Refueling The Soul – Page 8 – The Turning Points of Life

A Noble Man

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill Rainey and his contagious smile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turning Point

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

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

The Traumatic Dog Bite

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

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

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

Our House

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

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

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

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

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

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

Allan before the bite

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

Turning Point

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

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

Broken Body – Living Soul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turning Point

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

The Judas Goat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TURNING POINT

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

Honoring Zoey

Whenever I exercised retroactive self discovery, it revealed that people were brought into my life and were profound blessings. These people were significant players in the turning points in my life. When through purposeful deliberation I considered the treasures these souls were to my unfolding life, I began to find ways to express my sincere gratitude for them.

Since I acknowledge the part that I believe God had in engineering their presence in my life and the purpose behind it, I first expressed my sincere gratitude to Him. But I felt that my gratitude remained incomplete. I needed to do something more to acknowledge these souls in hopes that I could give them some sense of how they touched my life and so blessed me.

One such soul was a young girl named Zoey. From before her birth until her untimely passing as a teenager, she somehow found many ways to touch my life. The more I looked back the more I discovered that in her humble way she taught me things I needed to understand. So it was not surprising that I found a special way to honor her.

Zoey

Working with the Garden of Innocence, and seeing the ways Zoey seemed to visit me there, (See: “The Feather from Heaven” March 2016 post) I decided to name a baby in her honor. I placed her name on the list of requests at the Garden. I also requested to conduct the sermon for the future Baby Zoey’s funeral service.

Months went by and finally in early February 2016, I received word that a new baby had arrived for burial in the Garden and her name would be Zoey. It turned out that the day for the funeral was my 73rd birthday. I was humbled that this very special day for me would be extra special.

I informed Zoey’s mother, Dawn, of the date for the Ceremony at the Garden for Baby Zoey. I invited her and her family to join us in the Garden of Innocence on the Saturday morning honoring her daughter and Baby Zoey.

In the weeks prior to the funeral service, I prayed often for divine guidance and inspiration for the thoughts to express in the sermon. It was a busy time with other activities each day, but I refused to allow them to distract me.

A little more than a week before the service, I sat at my computer and wrote the Bible text word and theme for the sermon that had come to me in the middle of the night before. The text was John 13: 34-35 in the New King James Version (NKJV):

34 A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. 35 By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Another Biblical text kept rising up in my heart. This one from Ezekiel 22:30 in The Message (MSG) version:

30 “I looked for someone to stand up for me against all this, to repair the defenses of the city, to take a stand for me and stand in the gap to protect this land so I wouldn’t have to destroy it. I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.

I spent a few days making iterations until I found a sermon outline that satisfied my soul. I printed it and planned to read it daily until the day of the service.

One of the activities a few days prior to the service was a Chinese New Year celebration at my mother-in-law’s assisted living facility. It included dancers, music and a Chinese cuisine dinner. The dinner concluded with fortune cookies. I loved Chinese fortune cookies since my childhood so I greedily took two.

I don’t give much credence to the fortunes in fortune cookies, but when I opened the first one it read, “YOU WILL SOON WITNESS A MIRACLE.” I ate my cookie and proceeded to open the second. To my surprise it read the same, “YOU WILL SOON WITNESS A MIRACLE.”

Skeptical, I waited for the others at the table to read their fortunes and surprisingly not one had the same as mine. That was the last I thought of what I deemed simply a coincidence.

On the morning of the funeral, February 20, 2016, Carol and I made our way to the Garden of Innocence. Zoey’s family arrived along with our volunteers and many guests.

The proceedings began as usual with the casket bearing Baby Zoey to the Garden in the arms of the Knights of Columbus. Once in the Garden, she was passed around our circle of loving attendees including Zoey’s family and some of my friends.

Dawn holding Baby Zoey in her arms

I prayed the opening prayer followed by the musician and singer Ken Murrell who offered up his first song. I listened carefully to the words and I found that they perfectly fit into the theme of the sermon. The thought the lyrics contained that so struck me was we are stepping in to love this baby.

Another friend of Zoey’s, Brigit, who lives in Germany and has been a volunteer with the Garden of Innocence, wrote the poem for Baby Zoey. A young boy read the poem.

I listened carefully as he read the poem with deep emotion. It occurred to me that a particular phrase was exactly the theme of the sermon, just like the lyrics of the first song. The specific phrase in the poem was:

Right at the last moment
When you thought nobody loves you –
To be surprised by all of us
As we step in to love you.

For me, I had just witnessed the second “miracle” predicted in the fortunes of my fortune cookies.

After the poem, I presented the sermon. The theme, corroborated by the texts, the song and the poem made clear that in the plan of God, who is Love, a little baby is born to experience the love of their mother. This is the great blessing from God for every child. When, however, something unusual happens and a baby does not experience that love, God needs someone to “step in and step up” to love that child in place of the mother.

I reflected on the experience related in Ezekiel 22:30, where God searched for someone for a certain task, but sadly found no one. I proposed that all those who had assembled to honor Baby Zoey that morning had in a way answered that call. In essence, God found each one willing to step in and step up to love her. As each of those present momentarily cradled the casket bearing Baby Zoey in their arms, she surely felt the embracing love emanating from such loving hearts.
When the ceremony progressed to the dove ceremony, Dawn released the dove for Baby Zoey.

Dawn releasing Baby Zoey’s Dove

We released the three doves for the Trinity and then volunteers read the names of all the babies in the Garden. At the end when all 159 names were read, two large baskets of doves were opened. Beautiful white doves filled the sky as they took flight homeward bound.

