When I was seven years old we lived in Hayward, California. I was born in Dillingham, Alaska, but then I’m not sure where my parents went, but by the time I started school we were living in California. When I was seven, I had to get my tonsils out. I went to school that day, but my mom was going to pick me up early to take me to the hospital. I was waiting for the teacher to tell me when to go. I didn’t know my mom was already outside in the car, waiting for me to come out. She waited and waited, while I didn’t come out. Finally, I did, and my mom was a little perturbed at me. We drove home.

When we got to our front porch, something was wrong. I can’t remember what my mom saw, but she said something about things being wrong. When we got into the house, it felt weird. Mom immediately ran to her bedroom and things were really wrong. Her closet door was forced open. Things were tossed about. Her pillowcases were missing on her pillows. I went to my room and my raggedy Ann plastic penny bank was torn open and all the money gone! We had been robbed!

Mom called the police and they came over right away. They talked to our neighbor who did see them rob our house. She said they had just left, before we got there. The policeman was writing down things we were missing and mom mentioned guns. The police looked at my mom and said she was really lucky. He didn’t know how many people interrupt a robbery and get shot with their own guns. That stood out in my little head. We could’ve been shot?!? But I was late getting out of class, so we weren’t shot. God was looking out for us.

Our house got robbed two more times after that. The robbers got brave and left a note the last time they robbed us, saying they would be back. I was never the same after the robbery. I was scared all the time. Especially, in the back room where my sister and I slept. We didn’t want to go in there anymore, because that is where the robbers came in and out.

Because of the robberies, Dad decided to move back to Alaska. He said he was going to a place where you didn’t need to lock your door at night. So we made the move to Dillingham, Alaska. I was used to the land of sidewalks and freeways. Now we were in a town with no street lights or paved roads. It rained all the time. I remember stopping in Anchorage, before moving to Dillingham. We were down in my aunt’s basement playing. My dad interrupted our play to have us taste something. It was powdered milk. “Here try this,” he said. I took a quick sip and said it tasted great because I wanted to go back and play. It was the nastiest stuff I’ve ever tasted. I didn’t know that was going to be our milk in Dillingham.

There were so many changes that year. But a good change was going to Community Baptist Church in Dillingham and hearing the preaching of a great preacher named Harlan Willis. I got saved under his preaching.

Romans 8:28 “And we know God causes all things to work for good for those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”

God took a bad situation, getting robbed three times, to bring us to Dillingham, Alaska. I heard the gospel message over and over, so clearly, through Harlan Willis. When I was nine years old, Harlan showed us the movie, “A Thief in the Night,” and that scared me into salvation. I accepted the Lord, right there in my room. It was the most important decision I ever made and I credit Harlan Willis for teaching me that. Our house got robbed three times, so Dad packed us up to move us to Dillingham. Our whole lives changed. But through it all, God caused all things to work for good. I am so thankful to my parents taking me to church and having me listen to Harlan Willis over and over again.

What though th’ accuser roar of ills that I have done! I know them well, and thousands more, Jehovah findeth none. (Whitlock Gandy)

A couple of years ago, my son and two friends were accused of committing a federal crime in our neighborhood. Our home owner’s association sent us all letters, stating we had to go before the board and answer for these crimes. When I contacted the property manger, they said they would tell us what our son did AT the meeting. Our accuser could show up if they wanted to, but they didn’t have to. I asked them again, through another email, what we had done. The property manager said they had a lot of evidence against my son, but still wouldn’t tell me what we had done. They said, if this did not get resolved, they would put some kind of mark on our name, so if and when we tried to sell our condo, the potential buyers could see that we were problem tenants and maybe not buy from us.

We had several weeks to prepare for the meeting. But we had nothing to go on. We didn’t know what my son and his friends had done. We were supposed to wait for the meeting, then they would tell us. They said we could bring any paperwork to defend ourselves. But we didn’t know what we were defending ourselves against. I complained to my friend who had a lawyer friend that specialized in dealing with home owner’s associations. We contacted him and he said he would love to represent us for free. He hated home owner’s associations.

I emailed the property manger again, and asked if we could bring a lawyer. They said we could. I asked if they could send the letter we got from them to him and gave him his name, address and phone number. They did. And suddenly, after we had sent the info about a lawyer, they sent us the letter that had started this whole thing, accusing my son and his two friends of stealing mail and several other petty crimes.

