WHAT TRUE LOVE LOOKS LIKE

I'd been sick all day. In fact, I'd been sick all week, and all month. Withdrawing cold turkey from fifteen years of valium use was knocking the breath right out of me. I'd never been this sick in my life. When I wasn't in bed I was in the bathroom. I went through three months of this. One morning at 3AM I headed to the bathroom. There, on hands and knees, my husband scrubbed the floor. He said it was the only time he could clean it without disturbing me. Those three months Jay did everything for me. Everything. Even if he had to get up at 3AM to do it.

He continues to love me in that deep and abiding way five years later. Last spring I made the mistake of eating too much fresh pineapple at a wedding in another town. On our way home the next morning my husband and I stopped at a thrift store where I lost all bowel control. I didn't make it to the bathroom in time so I was a mess. My husband insisted on coming into the restroom with me (it was a single stall room) so he could help me get out of my clothes, clean me up, and run to the car to get me a clean outfit. He also rinsed my soiled clothes in the sink. He did all this quickly, efficiently, and without complaint. His biggest concern was that I might be getting sick again, but I assured him it was just the pineapple I ate the night before. 

True love is not always best illustrated by flowers and candlelight, chocolates and poetry.  True love shows up especially brilliantly in illness and adversity.   I'm so blessed to have a husband who does not think it a burden to take care of me. In fact, he considers it a privilege. Perhaps it's because he's almost lost me twice that he holds to me so dearly. Whatever the reason, this anniversary I'm grateful for 23 years with such a man in my life.

Jay & I in August, 2013

MY VETRAN'S DAY HERO

My dad was born March 10, 1923 on a farm in rural Montana with eight brothers and sisters during the Great Depression. At 15 (1938) he worked in a CCC camp because there was no food or jobs at home. At 17 years my dad lied about his age in order to get into the U.S. Army Air Corp to fight in World War II. (After 1942 it would be called the Air Force.) It was his dream to get out of Montana, and fly in a plane. On his test flight he puked his guts out, but begged the officer to let him stay in the Air Corp which he did. My dad would fly 30 missions over Nazi occupied territory as a tail-gunner in the famous B-24's. Stephen E. Ambrose wrote an excellent book called, "The Wild Blue" which is about the men and boys who flew these “tin coffins” over enemy occupied territory. 

Because of the poverty he experienced in his youth my dad seldom took things for granted, either material possessions or relationships. He always appreciated a good meal, a roof over his head and the few clothes he owned. He married my mother at the age of 30, and had his three girls relatively late in life. Which made his family all the more important to my dad. He loved his family above all else although he never expressed that love with hugs and kisses. It just wasn't in his nature. But we all knew we were loved beyond measure. 

It was also late in life that my dad gave his life to the Lord. He served God at 45 years of age along with his family. We never went without. Our needs came before his own. He barely finished high school, but he loved to learn, always had a job, and didn't believe in sitting around doing nothing. After 20 years serving in the military he worked 15 more years in the post office before retiring. After retirement he bought, then refinished and sold antiques so he always had money to spend on others, and hooked huge "personal history" rugs as family heirlooms. 

People always came before things, and that's what I admired most about him. Tonight I’m thankful for this man who fought for our country and our freedom; the man who was my dad. He passed away four years ago, but my memories are as strong as ever. 

Dad (standing far right) in England just before a mission during WWII.

A PRECIOUS PORTRAIT

The mother on the other end of the line was clearly in distress.  Her teenage son was graduating from high school, but he hated having his photo taken.  He made it clear to his mother that he would agree to maybe a few photos, but that was it.  And he wasn’t taking his hat off.  Period.  And he wasn’t going to smile either, or dress up in some fancy outfit.  After explaining all this the mom asked if I would be willing to “take on” her son, and his senior photo session.

It was the late 90’s, and my portrait business was in full swing.  I kept busy with weddings and families, but my favorite clients were seniors.  They enjoyed trying new things, and breaking out of the traditional.  Seniors always challenged my skills and my creativity.  They kept me on my photographic toes so to speak! 

I felt honored she would ask me to take on this challenging task.  It meant so much to her, and yet so little to him.  She went on to say she had heard I was really good with teenagers, and had a reputation for making senior portraits a fun time for them.    She had two specific requests; could I try and get one photo without his baseball cap, and one shot of him smiling.  Assuring her I would do my best we picked out a day and time.  

The out of doors is always my preference for portraits.  Natural light can’t be surpassed, but nature also puts folks at ease.  It’s so much harder to get people to relax in a studio setting.  And the teens in our area almost always prefer the outdoors for their sessions, especially guys.  I knew immediately that Riverside Park would be the best choice for this young man.  Fall colors were in full swing, and it was a short drive from the studio.  

I encouraged teens to bring one or more friends to their sitting.  It helped relax them, and made it more fun for all of us.  They would help me with the reflector, and watching for stray hairs and other details I might miss.  I asked mom if he would like to bring a friend to the sitting, but quickly replied he was a loner and would be coming by himself.  So I decided to ask my husband to be my assistant on this challenging sitting.  He has a great sense of humor, and could lighten up the mood.  I knew that would be paramount for getting some really good photographs of this young man.

