part of his story, I found myself feeling very close to him. I pictured this incident he described clearly because years after Harold’s days there, I lived just a few blocks away from where Harold did. I too played at the Pump House all year round, so I was able to relate to his story with familiarity and empathy.

The “Pump House” in Garfield, New Jersey

Harold continued his story.

Since none of the boys could swim, it was fortunate an adult nearby saw what was happening and ran to rescue Harold. He successfully pulled Harold from the water and saved his life. A grateful Harold, wet and dirty, shook and trembled in fear as he stood surrounded by his brothers. The man who rescued him urged him to return home immediately so he could get dry and cleaned up.

Still rattled by his near death trauma Harold ran home with his brothers. As they travelled homeward, Harold thought, “When I get home my mother is going to be so happy that I didn’t drown she’s going to welcome me with open arms and a motherly hug.”

Harold’s parents were more financially endowed than the other church members. They were a joyfully generous family and invited families from church for Saturday dinner and Sunday lunch. Such was the case this particular Saturday. Harold’s mother was busily preparing Saturday’s dinner in the kitchen while the boys were out playing.

Harold reached home with high expectations of his mother’s warm welcome, considering the harrowing experience he suffered facing death by drowning just moments before. To Harold’s surprise, when his mother saw him all wet and dirty, she immediately reprimanded him and sent him to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed. After all, they were having guests for dinner very soon and she had work to do. Without another word she immediately went back to work preparing the evening meal.

Harold was shattered. He felt unloved, blaming his mother for not hugging him and welcoming him home. He blamed the church because his mother seemed to love the members more than him. He made up his mind that as soon as he was old enough, he was leaving family and church behind and going alone into the world.

The unfolding story gripped my senses; I silently prayed and asked my heavenly Father, “Please give me something positive to say to Harold, considering his experience and his near term death?”

I listened intently as Harold finished his story. He was exhausted and gazed teary eyed and expectantly into my eyes. I began speaking words that surely were heaven sent, for I spoke of things I did not know.

I said, “Harold! Consider this: Your whole adult life has been a long series of joyfully generous help and support for those who were in need, those who you helped. Someone came to you out of work and you gave them a job. Someone was living with their family in their car and you put them into a motel till they regained their footing. Another was about to lose their house and you made a mortgage payment. They all were in need of work, of money, of health, of encouragement. People who came into your life with needs and you stepped up and graciously and effectively fulfilled them! The pain of your disappointment in childhood created a heart of generous charity. You became what your mother and father lived! What a wonderful example your life has become! To all those people you were a blessing.”

Harold sat there in his bed, eyes wide open, mouth agape.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, “I never saw it that way!”

The tears rolled down his face as I stood there surprised at what I had just said. I had no knowledge of his life after his story ended.

I said, “Harold, would you like to pray together? I can pronounce to you the Absolution and we can celebrate Holy Communion together if you would like.”

He said, “Really? We can do that?”

I said, “Yes we can.”

Graciously he accepted my offer.

I prayed a short prayer and then together Harold and I prayed the Lord’s Prayer. I pronounced the Absolution, consecrated the elements and we celebrated Holy Communion. I offered the benediction and thanked God for the experience we shared.

We spoke a while afterward and I prayed with Harold one last time before I left.

A few days later, the priest from Anaheim visited Harold. He asked the priest to conduct his funeral service. Shortly thereafter Harold passed on. The priest conducted the funeral a few days after Harold passed on.

After the funeral the priest called me with an amazing story. He said that following Harold’s funeral service, all manner of people who attended testified of how Harold saved them from the tragic circumstances of their life. Each explained details matching those I had enumerated to Harold in his hospital room that Wednesday afternoon. What a testimony of the truth of my words to Harold in response to his story. Surely it was God who answered my prayer and Harold’s need to reconcile.

Turning Point

Reflecting on this experience, I realized how devastating a misunderstanding can be on the life of a child. Harold was shattered by a misunderstanding. His mother had no idea what trauma her son had suffered; neither did she know his expectations. Her conduct was not a deliberate act to cause her son pain or disappointment. Harold never said a word to his mother until many years later, carrying the cross of misunderstanding for years. Years of pent up anger were suffered before he reconciled with his mother.

We can see how such disappointing moments can cause deep hurt. But a different view, in this case only in long distance retrospect, can show that even painful moments can have a significant blessing on one’s life. Harold’s life became defined by the pain of his disappointment and caused him to reject family and church. Yet, his character was defined by this moment and he became a gracious, kindhearted and sensitive man. He was a real blessing to many people and families.

There are circumstances that may not allow for us to replace a misunderstanding with understanding. Sometimes the situation cannot be resolved as with Harold and his mother. My turning point was the realization that we are better served if we learn to look past the pain of the moment, and see how the event can prove to be a blessing. Then we can leave the pain and its burden behind us and glory in the benefits of the blessing.

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