A Picture of Freedom: chapter 15

Darren named our precious girl Lydia. During my pregnancy I was emotionally unable to talk about names and so Darren, with my agreement, took the responsibility of finding a name for her.  He named her for the lady in Philippians who supported Paul in his ministry.  She was the seller of purple fabric in the book of Acts.  More importantly her name means “travail”.  I picked her middle name: Joy.  No spiritual reason at the time. My best friend's name in college was Joy.  I just liked it.  Lydia Joy….A dear friend, Emily, pointed out a very uncannily meaningful scripture to me …John 16:21

           

     A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as she is        delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world.  KJV

Her name impeccably described the experience I had gone through to see her come into the world.  I wonder what it will mean for her in life.  Will she be a prayer warrior someday by travailing for hundreds in prayer in order for them to come to Christ?  Perhaps. It is enough, however, to know that God cared so much for me and obviously for her and that he demonstrated it by choosing this unparalleled name for her. 

            

Her name encapsulates how God had changed my life in so many ways.  But it also is a constant reminder to me of the long road ahead of relearning my faith.  Her birth was the beginning of her life and it was the beginning, for me, of new faith.  She and I started on a journey together…that of the natural life for her and that of learning what maturity looked life for me. 

             

Sometime during Lydia’s first year I started reading the Bible; sporadically at first, then more regularly.  To say that I never looked back to those sinful beliefs would be inaccurate.  I was tempted. I still fought with fear.  I used my moments of  fear as a thermometer on how I was doing in my trust towards God.  At one time, my level of fear made me feel guilty and condemned.  Thankfully, I was free from this.  I knew and still know that that fear simply is evidence that God isn’t finished with me yet.  I continued on in a surrendered way just as I had done when I was pregnant with her.  Regardless of my daughter’s and my future together, I learned to love and trust God not knowing what our future looked like together. 

              

As I began to get into a routine devotional time, the Word of God began to take on new life to me.  It literally seemed to leap off the pages and into my soul.  I devoured book by book and verse by verse.  I studied it and allowed it to breathe its life into me.  I  read the Word without prejudice and I was able to see, with clarity, what faith was supposed to look like.  The Word of God came alive to me and I was  able to see the scriptures that were once twisted, unwind and take on fresh liberating meaning to me.

            

 I started a ladies Bible Study at our church while I was pregnant.  My motivations were completely obligatory of the “pastor’s wife's duty”.  Nobody had asked me to start one. But I sensed the hunger and desire for this among the ladies.  When I did start it, I told the women, up front, not to expect too much spiritual direction from me.  I told them that we would learn together.  I had been honest with them as to the struggles in faith I was having though I did not divulge many details.  They seemed to understand and were compassionate towards me.  I don’t remember how we started or what we studied even.  I do remember laughing a lot.  I also remember how the ladies looked to me for spiritual direction and though I don’t know how or why they seemed to be satisfied with what I offered.  I only know, now, that it wasn’t me at all.  He was faithful to be strong when I was at my weakest.

             

As a group we grew into a vibrant close knit group of ladies who loved the Word.  Though I was hesitant to start a study with my teetering faith it proved to be a wonderful experience.  The ladies in this group understood my weakness and bore me up both in prayer and in action. We cried, prayed and studied together.    It was during this time of sharing in the Word of God with the other ladies that my confidence in teaching the Word grew.  It was as if the Lord knew where I had to be and took me there in lightening speed.  As the months flew by, I stepped out with more and more challenging material. 

            

I began to sense a deep desire to see women overcome obstacles in their faith as I had. Because of this desire I eventually began writing as a guest for the local newspaper’s religion section.  I took this little ministry very seriously.  My articles ran every three to four weeks.   I planned out my series of articles very carefully.  I strategically planned them to attack the very lies that I had been bound in and other lies which I knew women to be particularly susceptible.   I found this writing ministry to be very fulfilling.  I never heard if they had any impact on anyone but it really didn’t matter;  the Word of God was going out and affecting lives; regardless if it was recognized or not.  

            

 Since this time, Jesus has commissioned me to help others who may struggle in similar areas.  I have been given  unique opportunities to counsel with many women who have been lured and hooked by false faith.  I have had the privilege of seeing some of these women set free before my eyes.  Others, like me, went on their way unconvinced but I know that God loves them and cares about them and He will see them through until they, too, have been set free.  

I have a precious faith, though far from perfect.  I can recognize, with a fairly keen eye, floundering beliefs.  Most of the time, it is in my own life that I see it.  Once in awhile, I dig my heels in and refuse to repent of my awry thinking.   Though, after doing this a few times I am beginning to understand that it is much easier and painless to simply humble myself and repent.    I am hopefully learning this lesson anyway. 

           

If I were to encapsulate my faith nowadays with one word, I would say, “vibrant”.   Different from a few years ago, where the word would have been, “stale”.  I have been through many more trials since my trial of faith, I have written about here.    I have come to realize that there is always pain associated with growth.     God is merciful in that he offers reprieve from this pain from time to time.   There are summers and winters.   I don’t think that this is much different with people who don’t know the Lord.  The biggest difference here is that the lessons I learn from my pain are eternal.  Theirs are not.  This is grievous.  There is also another difference:  The people who rarely learn lessons from the pain or the ones who run full speed away from the pain.  More often than not, it is because these people are not saved or bound in false doctrine.  This is also grievous.  But I also know that there is a God who loves these people.  Who does not condemn them.  A God who cares so much that He will do whatever it takes to see them live with a vibrant faith as well.   I love the opportunities that the Lord offers me to speak with women in these circumstances.  It is one of the most incredible experiences to see the “lights” turn on in their heads. 