The afternoon arrived, and the senior met us at Riverside Park by himself in his beat up pickup truck.  He had on broken-in jeans, an old t-shirt with a hole in it, and a well worn baseball cap.  I asked him if he brought any other shirts and the curt answer was no.  He was all business, and had an “I want to get this over with” attitude.  As I got the equipment ready Jay went to work doing his magic.  My husband is a college geology professor who is loved for his down-to-earth, and fun loving approach to teaching.  He used his sense of humor to begin softening the mood.

I decided to not let the hole in his t-shirt ruin my determination to get a great portrait.  I hid the hole by poses with his arms crossed in front of him, or with a branch, or some other technic.  And when all else failed I could always have the distraction retouched out of the picture.  The important thing was to not let it frustrate me.  I moved quickly, not spending a lot of time fussing, or posing, or arranging.  “Keep it light”, I kept telling myself!  This is not a time for micro-managing.

Before long this fellow responded beautifully to our team approach of keeping it moving, and keeping it light!  Jay would crack a joke like, “That one’s a GQ shot.” or “All your girlfriends are going to want that photo”, or “I hear Hollywood calling”.   He coaxed the smiles, while I kept my finger on the trigger, ready to capture that moment each time it happened.  Pretty soon our senior was suggesting a pose he thought would look cool with his truck!  At one point he said, “My mom would probably like me to take my hat off for some photos.”  So for the remainder of the session he kept his baseball cap in the cab of the pickup.  I was on cloud nine with the way this session flowed that afternoon!  After about an hour and a half of taking photos we headed our separate ways.

Mom was thrilled with the results of the portrait session.  Her expectations had not only been met, but exceeded.  There was her son in numerous photos looking relaxed and completely himself, smiling and hatless.  “How did you do it?”, she asked.  I responded, “Trade secret!”, and winked.

A couple of years passed when I received another phone call from mom.  She apologized for such short notice, but she needed some 8x10’s from her son’s senior session.  “We would like to display them at his memorial service this Friday.  He took his life last week.  Those are the best photos we have of him.  We are so grateful we have those photographs.”

I attended his memorial service; half a dozen framed 8X10’s placed among the various floral arraignments at the front of the room.  Smiling.  Hatless.  And young.  So young.

I value photographs highly.  More then most perhaps.  Not a single negative has been tossed or destroyed out of the tens of thousands of negatives I’ve created with film cameras.  Numerous times I’ve been contacted for prints or negatives of loved ones I photographed who have passed.  It’s always a privilege to be able to provide those things.  It’s my way of  cherishing life.  If portraiture can be a “calling” I’d like to think this is mine.  It’s a privilege to record a person’s life, even if it’s only one hour of one afternoon during their last year of high school.

This photo is in memory of Sarah Evans (the little girl) 

who passed away much too soon in 2005.

THE DAY I CELEBRATE A MIRACLE!

Today, October 23rd, is a very special day for me!  Five years ago I overdosed on prescription medication, and should have died. God chose to extend my life in a miraculous way.  As I slipped away into unconsciousness I heard a heavenly voice say, "Call 911".  I recall starting to argue with the voice that I was feeling just fine.  But before I could get my thoughts out I heard the sentence repeated, and one word was added, "Call 911 NOW."   I have no memory of anything else from that moment until I awoke in the intensive care unit at our city hospital the next day.  I don't know how I made the call in my semi-conscious state.  According to the hospital emergency room records I was not even coherent when the call was made.  But I do know that if I had not made that early morning 911 call for myself I would not have been alive when my husband got home from work that night.  I do not take any single day since then for granted. "I'm living on borrowed time." Each day is a gift because of the gift of salvation which Jesus Christ died for. Have you received YOUR gift? Please watch this video!

 http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=cLj4akmncsA&feature=channel_video_title

FAMILY CAN DRIVE YOU CRAZY

My childhood home came with a father who could be explosive.  We never knew what might set him off, and after the blow-up the offending party would get the silent treatment for hours, or days.  I picked up that behavior, but eventually broke myself of it.  But I have a family member who continues to behave in this way.  Last night, for the umteenth time, this person didn’t like something I said, and hung up the phone on me.  Well, the umteenth time was one time too many for me.  I sat down at my computer, and started typing exactly what I wanted to say to this individual.  Two pages later I clicked save, and went to bed fuming.  (Fortunately this person does not have e-mail, or Facebook, or anything else to do with the computer age.)

I asked the Lord to show me what to do.  I knew what I wanted to do!  I wanted to mail them a copy of those two pages.  But what did the Lord want me to do?  I fell asleep with that question on my brain.  Each time I awoke the same question popped into my head.  And each time I just prayed, “God help me!  Show me what to do.”  

In the morning the scripture reading for the day was about how Jesus was not accepted in his hometown.  It added Jesus left there because he could do very few miracles because of their lack of faith.  It also spoke of Jesus warning to the disciples that accepting him would sometimes mean family will turn against you.  Then I saw the words “left that place” as if it were highlighted.  God was clearly telling me to not engage in conversation with this family member.  Just walk away.  Let God deal with them.  God is more then capable of revealing to them anything they need to know about their bad behavior.

I gave this person to Jesus, and immediately felt at peace.  The anger was instantly gone!  I knew that just walking away was the right decision for me.  I had a birthday card I hadn’t mailed this person because of my anger.  I pulled out the card, signed it, addressed it, and put it in the mail.

I’ve gone about my day with joy knowing God is in charge.  I’m thankful I didn’t go more then one sleepless night dealing with anger and frustration.