For me it was a special day and opportunity to honor my friend Zoey whose life and our friendship will always be my treasure.

But the miracles were not limited to the common threads of Bible texts, a song, a poem and a sermon. I soon discovered the miracles were not yet over.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, a gentleman in his 90’s approached me. I later learned he was Leo White, the father of Suzy Foster a Garden of Innocence volunteer. I also learned that before he approached me, he told Suzy, “I’m going to ask him if he knows Jean Landis.” Suzy responded, “Dad, there are over 80,000 people in El Cajon, what are the chances that he knows her?” Leo said, “Well I’m going to ask him anyway!”

Leo walked up to me and introduced himself and asked, “Do you know Jean Landis?”

I was shocked as I quickly processed the import of this query. You see, Jean Landis was the aunt of Daylene, Zoey’s grandmother. She and her family were standing just a few feet away!

I excitedly replied, “Not only do I know Jean Landis, but it is my pleasure to introduce you to her niece and her family.”

I proceeded to introduce the members of Zoey’s family to Leo. A wonderfully unexpected union of two families ensued. It soon became evident that Leo had an interest in Jean Landis inspired by a recent article in the newspaper that chronicled her flight school during World War II. Since Leo became a pilot and she became a WASP flying airplanes in support of the war effort they had something in common. Just the week after Leo and Jean met for breakfast and developed a beautiful friendship for many years.

Dave, Daylene, Devin, Leo and Dawn

After all the greetings were exchanged I asked Leo, “What possessed you to come to me and ask me if I knew Jean Landis?”

He said, “I noted on the back of the program that you were a minister in a church in El Cajon. Since Jean lives in El Cajon, I just took a chance that you might know her.”

Leo and Jean enjoyed the ensuing years having breakfast meetings and reminiscing over old times.

Turning Points

Once again, I stand in awe of how God goes to meticulous lengths to affect His will for our blessings. The whole series of events that I have attempted to pen here seem to me to be quite extraordinary. His weaving of the message He intended to instill in each of us that day was so thorough. I consider these points: He woke me in the middle of the night to enliven two particular Bible verses; He moved the singer’s choice of song and lyric; He guided the poet’s creative verses and He inspired the sermon’s message that brought it all together. As wonderful as that was, He continued with His workings and brought two families together as a crown to the day’s event.

When Man Fails, God Prevails

One of the great joys in my life was to volunteer with the Garden of Innocence. The part I played was to lead the dove ceremony, an integral part of the burial of abandoned babies at the Garden. During each funeral service, there is a moment when the baby or babies are honored with the release of a beautiful white dove along with three doves for the Trinity. Then the names of all the babies in the Garden are read followed by the release of 50 or more doves to honor them. It falls upon me to maintain the list of names of all the babies in the Garden.

On Friday, January 16, 2016, I had just prepared my documents for the next day’s burial of three babies at the Garden when I got a call from Rebecca, our president. She said that the second of the three babies, Hollis, was the 150th baby to come into the Garden. I was shocked.

She asked if I had made any special arrangements for this occasion. Since it hadn’t occurred to me when I prepared the documents, I had to answer, “No.”
I felt terrible as I realized I failed to make anything special to recognize this milestone for the Garden.

Graciously, Becca said, “That’s okay; just make special mention of it in your address during the dove ceremony.”

With a heavy heart and much guilt weighing on me, I walked up the hill to the Garden of Innocence at El Camino Memorial Park on Saturday morning. When I reached the Garden I stood in awe and amazement.

The Garden was strewn with a massive bed of flowers. In the circle of the graves, a large number of huge flower arrangements were laying amongst the 100 plus grave stones of our babies. Apparently, someone of great honor was interred the day before. They had so many flowers that someone was moved to place the excess flower arrangements on the graves of our babies.

Array of Flowers at the Garden Of Innocence – San Diego

I was astounded. Here, in the midst of my failure, God stepped in and touched the heart of someone to step up and honor our Garden babies.
But it wasn’t too long thereafter that I discovered this was not the only miracle of the day where God moved hearts and minds to overcome my failure to recognize the 150th baby.

As planned, I did make note of the 150th baby during the dove ceremony and acknowledged God’s part in the amazing display of flowers in spite of my failure.

The Bed of Flowers Blanket the Garden

Caskets of Babies Dorothy, Hollis and Murray

Flight of the Doves

During the proceedings I noticed someone filming the ceremony with what appeared to be professional grade equipment, something not normally present for a Garden event. When the program was over, I realized that it was a local News Station photographer that was there documenting the proceedings for the evening news.

Curious as to how that came about, I asked the gentleman the question burning inside of me, “How is it that you are here today?”

He replied, “One of our new employee’s saw the announcement for the babies in the newspaper’s obituary column yesterday and, having never heard of the Garden of Innocence, sent me out to document the event.”

Another gift from God!

That night, the local NBC News television station presented a wonderful documentary reporting on the day’s event and the 150th baby entering the Garden of Innocence.

TURNING POINT

How gracious is our God, that when we in our weakness fail in something that has some significance for others, He kindly steps in and moves hearts and minds to make our failure of non-effect. When man fails, God prevails is not a simple adage, but a precious truth. Experiences such as these help us to boldly engage our calling without the fear of failure compromising our passion.

(See Garden of Innocence Website at www.gardenofinnocence.org for more information regarding our mission.)

The Six-Month Prayer

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.

Clara’s Story

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.

My Son is an Angel

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.

Another Man Named Harold – Another Turning Point

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.