Trial of Joy: chapter 14

I knew that it was completely up to God to get me through this pregnancy.  I was very vocal about my rebellion towards the Word of Faith tenets. I confessed my doubts and fears openly  concerning the outcome of this pregnancy.   During this time the ladies at the church looked to me for counsel now and then.   I felt to be the least of anyone to know how to approach their needs.  I did the best I could and by the grace of God they seemed to be drawn to my counsel.  I, personally, found that they were far more supportive of me than I was to them.  I could not have asked for a better group of ladies for God to bless me with.  I was beginning to see a dim picture God's grace.

              

Here I was in pure emotional agony and to make matters even tougher the pregnancy did not go well.  My first doctor was very concerned about my well being and the well being of the baby.   At ten weeks he sent me to see a specialist in a bigger city because of my thyroid.    Towards my twentieth week he moved out of town and I had to find a new doctor.  I found a doctor who had much experience and who was a believer.  He shared with me that he was going to take this pregnancy very seriously through care and prayer.  Wow! What more could I ask for in a doctor?  One day, after grocery shopping, I came into the kitchen with my first load of groceries from the car; I noticed a message on the answering machine.  It was my doctor.  He said, “I have been up since five am praying for you and the pregnancy.  I have some serious concerns.  I am going to send you to a specialist in Denver.”  I was blessed on one hand that my doctor should be on his knees for me but shell shocked on the other that he was that concerned.  I called him back.  He gave me the number of the specialist who was expecting my call.  I set the date for three days away.  This topped my Ice cream Sunday of anxiety with thick lavish syrup of panic.  I sat on the couch in a daze.  My front door stood open and the trunk of my car was still open too.   This, I later found out, was causing a bit of a stir in the neighborhood.  Knowing my history and being wonderful concerned neighbors, they had noticed that I had not returned to gather the rest of my groceries. Though I did finally take care of my car and the groceries just before they  had decided to "call in the troops".

             

It turned out that my doctor’s concern was the apparent size of my uterus.  The 3D ultra sound administered by the neo-natologist in Denver did not reveal any abnormalities or problems.  Just for the heck of it she took a stab at measuring me from side to side instead of from top to bottom.  Amazingly enough, I measured right this way.  She said that in her thirty years as a MD specializing in high risk pregnancies she had never seen someone measure correctly side to side and not top to bottom. I had to laugh.  She assumed that this phenomenon was due to the fact that the baby was transverse (lying side to side) and that I carried the risk of polyhydramnios (too much amniotic fluid).  The two together had created a unique pregnancy.   She said that everything else looked perfect.  “Whew”…I was relieved  to hear this.

              

Towards the last thirteen weeks of pregnancy, I spent three hours every week at the hospital doing stress tests and ultrasounds.  The baby continued to be transverse which posed its own set of problems for delivery.  The high level of amniotic fluid posed its own set of problems as well.  If my amniotic sac were to break it posed a risk of pinching the umbilical cord shut with the rush of fluid. Certainly, this pregnancy was causing me to cry out to God instead of trusting in my own abilities to control the outcome.  

            

So far I had endured one tubal pregnancy, two normal pregnancies resulting in live births and a full term pregnancy loss and another loss at sixteen weeks.   With no discernable amount of faith or artifice of control, I coped one day at a time.  Slowly but surely, I reacquainted myself with prayer. Not hours of it by any means but just simple honest prayers.  It was a step by step process. 

            

Mentally speaking, I succeeded by simply accepting the fact that I was pregnant and that I could not know the outcome.   The next step was talking to the Lord about my fears.  I never hid my fears from myself or the Lord during this trial of faith.   Rather than hiding these fears in fear of what my feelings would produce, I confessed them and prayed about them.   Regularly, from that point on I mimicked the prayer of Jesus, “Lord, I really would like to have this child be born alive, but not my will but yours be done”.   For awhile this prayer frightened me.  I had to believe what I prayed.  That meant that my will had to yield to the Lord’s will.  But each time I prayed it I felt a little more joy and a little more freedom. Still, I would lay awake at night and fret if I didn’t feel movement for more than a half an hour.  I kept my husband awake on more than one occasion when I would reposition back and forth trying to get the baby to move.  Looking back, it was almost laughable the way I acted. 

            

 The third step was learning what was most important to me.   One day in particular stands out in my mind.  I was in Colorado Springs visiting my parents.  It had been awhile since I or Joshua had seen the Air Force Academy and Alexis had never been there so we decided to go for a trip and we took my parents' neighbor's kids too.  As I was standing in front of that majestic chapel there on that military base, the thought struck me as I stared at my children and the other children playing on the stairs that led up to the big chapel.  Isn't the Lord worth more to me than any child?  What could I say?  Yes, He was! A wave of peace and joy came over me and it lasted for about two minutes and then it was gone.  It gave me reason to hope though. It became my new mantra...even when I didn't always mean it.  "Even if I don't get this child, I will still have you Lord.  I will always have You.  Nothing would separate me from the Love of Christ." It was a  step of faith in the right direction for me.