THE PRETENDER

When a waitress in Ohio asked to see a customer's driver's license, she was shocked when she saw the photo on the ID. It was her own picture! The waitress had lost her driver's license a month earlier, and this young woman was using it so she'd have "proof" she was old enough to drink alcohol. The police were called, and the customer was arrested for identity theft. Trying to gain what she wanted, she pretended to be someone she wasn't.

I know what it’s like to pretend to be someone I’m not.  It’s no fun.  It’s lonely for one thing.  And it’s scary.  When my first child was born I didn’t bond with her.  In fact, I suspected she was going to take my husband’s affections away from me.  At one point I was going to kill her, but God protected both of us.  God brought me through a difficult case of postpartum psychosis without doing harm to myself or my baby.  But I was alone through all this because how do you tell someone that you want to kill your baby?  Well, you can tell me because I’ve decided to make my life an open book.  I don’t want to pretend anymore!    

Pretending goes on an awful lot in our churches today.  Many people put on a false front. They use the right “Christian” words, attend church almost every Sunday, and even pray before meals. They pretend they “have it all together” in order to gain the approval of others.  Inside they’re struggling with brokenness, guilt, doubt, or an addiction or other persistent sin.  

God placed us in a body of believers to support one another. What would happen if you admitted you aren’t perfect?  Have you considered seeking the counsel of a godly brother or sister in Christ who has earned your trust?  Take a chance!  Stop pretending!  Don’t hide your sin and cover up, pretending there is nothing wrong.  Instead, confess it and repent.  Be what God intends you to be ~ don’t pretend to be what you’re not.  God will bless your life in ways beyond anything you can imagine.

My two beautiful girls (back in the 80's) that God blessed me with!

MY LAST THEATER GIG?

During the last three theater productions I’ve been involved in since being completely healed  I asked myself at least once this question:  Will this be my last theater “gig”?  Tonight is opening night for my latest theater production; “Shrek the Musical”.  I’m sitting here asking myself that question.  “Will this be my last theater “gig”?  

I love everything about theater, especially musical productions!  When I say everything I mean the tryouts, the rehearsals (especially dress rehearsals), working with fellow actors, the costumes, and of course the experience of being on stage with an audience!  I love moving the audience to tears and laughter.  Musical theater is my absolute favorite kind of stage work, but it can be very “physical” because it usually includes dancing and bigger movements.  My last two shows, and the current one are musical productions; Phantom of the Opera, Fiddler On the Roof, and Shrek the Musical!

My very first show at Centennial High School was “Miracle Worker” about Helen Keller.  My best friend played Helen, and I played her mother.  That was in 1968.  Ten years later in 1978 I was cast in “Music Man” while pregnant with my third baby.  Enoch was born a month early, so I missed opening night.  Taking care of three young children kept me pretty busy the next ten years, but in 1988 I found myself a full-time college student, and once again on the stage.  I played a crazy psychotherapist in the comedy “Beyond Therapy”.  From that point on I auditioned, and was cast in a couple of shows per year in the college theater department.  Fifteen shows were notched on my belt when I became ill with an incurable lung disease, and Sjogren’s Auto-Immune Disorder.  These debilitating illnesses put me out of commission for over eight years.  I didn’t think I would ever experience the joy of stage performing again.  But in 2008 God healed me completely of both the lung disease and the auto-immune disorder!  

It took a couple of years, and a wonderful musical production to bring me out on the stage again.  With great trepidation I auditioned for, and was cast in the college’s 2011 production of “Phantom Of The Opera”.  It was demanding for a fifty nine year old, but what an incredible experience!  A year later a local community theater choose “Fiddler On The Roof” for their 100th anniversary show.  I was selected to play Grandma Tzietel, and had a wonderful time getting to know a new group of fellow thespians.  And now it’s 2013, and I’m the Fairy Godmother in “Shrek The Musical”.  At sixty one years of age the physicality of musical theater is proving again to be very demanding.           

That is why the evening before opening night of “Shrek” I find myself asking, “Will this be my last theater gig?”  I’ve experienced loosing my health rapidly so I know only too well how any number of physical problems could pop up that would hinder me from keeping up with fellow actors in another stage show.  That’s why I’m going to bask in every moment under the stage lights of "Shrek The Musical".  After all, this may be my last theater “gig”.

The musical "Phantom Of The Opera".

I played the "Confidant".

The musical "Fiddler On The Roof".

I played Grandma Tzietel.

"Shrek The Musical"

I'm playing the Fairy Godmother!

OVERCOMING PANIC ATTACKS!

I insisted on walking back to my room after delivering our healthy five pound boy my husband and I would name Enoch Elijah.  His birth consisted of a brief forty-five minutes of hard labor, followed by a very quick delivery.  This live birth, my third, was my fastest delivery yet!  Tabitha arrived in two hours and ten minutes; Melody in just one hour and forty minutes.  Admittedly all three were premature by several weeks, but aside from being low weight they were all healthy babies.  I strode the hospital hallway exhilarated.  Adrenaline, nature’s upper, flooded my post-birth brain, and I could hardly contain my excitement.  An older nurse brought the cleaned up baby to my room, and we began the bonding process.  An hour later that same nurse retrieved him so I could get some sleep.  