The letter stated that a home owner had seen my son and a friend go up to a mailbox. That’s it. The guy that had seen this, said he had his mail stolen, so he knew for sure that’s what my son and his friend were doing, stealing mail. He told his neighbor, when she got home that night, that he witnessed the two kids going towards her mailbox. She called the police. Her mail wasn’t stolen, so there was nothing the police could do. The police never contacted us, ever.

The letter also accused my son and his friends of going over a brick wall that surrounds our neighborhood rather than walking around it. They said, the boys could tear down the whole wall if they kept doing that. They also said my son and his friends would play hide and seek way into the wee hours of the morning.

Reading the letter and the ridiculous accusations would have been laughable, if we didn’t feel so trapped by the whole thing. My son and his friends were being accused of stealing mail. We started talking to people and found out that the guy that accused my son did have his mail stolen once. After that, his identity was stolen and someone ordered credit cards for Victoria’s Secret and Macy’s. I told my son if he did do this, I expect to see some nice underwear for Christmas!

When we talked to my son about stealing mail he, of course, said he didn’t do it. We grilled him and asked if he ever went near other people’s mailboxes. Well, yeah, he said, when his friend liked to play ding-dong ditch. Ohhhh! You ding dongs! We figured it out. When the guy saw the boys going to the mailbox, they were ringing the door bell and running away! So that meant, no cool underwear for me!

We told the lawyer this explanation, but he said it didn’t matter. Stealing mail was a federal offense and way out of the home owner’s authority. They had no power to prosecute us. He said he could start small claim lawsuits for each of our families against the home owner’s association. He said the letter was just plain stupid.

We were all praying for this. We had many friends praying for the day we had to stand before the home owner’s association. How did it turn out? Well, the night before we were to go to the meeting, the property manger called us, emailed us and demanded that we NOT show up for the meeting. Everything was being dropped. We were off the hook.

But the process took it’s toll on us. I ended up in the hospital with diverticulitis and one of the other boy’s mom ended up in the hospital with other stress related problems. We had been accused. They were pointing their fingers at us, saying our boys were criminals. Yet, we were innocent. The whole thing reeked of the enemy’s hand. You see it’s interesting to note, that we live in a place with mostly Buddhists, Muslims, and Hindus. The three families that were accused were Christian. About the only Christian families that we know of were the three families being accused.

Being accused IS the work of the enemy. If you have thoughts that you did this and you did that and you are no good and you are… That NEVER comes from God. That IS the work of the enemy. He is the accuser. He points his finger at us and says, “Look what he/she did!” “They’re no good!”

You see God’s work on us is like a surgeon. Very carefully, very thoughtfully, he goes in and gently fixes that thing. All the enemy knows what to do, is to point his wretched finger in our direction and accuse us. But “Jehovah findeth none.”

 

A long time ago, in a lifetime far, far away, I worked at a private psych hospital. It was my second job fresh out of college, with a “useful” degree in Psychology. My first job was in a group home with teenagers. I managed to stay on THAT job for four months. But that is a story for another time. My title at the psych hospital was, “Behavior Specialist.” How’s that for a title of a job? I had the word “special” in it. My job as “Behavior Specialist,” was to monitor the kids staying on the preadolescent floor. In other words, I had to make sure the twelve to thirteen year-olds didn’t kill themselves or each other. Most of the time, it was okay. But every once in awhile the kids went haywire.

We had a padded little room for the kids who did lose it and needed some time to themselves. And the pads were on the walls in case they decided head banging was their new occupation. What I loved about the psych hospital and what we didn’t have at the group home, were skills in taking patients down. I spent a week, before starting my job, on mats, learning the finer art of taking combative people to the floor and pinning them down without hurting them. It was awesome! Everybody that worked at the hospital (janitors, secretaries) had to be trained in this. Then if anyone called a code, whoever was nearby could come to the rescue and take down the out of control patients.

These kids had strict schedules to follow. They had school in the mornings. They had occupational therapy, art therapy and visits with their psychologists in the afternoons. My job was to observe the kids I was assigned to, and chart on them at the end of my shift. I had to note any behaviors and moods the kids showed. All of it was very psycho babble, blah, blah, blah. I knew the real reason those kids were there. I felt it. And I recognized his work.

One particular, bad day, the kids went haywire. All of them. It started with one kid harassing another kid, to the point, that kid went off. Like dominoes, all the other kids got set off. All of them got out of control. All of them were reacting badly. We had to call a code “green” so that anyone available could come help take kids down. We already had one kid in the padded room. The less violent kids were ordered to their rooms for quiet time. Some of the kids had to be taken down and brought to other padded rooms in the hospital. The kids were loud and screaming. They were combative and mean. It was mass chaos. I’m not sure of the time, but it seemed like it took an hour to get everyone calmed down. I was exhausted by the time it was over.