             

I did other things to help me cope through the pregnancy.  I worked part time at the prison teaching GED skills.  It did wonders to keep my mind off of me and the pregnancy for awhile each day.   I managed to keep my pregnancy hidden from the inmates until I was about five months along and then it was pretty obvious.  At first they teased me but when they understood that it was something I would not speak about  openly, especially with them, they stopped.  My supervisor was wonderful.  He allowed me to work four days a week which meant I had every Friday off.   I used this day in the first months of pregnancy to sleep and get caught up on house work.    

During the last thirteen weeks Friday mornings were spent at the hospital.  First I would go to have an ultra sound that checked amniotic fluid levels, the babies position and obviously for a heartbeat.   Then I would head upstairs to the maternity for a stress test.  Not really sure what that was all about but I did it.   For thirteen weeks I went through the routine.  It became a routine that I learned to enjoy.  I got to know the ladies in radiology pretty well and I knew all of them in the maternity ward which I thought would come in handy. These visits helped me cope quite well and I think my doctor knew that. 

        

Since the baby was still transverse and I carried the risks of poyhydramnios, I was scheduled for a C-section. That day came Friday, March 25.  Because my doctor was not able to perform C-sections, the doctor that had delivered Samuel  was to see me through this delivery as well. Though I had tried all the tricks to get  the baby to turn she refused to flip head down until that morning at the hospital.  I felt a very distinct movement and knew that is what had happened.   So after the doctor made sure that the baby was head down, she told me I no longer needed a C-section.  She was going to pin prick the sac to alleviate the pressure of the fluid and I was prepped for an induction instead.  After placing the epidural in my spine as precautionary measure, a heart monitor was placed on my belly.   It read a wonderful 150 beats a minute causing me and the doctor to breathe easy.  That security soon disappeared as the babies heart rate suddenly fell to 30 beats a minute.  The doctor didn't bat an eye before calling the OR and having me prepped for an emergency C-section.  Within moments I was wheeled quickly to the OR.  Within those moments I prayed again, this time with all my heart, "Lord, it's ok if I don't get this baby....I still have You.  You are all I need".   I meant it that time.     

             

Since the epidural was not doing it's job and I was able to feel each cut she was making, she was forced to give me a stronger medicine through the epidural.  Though my eyes were open, I was not mentally aware of what was happening.   Because my eyes were open, Darren thought that I was awake and aware of what was going on.  He was careful to keep the panic he was feeling restrained.   He was talking me through it which I think was helpful for him but I did not hear a word.  Finally, after it seemed like an eternity had passed for me, I did hear Darren ask me if I could hear that.  I strained with all my might to listen and  I did hear a babies cry.  I felt a wave of relief and then lost consciousness again.  The doctor told me later that it was the most stressful C-sections she had performed. Apparently,  she could not free the baby from the uterus.  She had to cut me horizontally and vertically.   

Her report states, "(Patient) was placed in supine position on the operation table and at left lateral tilt.  Fetal hear tones were verified with redosing of the epidural and noted to be in the 130's...I palpated the uterus and felt that the baby was no longer vertex...I scored the uterus...The baby was found to be back down to transverse, buttocks to maternal left, so she had started to somersault to vertex and just kept on going.  Initially, I was able grab one foot and the other appendage I got was a hand.  I put the hand back.  I grabbed and got the other foot after I had T'd the uterus by about 3 cm.  So far we had got the baby delivered up to the head but could not get the head delivered, I T'd the uterus further.  The head was then delivered."

My husband tells me then that because it took much longer than expected to deliver her, they could not get her to breathe for a stressful amount of time.   I only knew that she was alive and then had lost conciousness again.  What seemed like moments to me was quite some time later as they were unable to wake me in the recovery room for some hours.   I only knew  that I was  holding my precious daughter.  Not only had the Lord given me a child, He had protected me from all the stress of delivery.  Thank you Jesus.

A Time to Heal: chapter 13

Joshua's  leg was cast from the toes up to his hip.   He was bed ridden for about a week.  A week too long for him!  But soon he was up and performing stunts with his crutches and healing well. Meanwhile I continued on in my melancholy demeanor.  I lived my life mostly devoid of strong emotions and faith.  I went through the motions of wife and mom neither enjoying or despising my duties thereof.  Darren  on the other hand, was certain that this was a divine time for us.   I made verbal assent to this fact, trusting that he knew.  But, I was not able to take any steps forward in my own faith.   

Figuring this would be as good as a confirmation  he would get from me, he started a Calvary Chapel, May of 2004.  For him it was an exciting time.  He knew that this is what God had been calling him to all along and now he was finally doing it.  I was there physically through it all but not spiritually.  I showed as much support as I could muster.  I wasn't even able to attend the first meetings which we held in our home on a weekday evening.  I had asked my supervisor to switch me to swing shifts.  I didn't do this on purpose to miss the home meetings but rather my primary purpose was to be home with the kids in the morning because they were on summer vacation.  Missing the meetings was just an added benefit that I secretly enjoyed.  Deep down inside I knew that God had not forsaken me and I had not forsaken Him but I simply had no idea as to where to go next in my walk.   

The churches start up home group grew very quickly and it was time to find our own building.  Darren had finished the paperwork of his personal affiliation with Calvary Chapel so that we could officially call the church a Calvary Chapel.   A local Seventh Day Adventist church was not using their building on Sunday mornings and agreed to rent it out to us for our use.  The arrangement was perfect and Darren and I (to a small but growing degree) were excited to see God work.     