Still under the influence of adrenaline, sleep escaped me.  Then a very strange thing happened.  One minute I was joyous, and the next I was blinded by apprehension and dread.  I had a sudden, overwhelming feeling that something terrible was happening with my newborn.  I buzzed the nurses‘ station, and demanded to be told what was going on with the baby.  They reassured me everything was fine, but I didn’t believe it.  How could these feelings of imminent disaster be mistaken?  I paced the room, heart pounding, stomach clenched like a fist.  What weren’t the nurses telling me?  Again I buzzed the nurses‘ station, and they suggested I walk down to the nursery and look into the window.  I grabbed a robe and flew down the hallway only to see a peacefully sleeping baby.  What was wrong with me?  It was very difficult calming myself down even though I knew my son was safe.  My first panic attack roared down on me like an avalanche.   I never forgot those feelings of terrible dread or the physical effects it had on my body; pounding heart, sweating, shortness of breath, muscle tension and stomach upset.

Ten years later, after my first marriage ended in a nasty divorce, I met and became engaged to the man I would spend the rest of my life with.  That’s when panic attacks entered my life again.  During a winter storm my car slid down an icy hill.  A panic attack left me shaking, and unable to drive the car home.  My fiance rescued me, and calmed me down.  On another occasion I left my wallet at a bank, and the man who found it called to say he would bring it to my home.  This triggered a panic attack, and I hid in the closet, unable to answer the door.  Once again I called my fiance who came home to calm me down, and get my wallet from the stranger.  Then there was the day I panicked when I didn’t have time to complete a math test.  (I was a student at the college where my fiance taught at the time.)  This brought on a full blown panic attack, and I couldn’t stop crying.  A friend escorted me to the therapist’s office on campus where he assessed I was in the midst of a panic attack and talked me down.

After a year and a half engagement Jay Van Tassell and I were married, and the panic attacks slowly began increasing in frequency.  I began to notice circumstances which would likely trigger a panic attack; car trips away from home, traveling at night, being in a strange city, getting lost, heavy traffic, any kind of dental work, and nighttime in general.

My husband taught geology at the college.  Geology trips became problematic for me.  Having to sit next to a male student who made me uncomfortable triggered a panic attack.  Car problems on another trip brought on a panic attack.  Increased anxiety at night made sleeping in a tent potentially nightmarish.  Being away from home was the key element of stress in all these situations.

I began to anticipate the potential for panic attacks while traveling, and started using narcotics prescribed for pain to reduce anxiety.  At the advice of a friend who became aware of my increasing problem with panic attacks I went to a local psychiatrist for help.  This professional, instead of helping me find a cognitive solution or offering behavioral therapy, handed me a script for Valium.  I was to take 5 mg at bedtime when needed, and 5mg as needed for panic attacks while traveling or getting dental work.

It didn’t take long for me to develop an addiction to benzodiazepines.  Within a year I didn’t think I could sleep at night without them.  I also didn’t think I could travel, or go on geology trips without them.  And I never went to the dentist without them.  What started as occasional use within a couple of years became a dependency on 5 mg daily, then 10 mg daily, then 15 mg daily, and finally to 20 mg daily.  As I developed a tolerance to Valium I needed more and more to get the same result.  It took ten years to arrive at the point of needing 20 mg a day, but this addictive result was inevitable because I felt as though I could not control panic attacks, or anxiety any other way.  

Toward the end of my addiction I drugged myself the minute I got in the car for a trip, and kept myself drugged. (My husband always drove.)  To have enough Valium for trips I would stop taking my nightly dose of medication for a week.  I became accustomed  to feeling sick when I went without my nightly dose, but I didn’t associate it with the symptoms of withdrawal.  It never dawned on me that I was physically addicted to Valium.  I didn’t think that was even a possibility.  I did, however, recognize the emotional addiction I was cursed with.  

My psychiatrist began recommending I come off of Valium.  I was adamant when I insisted there would be no way I could manage my life without this medication.  I kept telling him I wasn’t addicted, at least not in the physical sense of the word.  He finally turned over my medication management to my primary care physician who was also handling my opiate medications for a chronic pain problem I’d suffered from for many years.  

In 2008 I almost lost my life when I accidentally overdosed on Valium.  (See “MY NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE” on 2/21/13).  Now my physician insisted I discontinue all Valium use, and go through withdrawal.  I gladly agreed because I knew it was only by God’s grace that I survived the Valium overdose.  The first panic attack occurred a year later when I discovered two dear women very close to my heart were sexually abused as children by someone I knew well.  I felt like my insides were going to come out as I wept.  Overwhelmed with fear for them, I experienced the urge to anticipate the worst.  My body shook, and I had trouble breathing.  I felt like I was going to die.

At first all I could think of was the Valium I didn’t have!  How could I live with the crisis created by this panic attack?  I focused on surviving by my own wits.  I rode the wave of emotions, and counted down from ten to one as the severity of my panic diminished.  Although the symptoms of the panic attack were uncomfortable they did not kill me!  I marveled at my mind’s ability to create such a tornado of emotions, and how my body took up the cause and responded in kind with pounding heart, breathing problems, muscle tension, and exhaustion.  I decided next time to reign the mind in, and try to get control of thoughts of dread, danger and worry.  I asked God to show me how to do this.

The very next month I got my answer from God!  I had traveled to Arizona by myself to visit my oldest daughter and her husband.  One morning as I awoke in strange surroundings the beginnings of a panic attack surged through me.  Adrenaline pored into my system filling me with dread.  Oh NO!  Not here!  Not now!  

Then God spoke to me, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything give thanks.”  