After we got all the agitators put away, I sat down at the end of the hall to make sure no one came out of their rooms. All the kids were supposed to be quiet and unseen. As a Christian, that wasn’t my only job. I began to pray. I prayed for God’s presence to be on that floor. I prayed for God’s blood to be on every doorway. I prayed for angels to come and stand at each bedroom door. I prayed that the enemy would be banished from there. And as God always does, He came because I called. He made His presence known to me. A quiet came upon the hall. It was an indescribable quiet, a reverent quiet. A peace washed over the hall. You could feel the peace. I continued praying and thanking Him. The quiet and peace were so overwhelming, I had to wipe my eyes to make sure no one saw me crying.

To walk with God in this life, is a far better thing, then the alternative. With God there is peace. People crave it. They want it so badly. But it only comes from God and no other. The enemy is nothing but chaos. God is not the author of chaos. The enemy is nothing but lies, upon lies, about who God is, who we are. I don’t think he’s capable of the truth. The enemy was at work that day in the hall. The enemy’s work is obvious: chaos, screaming, evil, anger, rebellion, noise, no peace. With God’s presence, there is: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. All those things that weren’t there when the kids went haywire.

In times in your life, when you lack peace, you need to do a little research. The enemy is probably dancing on your head at that moment. Don’t think he’s not real. That’s another lie he wants you to believe. When you lack peace. When you lack the fruits of the Spirit, you’ve probably gotten tangled up in the enemy’s net. Know the difference between the two. Go to God, call to Him. He will come. And with Him comes the peace that passes all understanding.

My son is a terrible sweet tooth. He’s been that way since he was just a little guy. I take no blame for that. I think it was genetic.

There was this time when we ate at a Mexican restaurant. My son saw my pretty swirled pile of sour cream on my enchiladas. He became transfixed upon the sour cream, only he didn’t know it was sour cream. He saw the pretty white pile and thought whipped cream! There is whipped cream right there on my mom’s plate. I need that whipped cream. I must have that whipped cream. We had taught my son sign language. He saw that whipped cream and made the sign for please, then pointed to the sour cream. There was an urgency in his signing. HE WANTED THAT WHIPPED CREAM! The sign for please is to put your hand on your chest and move it in a circle clockwise. My son didn’t have time to make the complete sign. The whipped cream was calling his name and his sweet tooth was getting the best of him. He kept slapping his chest, doing a quarter of a circle and then slapping his chest again. He would point to the whipped cream and slap his chest. He was so excited at seeing that pile of whipped cream, he was practically climbing out of his restaurant issued high chair.

My husband watched our little spastic signer and told me to just give him some. I told my husband it’s not what he thinks it is. He thinks it’s whipped cream. My hubby told me to just give him some so he’d calm down. “Okay,” I said. I dipped up a spoonful and handed it to our eager son. He grabbed the handle of the spoon and stuck the spoonful in his mouth.

The look on my son’s face after he took a bite of the “whipped cream!” He looked at me as if I had completely betrayed him. Tears came spilling out of his eyes. He cried so loud and so hard, it was if I had slapped him in the face. All I did was give him sour cream, because he thought it was whipped cream. He cried and cried. It took us forever to calm him down.

My son wanted the sour cream on my plate because he thought it was whipped cream. I couldn’t tell him it was sour cream and he wouldn’t like it. The huge disappointment he suffered because he got what he asked for was enormous.

How many times do we think we want something, but God says no? We want what we think is something different. It’s not what we think it really is. God always knows best. But naive, like my son, we ask for that “whipped cream,” anticipating that sweet smooth taste. God, in His infinite wisdom stops us from taking the “whipped cream.” He knows it’s really sour cream. He knows we will be disappointed in it.

God loves us so deeply. He protects us from ourselves. What we think is good or great, maybe not, and God says no. I bet there are plenty of things in life that you haven’t gotten, but could now look back and see how wrong it would have been for you. We’ve all had plenty of whipped cream moments.

God knows what is sour cream in our life. We think it’s something we want. But God says, “Careful there, it’s not what you think it is.” And we beg and beg, saying please! Please give this to me! I want it. And God, unlike me, doesn’t give it to you, no matter how hard you ask. And that’s a good thing. What a blessing! God is good all the time.