On a personal level, God was going to use something very familiar to begin the process of healing in me.    I sat in the doctor’s office  summer of 2004 and explained to her why I really didn’t want to be pregnant again.  Of course, she knew what I had been through and she agreed.  She wanted to be sure, just for the record, that I wasn’t pregnant and then she could move on with plans.  After waiting the twenty minutes in her office, she walked in with a rather ominous look.   My heart sank.   All I could think was “oh no”.  Over and over in my head.  “Oh no”.   She sat and watched me cry.  What else could she do? 

             

My mind was in complete disarray on the way home.   I was pregnant and there was nothing I would do to change that fact.  I had waited for years at one time in my life to hear the words, “you’re pregnant” and now I dreaded them.  Pure anxiety.  I couldn’t be mad at God; I didn’t have the energy to be mad. 

 

Early in the morning one day, as I stood in my pajamas, arms and head hanging in utter despair, I prayed again, “Lord, if it is your will to take this baby too, please do it now”.    I knew He had heard me.   Needless to say, this was not going to be a happy time for me.

As the pregnancy progressed so did my anxiety.   As a matter of fact, I used my anxiety as an affront to the false doctrines that had recently become odious to me.    Almost as if these teachings were embodied in human form, I struck out at them with the weapons I had at my disposal.  Anxiety, fear and negative confessions were those weapons.  I recognized the fear and anxiety for what they were-human emotions-devoid of power outside of myself. Although, I had almost nonexistent faith, I was newly determined to place God in control of my life rather than my emotions or my words.          



  

Lessons in Control: chapter 12

One day as I was lying in bed, I saw a picture of a wall.   I knew immediately that the wall represented my faith.  The wall was being torn down.   I wondered to myself if the wall was going to be completely torn down.  But as soon as I asked that question, I knew that it had to be completely torn down.   I felt a strong assurance, even a joyful assurance, that the wall would be built back up correctly.  It would be sturdier, thicker, and much more able to withstand the storms of life.  That was all I knew, however.  I made mental assent and could not go any farther in my thinking.  I prayed this one prayer:  “Lord, I am incapable of making it through this.  Do what you will."  That was the last thing I prayed for several weeks.  The first thing that God used to begin to tear down this wall was a skiing trip.

         

I felt that I had been neglecting my kids  just a tad with the traumatic events of the last couple of months and wanted to do something fun.   I wanted to visit a friend.  He was a young man (I'll call him Ted) who had lived with us for nearly a year while doing an internship.  We all grew very fond of him and the kids were excited to see him again.  Since Ted's dad owned a ski shop in Angel fire New Mexico and there was a ski resort nearby, it seemed like the perfect set up.   We loaded up and headed to Angel Fire, New Mexico for a little skiing and fellowship.   We had a good visit.  Funny enough, or maybe not so funny, Ted's family were firm Kenneth Copeland and Kenneth Hagen devotees.   These men were/are the Word of Faith “fathers“.    Honestly, I didn’t even think about that at the time I headed down there, and I am not even sure I knew.  Anyway, we got our skis rent free, thanks to Ted's dad, and hit the mountain.    Joshua headed out by himself since I was fairly confident in his abilities and I stayed with young Alexis to teach her how to ski.   After our first little run down the practice slope a resort ranger skied up to me and asked me if I was Deanna Zent.   She informed me then that my son had been in an accident.  I wondered what stunt he had pulled.  It turned out that he hadn’t been pulling any stunt rather his ski had hit a hole and while he was falling and twisting his ski had failed to release causing a spiral fracture of both the bones in the lower part of his leg.   The nearest hospital was thirty miles away but it was a ninety minute trip over a winding mountain road.  Ted's aunt was very kind and drove Joshua and I to the hospital while I left Alexis with Ted's mother.  For Joshua this was ninety minutes of agony.  I felt so bad for him.  At the hospital we discovered that Joshua would not need surgery or any pins. I offered up a huge, “thank you God” for that.  We had been careful enough while moving him and everything was in the right place for healing.  The one drawback was that they could not fully cast him up due to the potential of dangerous swelling.  He would have to make the trip home with a half caste.  This meant that I would have to take the trip home slow and steady being careful to keep his leg as still as possible.    Since it was too late for us to start the trip home that night we spent the night at Ted's house and hit the road home early the next day.    I stayed up all night with Joshua in order to watch the swelling in his leg.  If the swelling got too bad I had to take him back to the hospital.  Thankfully, it did not swell too much. But essentially I had not slept.  Before heading out the door, Ted's mother, knowing everything we had been through over the last several months stated to me very gently and lovingly “You don’t have to let these bad things happen to you, you know.  The authority is there for you.  Tell the enemy that you’re not going to take it anymore.”   

The comment took me so off guard.  All I could muster was a very sarcastic comment, “I am in good company.  I guess Paul (in the Bible) did not know how to use his God given authority either.”   I knew the moment it came out of my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. She looked back at me with a very sullen look.  I am sure that I had probably hurt her feelings.  She had been very patient and kind through the whole ordeal and extremely hospitable.  Though wrong,  her comment was meant to help me. I knew I had to repent and for no good reason except to please my flesh I  refused to do so in that moment.  This set the tone for my trip home.  Wonderful as Jesus is, though, all things are used for our good.