I thought about that verse which I recognized from Philippians, Chapter Four.  I repeated the words, “give thanks”.  God was guiding me.  Give thanks.  I thought about the nice bed I was in, the sunshine poring through the window, the coming day with my healthy and happy daughter, the nourishing food we would eat, and clean water we would drink.  Within seconds I was back in control of my thoughts and my body's response to the temporary adrenaline surge.  The fear dissolved and the panic dissipated!  That was easy! 

Giving thanks proved to be the key to victory over panic attacks.  I had a couple more opportunities that year to put Philippians, Chapter Four into practice, and it worked immediately each time.  I simply had to be aware enough to switch mental gears, and give thanks.

This technic is not always easy to put into practice.  The stronger the panic attack the more difficult the task of changing thought tracks.  One last example of this happened in July of 2012.  Some panic episodes are so strong you even remember the date!  All the triggers were there; traveling in a strange town far from home, in heavy traffic, my husband became lost.  Driving a rental car without GPS, Jay had no idea where our exit was.  By the time we finally found our exit, and our hotel I was a wreck.  Hyperventilating, shaking, heart pounding and feeling like I was going to pass out I jumped out of the car, and began pacing.  I couldn’t get a grip on this run-a-way train so I called my therapist back in Oregon.  

Of all the things she could have said she picked the perfect visual image for me.  “You are NOT in a concentration camp.”, she said firmly.  I gave that statement serious thought.  Here I am safely standing in a hotel parking lot in the United States of America.  I am NOT in a concentration camp!  What else can I be thankful for?  At the advise of my therapist I took a long, hot bath, and contemplated all the things I had to be grateful for, and at the top of the list; NOT being in a concentration camp.  

The panic “switch” flipped off, and I was able to get control of my racing emotions and thoughts with Philippians 4: 6-8:  “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”  In simple words, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything give thanks.”

Getting victory over panic attacks was that simple for me!  This technic also helps me when sleep evades me.  I did NOT need medication to be victorious over this insidious problem, and most folks don’t.  It’s unfortunate I was sent the unspoken message by a psychiatrist that the only way to handle panic attacks was with a prescription pad.

Benzodiazepines are one of the most highly prescribed class of drug.  Other brand names for this drug are Xanax, Klonopin, Ativan, Ambien and Librium.   There are occasionally times when we need perhaps a few weeks of medicinal help for severe stress or anxiety, but it should NEVER turn into years of use and addiction!

How many years had I been driven mad by negative thinking?  Our minds have the ability to take us places we never want to go.  Run-a-way thoughts have the power to keep sleep away, make us loose our appetite or eat too much, impact our blood pressure, change our heart rate, increase our respirations, etc, etc, etc.  Philippians 4:8 adds, "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things."    

Are you overwhelmed with panic and worry?  You don't have to be a slave to negative thoughts!  Ask the Lord to remind you of Philippians 4:6-8 whenever your mind races with anxiety!  Carry this verse in your pocket or purse, tape it on your refrigerator, put it in your glove compartment box.  God wants us to live victorious lives!  If this has helped you share it with us.

TWENTY TWO DAY WHIRLWIND!

What an incredibly fulfilling month August 2013 proved to be!  This is the first time in almost three weeks my husband and I have been alone.  I’m offering this as my excuse for not writing a blog this month.

It all started August 2nd when Enoch, my 35 year old son, came to our home town in Eastern Oregon to attend the county fair with me at my invitation.  Perhaps once a month we are able to see each other, and I treasure our time together!  Sunday morning we had breakfast together before he headed back home to Idaho, and my husband and I left for the Oregon coast.  A belated 37th birthday celebration with my middle child, Melody, was the reason for our visit to the beach.  Melody works at a christian conference center just a few blocks from the ocean so it's always a double blessing to go see her.  

This was my last chance to leave town for the following two months.  As the "Fairy Godmother" in SHREK THE MUSICAL I would not be able to miss any more rehearsals before for the September 6th opening night!  (And September would be filled with thirteen performances.)  After a delightful birthday celebration at the coast Melody came back with us August 7th.  Her brother gifted his sister with a 2001 Mustang!  Jay took Melody to Boise, Idaho to pick the car up.  She stayed at our home another night before heading back to the coast August 9th.  

That same night, at midnight, my oldest child Tabitha, 38 years old, arrived at our home in a rental car.  A flight attendant for Southwest Airlines, she flew into Portland, and headed to Eastern Oregon to say “Goodbye” to her 91 year old paternal grandmother who was dying at a home here in our little town.  The next day, Saturday, my niece Sascha showed up from Washington to attend her 20th high school reunion here.  She and Tabitha grew up together so it worked out great for both women to stay in our guest room, and catch up on each other’s busy lives.

On Sunday morning Sascha left for home, and that afternoon my ex sister-in-law, Joyce arrived.  Joyce and her husband had camped out in their travel trailer several days before it was decided her husband would return to their home with the trailer, and Joyce would stay with us until her mother passed away.  Her passing seemed imminent, and we were happy to give both Joyce and Tabitha a place to stay during this time.  Joyce is like a second mother to Tabitha.  The two of them decided to keep vigil over this faithful servant of God, mother and grandmother Helen Evans, until she passed.