             

I had a small car so Joshua had to take up the whole back seat and was positioned in such a way that there was no way he could put a seat belt on and Alexis had to sit in the front seat in her car seat.  Two big no-no‘s for me.   I was in bad frame of mind.  Exhausted, my poor attitude and the fact that my kids were placed poorly in the car sent me down the road in a fowl and angry mood.    About a half hour down the road, completely unexpectedly, my period started.  The pregnancy loss had messed up my cycle.   Of course, I had something set aside for emergencies but my pants and the car seat were fatalities.  I pulled over and stopped.   I looked ahead for traffic and looked behind for traffic.  Nothing was coming but it was the longest, straightest road with literally nothing but flat land for miles.  There was, literally, nothing to hide behind to change my clothes.   Joshua was a little out of it but not enough so to wonder about what was happening.   I told him that I had to change my clothes and please leave it at that with no more questions.  I changed, thankfully, with no traffic around and laid a towel on the seat.   Ok….off again.   The next few hours were calm.  I worked very hard to stay awake.   I had drunk some coffee before leaving the house but it was wearing off quick.   As we neared Pueblo, Colorado, Alexis started screaming.   I asked her what was wrong.  She yelled, “I am gonna throw up!”.  And she did at that.  She projectiled onto the dashboard and all over herself and the car seat.   I took a deep breath while my mood darkened a little bit farther.   I pulled off the interstate in Pueblo and found a gas station.  I unbuckled Alexis, grabbed some dirty clothes from the suitcase and then unbuckled the car seat.  I locked delirious Joshua into the car.   I headed to the bathroom with my two stink bombs in arm. In the bathroom I endured the questioning looks of others while I scrubbed the car seat and my daughter clean with thin paper towel and hand soap.   After a few minutes of this, I surrendered to the fact that my car was going to stink for the rest of the way home. 

            

After reaching the car, I realized that it was lunch time.  I looked at Joshua .  He was to osedated to eat and Alexis obviously wasn’t hungry.  I was definitely not in the mood for food so we headed on.  I had been keeping in contact with Darren on the way home.  He was very sympathetic and a bit worried.   Back onto the interstate.   About half way through Colorado Springs, I gave my folks a call to let them know what had happened.  I had to work very hard to hide  my exhaustion, frustration and anxiety from them. Trying to have a bright and cheerful tone to my voice  I let them know that I was not able to stop and say hi.  They completely understood.   

            

For some reason the traffic between Colorado Springs and Denver was very thick and moving well above the speed limit in both lanes.   I was literally bumper to bumper traffic and I had no choice but to go the 80-85 mph with the flow of traffic.   Actually, it struck me rather odd that this was happening.   I have traveled that road numerous times and had never seen that combination of traffic and speed before.  My anxiety level skyrocketed and my knuckles were white on the steering wheel.   Just before I got to Castle Rock, I happened to look to my left and saw a woman parallel to me in her vehicle.  The look in her eyes and face startled me.  I had no idea what I had done to illicit such a dark look but more than that I was just plain shocked by the malevolence of her glance.   These thoughts of mine took all of a split second when I heard a huge popping noise. It scared me so bad that I swerved but not enough to disturb the flow of traffic.  A large rock  had been thrown into my windshield by the car with the "evil stare" lady in it, creating a baseball size spiral crack.  That was it for me.  I had reached my point.   I experienced the first panic attack of my life while driving 85 mph on the interstate in bumper to bumper traffic.  There was no way I could pull off onto the shoulder of the road. I could not slow down at all.  I began hyperventilating and my vision was quickly fading.  The only thing I could think to do was hang on to the steering wheel and yell , ”JESUS” several times.   Due to His quick answer I was suddenly able to regulate my breathing. I took the first exit I saw.  At first, I didn't realize that I landed in the parking lot of a church.  I sat in the car and cried and shook and prayed.  When I did recognize what was around me I thought about going in to the church and asking for prayer.  Perhaps someone had seen me (and heard me) and had already started to pray cause I didn't long feel the need to leave my car.    Alexis had been screaming since the rock had hit the windshield.   I had blocked out her screams somehow.  They more sounded like screams in the distance.   Finally, after twenty minutes in the parked car, I was able to turn my attention to her.   Though, I was still shaking, I was in shape to calm Alexis and call my husband.  He offered to come get me but I knew that I had to get Joshua home as soon as possible and waiting two more hours wasn’t a good idea.    It suddenly dawned on me that I had not had anything to drink in many hours. I looked in the back seat to find that Joshua’s breathing was steady and peaceful.    We had not stopped to use the bathroom or eat either.   I slowly drove to a nearby gas station, woke my son enough to get a few answers from him, used the bathroom and paid for an ice tea and two soda pops.  Neither of them wanted food.  When I got back to the car I asked Joshua if he was ok with everything that had just happened.  He said he didn’t know what I was talking about.  Too astonished to say anything, I turned in my seat and offered up a silent prayer.   “Lord, I am completely feeling out of control, you’re going to have to get us home”.   I started the car with no confidence in either my ability to drive or in anyone else’s ability around me.  I simply needed to get home and there was no other way.   I looked at the clock and realized by the time we got to Denver it was going to be rush hour. 

             

As I drove in Denver my imagination became acutely aware of how many things could go wrong.  I focused on breathing and staying in my lane.  My muscles were exhausted because of the strength I was expending and had expended on gripping the steering wheel.  Never in my life had I felt so out of control.  After everything so far, there was absolutely no pretense of control left in me.   Rush hour turned out to be a blessing.  Though it took us longer to get home the speed of traffic was rather slow and I was just fine with slow.  On the road home from Denver I could hear the Lord whispering to me over and over, “you are not in control, I am”.   And for the first time in my life I began to believe Him.  

Changes: chapter 11

Darren felt a certain urgency to move forward in this new direction.   Although we served in all the areas we could;  cleaning the church, working in the nursery, children’s ministry, and youth, it was made very clear to us that this was as far as we could go in the ministry which is fine if these are the areas that God has called one to.  But it was not for us.  Since Darren knew that the Lord had called him on, we had to move on.  We spoke to the pastor of the church we were leaving and let him know that we bore no hard feelings but that it was just time for us to move on.  He wasn't happy but what pastor ever is when he loses members. 

             

We moved to a church which checked out doctrinally.  It was also a place where Darren felt there was room for him to pursue his ministry calling.  We served here faithfully cleaning toilets, scrubbing and vacuuming floors, teaching children, working in the nursery and doing whatever else needed to be done.  In time, Darren was placed as an elder and soon after as an assistant pastor.   He was blessed by being given the opportunity to teach and develop a gift that truly was of God.  Darren definitely had the call of pastor on his life.  I thoroughly enjoyed listening to him.    It was evident to all around him including our new pastor.

             

Astoundingly enough, to make a very long story short, Word of Faith doctrines made their way to forefront of the teaching.  But not only these doctrines made their way into our home church but also other beliefs which Darren deemed to be heretical. The two equally dangerous systems caused us great concern.  To make matters even worse a “Faith School” was  opened on Wednesday night’s teaching curriculum that clearly stating Word of Faith foundations.  Things really began heating up at church. Just as fast as these doctrines were making their way to the forefront, Darren too became bolder  about speaking out against them. 

             

Meanwhile, I found out that I was pregnant again.  Enter fear.   Because I was hearing from so many angles now how fear is the vehicle for disaster, I tried hard not to fear for this pregnancy.   This, in itself, is not necessarily a bad thing.   The problem for me was all about motivation.  I wasn’t controlling my fear out of any desire to please the Lord but rather out of superstition.    I might as well have watched to make sure I didn’t walk under any ladders, or ran into a black cat.  My beliefs were just a dangerous and deadly.   Other thoughts flooded my thinking.   Perhaps, fear is why I had lost the baby before.  Downward and downward I spiraled in my thinking.   In fact, no matter how hard I fought fear, fear became my master. 

         

On February 13^th, 2004 at my sixteenth week check up the ultrasound showed no heart activity. I went home on February 14th,  after the surgery and lay in bed, with a broken heart . My family was so compassionate and loving towards me that day.  First my husband walked into the bedroom with a card.  I did laugh because I knew how hard it must have been for him to buy what he considered to be a waste of money.  Don’t get me wrong, he lavishes me with gifts often just but rarely with something as "useless" as a card. But he knew what it would mean to me.  My son walked in next with a flower.  Next was my daughter with chocolate.  It was touching and I wanted to sit in bed and just bawl for how wonderful they were and for how much physical, mental and emotional pain I was in.  I shed a few tears and told them how grateful I was for their gifts.   They all sat on the bed for awhile trying to cheer me up.  After awhile, my husband could see that I was in need of rest and shooed them out.   It was then I let the stopper go and cried till the well ran dry.  

After this day, I stopped praying.  I stopped reading the Word.  I was angry and desperately bruised.  I directed much of my anger at God this time.  I was very careful not to do that with the last pregnancy loss.   It wasn't that I blamed God.   I knew He was there with me and I knew that He was all-powerful. God was just a convenient vent for my anger.

No one at the church ever mentioned anything about the pregnancy loss to us though everyone was aware.  There were no words of comfort or love offered.  No one brought us food or cards.  There was nothing.   The pastor and his wife came over one day to speak with us but nothing was mentioned about our loss and neither of them asked us how were doing with it.   Though hurtful it was not surprising.  If  "faith" teachings are taken to their full extent, then any believer who does not walk in their God given authority over negative circumstances, they are to be pitied. It was good for me to see their reaction in this way. It was the catalyst I needed to completely reject false faith. I was hurt by their actions but I did not hold  those actions against them as they made sense to me in light of their beliefs.  I understood that they were powerless to treat me any other way.  

Shortly after the pregnancy loss, three weeks to be exact, we were asked to step out of leadership at the church and were encouraged to leave.   This we did, believing that the timing of this action was not an accident.  Though it was never said, it was heavily implied that Darren was considered to be "at fault" spiritually for what had happened to the pregnancy.     And of course, it was deemed that he was no longer in line with the vision of the church; which was true.  Though painful for me in the way it was handled, it was no loss to us.  As a matter of fact it was just what we had been praying for.  Three months earlier we had started asking the Lord what he wanted us to do as we watched the churches doctrines go askew.   The pastor (I'll call him Charlie for the sake of ease) and Darren had agreed months earlier that when Charlie was ready to leave to start another church, Darren would become the new pastor.   Darren had all along made it clear that, “when this happens, I will be taking the church in my own God given direction”.  Charlie agreed to this full heartedly.  Due to this prior commitment that Darren had made, neither of us had peace about leaving  despite the teaching.  We continued to pray and ask God for clear direction.  Being asked or rather encouraged to leave was the release we had been seeking for.  