Helen was born in January of 1922 with a severe cleft pallet.  In the 20's this kind of condition was usually left surgically untreated.  Children made fun of her, and treated her differently.  Helen learned to avoid cameras, and situations which drew attention to herself.  She also experienced difficulty eating.  Any food that produced crumbs could choke her easily.  In spite of all these things Helen never complained, or felt sorry for herself.  She accepted her disability, living a productive and hard working life.  Even in the nursing home she insisted on helping with chores such as folding laundry until the last two weeks of her life!    

Tabitha felt strongly that her sister, Melody, should have an opportunity to say her good byes to Grandma Evans.  On Monday, August 12th, Melody took time off work to come back to Eastern Oregon.  Melody, Tabitha and their Aunt Joyce bonded during many quiet hours of knitting while sitting with bedridden Helen.  After four days Melody needed to get back to the coast and work.  She cherished some wonderful final moments with her grandmother, and said her goodbyes.  Tabitha took four more days off work so she could stay with Aunt Joyce while her grandmother transitioned into the next world.  This was too important, and she was compelled to be there at the finish line. 

Sunday, August 18th, Helen Evans died at 6:10 PM.  Her’s was a peaceful passing with both Tabitha and Joyce at her side.  I was sitting in church when I got the call from my eldest daughter.  On Tuesday Tabitha headed back to Arizona, and her husband.  Joyce had many things to do to prepare for the funeral the following Saturday, and we invited her to continue staying with us through that week.  She was grateful for the invitation, and gladly took us up on the offer.  Joyce excels at courtesy, compassion, and listening which made her a delightful guest!  

Melody and my son, Enoch, both arrived Friday, August 23, for the funeral the following day.  They came from opposite directions for a unified purpose.  Summerville Cemetery is a beautiful place where both Grandma and Grandpa Evans now rest.  Many friends and relatives attended the lovely outdoor service.  Helen excelled in generosity, and was deeply loved by many.  Late afternoon everyone was gone, and our guest room sat empty for the first time in twenty two days!  If silence took up space, our home would be piled high with it right now.

I’m filled with gratefulness to God who coordinated all of our guests comings and goings so wonderfully in the last three weeks.  I’m also abundantly proud of my husband who prepared delicious breakfasts each morning for whoever happened to be staying with us at the time.  Various fresh fruit cobblers, crepes, muffins, and fruit and yogurt parfaits prepared by my husband nourished our guests.  He also kept everyone in clean bedding and towels.  Jay never ceases to amaze me with his “servant’s heart”.

What a wonderfully busy three weeks. There was no "drama" or negativity during these twenty two days.  I give God the glory!    

Melody (top left), Tabitha (top right), Joyce (bottom left), and me.

Melody with her new car.

Enoch and Melody following the service.

Melody and I before she left for the coast.

My husband, Jay, and I made a terrific team for 22 years,
 and this last twenty two day proved it!

DEMONS AND ANGELS

Ever been in a room with evil?  Not necessarily incarnate evil or evil that has taken human form, but a spirit of evil that froze your blood and made your skin crawl.  It shows up when you are feeling the most vulnerable, and it leaves you with a terrible feeling of foreboding, and a sense of desperation because there is nothing you can do predict its coming or to keep it at bay.  I had just such an experience night after night for several years during my mid to late teens.

These evil entities would come at night while I was sleeping.  I woke up choking or unable to breath, and I knew I was powerless to stop their torments.  They delighted in terrifying me.  Sometimes I would go for a week without a visit, and I would silently hope it meant they got bored of me.  But these “breaks” never lasted long, and soon they would be at it again.  Because of the sleep I was loosing I began to nap as soon as I got home from school because they never bothered me during the day.  

I never told anyone about these nightly visitations by evil.  How do you talk about such things without people thinking you’re crazy?  My dad knew something was going on with me.  He was the one I woke up at 2 or 3 in the morning.  All I had to say was, “Nightmare.” and he would switch beds with me.  I’d crawl in bed with my mother who never seemed to awaken.  And she never had any questions for me in the morning when she found me there.  So I remained silent about the whole mess.  I was convinced my parents could do absolutely nothing about these night time visitors even if I did find the courage to tell them.  It was my horrifying secret for many years.  God gave me victory over these demons, but first you need some background information.

Since childhood I've always been aware of God’s nearness, and watchful eye over me.  This belief brought me great comfort in my growing up years with a difficult mother.  My first memory, around two years of age, was of mother sitting in a stuffed chair in the living room crying unconsolably.  I wanted to comfort her, but felt helpless to do anything.  I recall being put into a crib to watch and listen to her crying.  Within a few moments I felt a presence comforting me.  That presence, which I would come to know as God, would always be there whenever mother wasn’t available emotionally for me, which was frequently.   

  

But God was always there with me.  What is amazing about this is that my folks never spoke of God when I was young.  My parents did not attend church, or have any religious affiliations at the time.  Yet I knew my Creator not only existed but cared about me.  I knew this from the earliest moments of my life!  I knew God was with me just as I knew the sun came up in the morning.  And what a comfort this was for me!

At nine years of age daddy was transferred to a base in Wichita Falls, Texas.  For the first time, in stead of living on base, our family of five moved into a neighborhood on Huckleberry Lane.  It was a dirt road and gravel road with little houses on either side.  Daddy bought a double lot with a tiny four room house on it, and we lived in a single-wide trailer he moved onto the lot.  Across the street lived a family with a little girl my age.  That first summer she invited me to Vacation Bible School at her church.  I’d never heard of such a thing, nor been inside a church but it sounded like fun.  Mother gave me permission to go with my friend that week.  It changed my life!

I heard about the Bible, and God and His Son, Jesus.  This was no doubt the God who had been my constant companion, and source of comfort up until then!  After a week of VBS I wanted more so I asked mother if I could attend weekly Sunday School classes at this little church.  Mother agreed to take me and my two younger sisters each week to Sunday School, and we stayed for the church service afterwards.  Within a few weeks I knew I wanted to invite Jesus, God’s Son, into my heart.  I went forward during an alter call, and became a follower of Jesus.  Not long after that mother gave her life to Jesus as well, and my sisters followed suit.  Eventually, daddy joined us in attending church when he was home.  

From that point on, whenever we moved we found a church to attend as a family.  In 1963 daddy retired after 20 years in the Air Force.  At the age of 12 our family made one final big move to Portland, Oregon.  We lived in a trailer court for a year before my parents bought their first home in a new suburb of Portland called Gresham.  We found a Baptist church in the neighborhood, and became members right away.

At the age of fourteen I became aware of spiritual beings which were the opposite of God and goodness and love.  These beings came to me at night while I slept.  For the first time in my fourteen years I had a bedroom of my own in this three bedroom ranch-style house.  Over the years my nights grew more and more terrifying.  It began with what seemed to be just nightmares.  On awakening I would slip across the hall to my parent’s bedroom, and stand in the doorway until daddy became aware of me standing there.  Silently we would trade places.  I crawled into bed with mother, and he went across the hallway to sleep in my bed.  Nothing was ever said by my parents about this behavior, even as I got older.  

At sixteen and seventeen this night-time pattern continued, occurring about once every couple of weeks.  What changed was the severity of the night visitations by these evil tormentors.  They began attacking me physically.  I would awaken unable to breath, feeling as if someone was strangling me; literally feeling fingers wrapped around my neck.  Paralyzed, I was unable to fight off the attack.  After a few seconds I would catch my breath, jump off the bed, and run to my parent’s doorway waiting to be noticed.  

I dreaded these nights.  The worst part was being unable to talk about the evil spiritual visitations with anyone.  Who would believe me?  People would say I was crazy.  But just as I knew when I was a child that God was real and loved me, I now also knew these demons were real as well and hated me.  I felt completely defenseless against the random night-time attacks from these tormenting creatures.  

When I entered high school at 14 I began to make poor choices in friends and activities.  By the time I was 16 I didn’t have much of a relationship with the Lord.  School activities included theater club which meant drinking, LSD, and sex.  Although I didn’t directly engage in those activities I did play on the outskirts of it all, and surround myself with those who did.  I got further and further from God.  I seldom read the Bible, and fellowship with other believers wasn’t important anymore.

I began to “play” church on Sundays, but during the week I did exactly what I wanted.  My relationship with God faded.  I gave Him no say in my life.  Decisions were based on my emotional needs and desires, not on what was best for me according to God’s plan.  I was sitting on the fence with God; half on and half off.  This led to doubts about my faith.  For the first time in my life I asked myself, “Did God really exist?”  (It’s interesting the demons stopped visiting me during this time, and I slept in peace.)  

I may have been in peace at night, but I felt completely lost when awake.  Nothing made sense to me.  I didn’t know what I was doing on this planet.  At nineteen years old I fell on my knees by the bed one night and prayed, “God, I don’t know if you are real anymore.  If there is no such thing as God I’m not going to ‘play’ anymore.  So show me if you are real.”  I went to bed that night feeling lost, and sad, and a bit defiant.

At this time I was attending college at Mt. Hood Community in Troutdale, Oregon while living at home.  Each morning I climbed onto a public bus to get to campus.  This morning started out like all the others, but with one big difference.  The passengers in the seats in front, and behind me were talking about Jesus.  I noticed this, but didn’t think much more about it.  In my first class a couple of students seated next to me were discussing Jesus!  In the cafeteria lunch line folks in front of me, and behind me were conversing about Jesus!  The afternoon consisted of more of the same; over-hearing random conversations about Jesus everywhere I went!  It was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to me.  God had my attention.  It was clear God was telling me that not only did He exist, but He heard my prayer, and was answering it in a very obvious way.  God wanted me to know that His Son Jesus was real too, and the only way to relationship with God was through His Son!  The end of that day I fell on my knees again, but this time in absolute belief in God and His Son, Jesus.

God spoke to me, “ Are you going to give your life to me, or are you going to keep going your own way?”  Now I had to make the biggest decision of my life.  

I knew it was time to get off the fence with God.  My Creator cared about me, and knew what was best for me.  John 3:16 was true:  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will have everlasting life.”  I prayed,  “God, I’m yours.  And I believe Jesus is Your Son, and that He took the punishment for all the wrong choices I’ve made.  Take my life.  I want to follow Jesus.”

That’s when God began the work of healing my emotional wounds.  The empty places in my heart, and spirit were filled by God.  His love was palpable.  I was being transformed from the inside out by the Creator of the universe.  The Bible became alive to me again.  I grew into relationship with a loving God through prayer, and Bible study, and Christian fellowship.  I became a different person, a stronger person.  I began treating myself with grace and forgiveness, because that’s how Jesus treated me!  God valued me, and that made me value myself.