            

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Answered Prayer: chapter 10

Shortly after Darren and I married, I asked the Lord to teach me how to excel in the area of prayer.  The Lord answered this prayer in the year after losing our baby.  I spent hours a day in prayer.  I found such solace while I was praying. I prayed for my children, for the country,  for the nations leaders, for Billings, for the city we lived in, for our church, for the persecuted church and many other things.    And I prayed for my husband.  I prayed that my husband would fulfill his ministry. More specifically, I prayed 2 Timothy chapter 4 for him.  This scripture fit so completely with the ministry that I had sensed in his life.  Ironically enough, it seemed to me that Darren was called to hold the corporate church accountable to pure doctrine.  Though, I could not, at the time, communicate this near as eloquently as I just did here.  I knew it in my heart.  The irony that my husband would function in an area where I was so dysfunctional completely eluded me at the time.  But there isn’t irony in God’s scheme of things. 

             

Prayer was one area that I was firm and founded in.   In my earlier Lively Church days I had been taught that one should only pray one time for something and then stand in faith for that thing.  To pray more than one time for something showed a lack of faith.  For some reason it was not difficult for me to reject this line of thinking.  Although this contradicted Word of Faith teachings,  I had no trouble diligently praying scriptures over and over again.  Actually, each time I prayed in this fashion, my faith and hope grew by leaps and bounds.  It is precisely in this way that I prayed 2 Timothy chapter 4 for my husband day after day for five months. 

             

One night, after spending a couple of days at a youth retreat, he came home very excited.  He tearfully told me how the Lord had touched his life.  He began by telling me that the theme of the retreat was 2 Timothy Chapter 4.  He said to me, "I need to fulfill the ministry that God has laid aside for me". I started to cry then too.  I had never told him what I had been praying for him.  When I told him at that moment, we cried together in amazement. God determines when He is going to answer a prayer.  In many cases people pray for years with no visible results.  I say, keep praying!.  There are other areas that I am still praying about and have yet to "see" results.  Yet, I keep on.  In this case I had prayed for five months.  When God answered my prayer He answered it very specifically.  But then, praying the scripture is pretty specific.  

Token Trial: chapter 9

I spent hours in prayer the whole next year.  I had constant choices before me all the time.  I could either fester in my pain, try to ignore it or I could cry out to God with it.  Completely, by the grace of God, I almost always chose to cry out to God with my pain.  I had my moments of weakness when I indulged self pity but overall I made the right choices. I was surprised to learn that turning to the Lord during grief is a rather bittersweet experience.  On the one hand, the Lord was closer to me than one could possibly imagine. It is the sweetest most wonderful feeling but the process of expressing grief to the Lord is also excruciating.  I know, however, that after a full year spent in worship and prayer I gained, by God’s grace, victory over grief, in most areas, in a miraculous amount of time.   But all the while there was something else happening too. 

              

There was another war being waged within me; one which I kept guarded from the Lord. Whether I did this consciously or not, I don’t know.  I questioned the loss of my little baby through the glasses of the faith teachings. I did not, yet, possess all of the necessary tools  to truthfully cope with this trial.   In a little compartment in my heart and mind, I continued to hold  ideas hostage before the Lord.  This lengthened and complicated my grieving process in another way.  Leave it to human intellect to skirt God's truth even in the face of His wonder working power.   In that little compartment I still stood steadfast and unyielding to God's sovereign plan for my life.  I do not want to minimize what God had done in my life in another area because it was undoubtedly a step in the right direction.  Looking back I think to myself: “What could I possibly have been thinking while I watched as God performed a miracle in my life?”  But deep inside I know what I was thinking: “I have partook of my token trial and I am done now”.

           

Growing up in the Catholic Church prepared me for thinking that I could live the easier life.  We went to church and saw all the families standing around us with their children in their well pressed clothes.  Hair do's all in place.  The mass was always said and performed  nicely.  As a family, we came early, took our seats, knelt and prayed.  After wards, we left early never knowing what hardships the other families were experiencing.  And they never saw or knew what ones we might be experiencing either. My parents didn't purposely protect themselves in this regard it was just part of the culture of the church we attended.  But as a child growing up in this, I naturally thought that everyone was perfect and that their lives were perfectly tranquil.  Even at home, our life was the same steady pace day after day.  Very few ripples affected our lives.  No great traumas or trials crossed our paths that I ever knew of.  Sickness and tragic losses were foreign images to me.  I wasn't completely ignorant though.  I knew something wasn’t right.  That is to say, thank God that nothing horrible and traumatic did happen to us but somehow it did not fit with what I perceived was happening in the world around me.   Instead of creating a happy go lucky child these experiences drove me to wonder when the "bad" was going to hit us.  My parents were oblivious to my dilemma.  Had I shared my thoughts with them they probably would have "set me straight" in my thinking.  But alas I obsessed about when it was going to be our turn.  The question rang in my head, “When it did hit us, would I lose a parent or some such awful thing?”   I really wondered how long we could sail through life without any of the storms of life hitting us.  In my sinful way, I mentally tried to balance what I perceived as an unnatural charmed life  (in reality just a good childhood) with a life of fear and negative expectations.