But satan wasn’t giving me up without a fight.  One warm spring night as I crawled into bed the temperature in the room instantly dropped to freezing.  A “presence” entered the room; an evil presence.  Overcome with terror I witnessed a palpable darkness fill the already dark room.  This wasn’t a demon; it was satan himself.  He didn’t bother disguising himself as an “angel of light” as he is sometimes referred to in the Bible.  He came wrapped in a darkness fringed with the chill of fear.  I pulled the covers up to my mouth, and froze in panic.  What did he want?  And why didn’t he send his demons this time?  I no sooner asked this question then satan whispered coldly in my ear, “How do you know God is real?”  That’s all he said.  His sole desire was to bring doubt, and insecurity into my new found faith; to come between me and God.  

I was in no hurry to answer.  Too much was at stake in this moment.  Satan was putting my faith to the test.  Slowly, carefully I chose my words, “Satan, I can’t see you, but I can feel...your...presence, and hear...your...voice.  So I know you are real.  In the same way, I can’t see God, but I can feel...His...presence, and hear...His...voice.  So I also know God is real.  If you are this real so is God!  In the name of Jesus, and the blood He shed on the cross, get out of this room!”  The moment I said the name of Jesus the darkness vanished, the cold vanished, and satan vanished .  

I sprang out of bed, switched the light on, and read my Bible for the next hour.  That was the last time satan or any of his demons would directly contact me.  He was defeated because I acknowledged my dependence on Jesus, who conquered satan when he rose from the grave!  With Jesus I can be victorious against anything satan might throw at me.
  

This marked a new stage of spiritual growth in my life; a time of confidence and peace in Christ!  It was early summer, and my church was hosting it’s annual Vacation Bible School for children in the neighborhood.  Vacation Bible School is held for one or two weeks when kids are out of school on summer break.  This particular VBS was each afternoon Monday through Friday.  I volunteered to teach the 5th grade kids.  Since recommitting my life to God I had become a regular volunteer in various church activities.  I was nineteen years old on this day in June.  

My small class room was located in the center of the church building so it had no  windows.  The room was just large enough to hold a small craft cupboard, and a long table which seated ten comfortably.  Hanging on the walls were a blackboard and a large bulletin board which I’d decorated with the theme of the V.B.S.  Fresh flowers were cut, and placed in the center of the table.  I was ready for the kids, with about an hour to go before they arrived so there was time for some conversation with God about the week to come.

I slid down the wall at the end of the room with the door closed, facing the narrow side of the room.  Sitting cross- legged on the carpeted floor, with my back supported by the wall, I began to talk with God about the week ahead.  No fancy memorized prayers, just sharing my hopes and wishes for the group of kids I’d spend the week with here.  I prayed with my eyes open.  

After just a few moments of prayer suddenly the room began to change as a light entered from the upper left corner of the room.  A “light” barely describes what entered from the ceiling, for this was like no light I’ve ever encountered.  It was a vibrant, living, energy that began to fill the small room.  It was hard to believe that as bright as this light was it didn’t burn my eyes, or make me squint as I looked directly into it in disbelief.  I sat as still as I could I could, trying not to move or even blink because I didn’t want to interrupt what was happening.

As this incredible energy filled the room every shadow vanished.  There was no darkness in the room; not under the chairs or table or anywhere.  This light embodied pure love, and peace, and joy.  As I sat there surrounded by this stunning and all encompassing light I was filled with perfect contentment and joy as if I’d entered what had to be the gateway to heaven.  But this light was much more then a place; it was a powerful, living entity.  God was revealing Himself to me.  Only it was just the hem of His garment for I could not have withstood the intensity of the vision of God Himself.

At this moment there was nothing else in the world that mattered.  I floated in the energy of God’s pure love.  Warm and safe in this heavenly glow.  Nothing but praise and hallelujahs on my lips.  Never wanting to leave God’s presence.  In awe of this moment beyond human comprehension or understanding.  

I don’t know how long I sat there in pure bliss in the presence of my Creator, but eventually the magnificent light began to recede back out through the ceiling.  I sat there for a long time after the light left praising God, and thanking Him over and over for allowing me to sit in His presence, even if just for a moment.  

I’ve never forgotten a single detail of this heavenly vision.  And during times of stress or adversity I’ve often thought back upon this experience to reassure myself of God’s eternal and unconditional love.  Since this profound spiritual encounter I’ve never felt alone or abandoned by God.  And satan and his demons have no hold on me.  I have no fear of death because leaving this earth means entering heaven, and the presence of the living God for all eternity!

It is no coincidence that this spiritual encounter occurred as I was preparing to teach Vacation Bible School at my church!  I was formally introduced to God at VBS in Texas, and I had this incredible personal encounter with God at VBS in Oregon!    Shortly after a terrifying “face to face” encounter with satan God did something above and beyond anything I could have ever imagined.  God gave me this vision to counter the experiences satan and his demons had tormented me with since the age of fourteen.

Years later God revealed to me the "door" through which demons were able to enter my childhood home.  My dad had a sexual attraction to children, and I was one of his victims.  He never got help for pedophilia and that was how demons entered our lives.  In later years the Lord healed me emotionally in a mighty way from this deep wound inflicted by my father!

Are you plagued with fear?  Are you hunted by demons and spiritual darkness?  Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly!”  John 10:10 

Jesus also said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.”  John 14:6 

One of my favorite Psalms says, “The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.  Those who know Your name will trust in you.  For you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.”  Psalm 9:9-10

Mother took this photo of daddy and us girls leaving for church in 1962 in Abilene, Texas.  I am at the far left in this photo.