            

My parents, to this day, appear to live the same way.  All of my siblings are "good" hard working responsible adults who never rebelled as teenagers to any notable degree.  We all get along and have fun together at family reunions.   We are all healthy for the most part.  With one or two exceptions, all of my brothers and sisters have had relatively smooth lives.  My folks are both healthy and are in their 80's.  They are happily married and are in relatively good spirits most of the time.  According to a worldly standard, they really did and do have a great life.   I was sort of torn in my adulthood.  One part of me expected to have a smooth life like my parents.  This is the part that fit perfectly with the foundations of the faith movement.  The other part of me knew that it was too much to ask and that the lightening was bound to strike.  This is the part of me that nurtured “fear and control”.  This is why I sort of became a control freak and decided that I would make sure that nothing bad would happen to me.   I just wasn't prepared for the Lord to love me so much He would make sure that it would.   When the baby died; that was that.   It had finally happened.   I could breathe freely and know that the bad had finally struck me and now I could go on and live just like my parents did.  As fantastic as it seems, I really believed this.  Little did I know God would relieve me of this fantasy.

Agony Understood; chapter 8

After two years of attending the Calvary Chapel in Billings, Darren and I felt that the Lord was calling us to move our family.  So with our three month old Alexis and seven year old Joshua we packed up our house and moved to Kansas; first.  We didn’t know where this journey would eventually land us.  As a matter of fact it took six months to end up at our final destination of Sterling, Colorado.  Here, we attended one church for two years.  It was a good church.  Suitable, but it wasn’t our home church in Billings.  We sorely missed Calvary Chapel. Darren even called some Calvary Chapels in the Colorado area to see if they would send someone to Sterling to start one.  Although, I did make some fabulous life long friends at this church; the false faith movement doctrines that were never taught from the pulpit were entertained by the women within the walls.  The flame of false faith continued to be fanned and fueled in me.    

            

 Darren and I were to endure our hardest trial at this church.  When Alexis was three, I found that I was pregnant again.  We were so excited.  We bought a more reliable car and a home.  The pregnancy went well.  No different from my previous ones except for some pre term labor issues which I learned to manage with a few simple techniques.  On the evening of Saturday, January 13, 2001; in my thirty-ninth week of gestation, I started labor.    When I awoke the next Sunday morning I felt strange.   Labor was still progressing very slowly and gently but it was there nonetheless.  After a couple of hours I finally realized what the problem was.  I had not felt the baby move.  I called the doctor and she had us meet her in the hospital.  My worst nightmare was realized.  The baby had died sometime in the night.  How can this sort of pain be described?   Even as I sit and write ten years later the memory is as real as it was that moment.  Nothing had prepared me for the grief that was so to ensue from this moment on.

             

One week later, on the morning of Sunday January 21, I made a difficult decision to go to church.  I knew it would be a painful thing.  Staying home, even in pain, was far more comfortable.  However, I also knew that I needed the Lord. I could have worshiped alone at home.  I could have read my Bible alone at home and it would have been ok and nobody would have blamed me.  Though, there is something precious and intimate about worshiping in the congregation of believers.  God is there in His power and fullness.   Once a person has entered into corporate worship, there is a sense of vulnerability.  I needed to share my pain with the Lord and I needed to do it publicly.  I stood there on Sunday morning, with arms lifted up, I cried and worshiped.  I didn't really care that so many were staring at me and weeping with me; sensing my desperate pain. It proved to be the most painful yet one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had.  No prayer meeting with “prophetic” women could even come close to that experience.  While I worshiped, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my Lord knew my agony. 

             

The body of believers at this church showed Darren and I an enormous amount of compassion during this time.  We were lavished with cards, calls, food, visitors and most of all love.  We felt embraced and cared for.  This body truly represented to us what God always intended for His body; to weep with those who weep and to laugh with those who laugh.  I will never forget this display of Christ’s love.

Good Stuff: chapter 7

In 1996 Darren started a job that required him to work weekends.  His days off were in the middle of the week.   This worked out fine for the family because Joshua had net yet started school.  His schedule, on the other hand, made church life rather difficult.   He was no longer able to go to Sunday morning service at our church because of the late hour in which it began.  Wednesday night home fellowships were his solitary means of fellowship and corporate study of the Word. Even though home fellowship was awesome, it was not enough and he felt as if he was starving.  Due to this, he searched out a church with an earlier service time on Sundays.  What he found very much enriched both of our walks with the Lord.

            

 He had heard of a new church that had been started nearby our home and he went diligently for several weeks.  I continued going to our home church and paying our tithe there.  When Darren came home with reports on the amazing teaching, I found myself becoming dissatisfied with the teaching at our own church of many years.  After awhile all the messages seemed to sound the same.    In addition to this, my relationship with Mary had slowly ebbed away.  I had grown weary of the searching.  I was past the questions and was ignorantly well on my way to dealing with the consequences of my wrong thinking.  For reasons completely outside of this church, I needed something to heal my mind. 

             

After weeks of prayer and talking it over, Darren and I decided to leave the church that Darren had called home for thirteen years and that I had called home for eight years.  We made the move and after a few months of listening to our new pastor teach through the scriptures book by book, chapter by chapter and verse by verse I began to realize that there was a hunger in me that I had either ignored or had just become numb to.  It felt good to have it slowly satiated.   Wayne, the pastor, taught us how to divide the scriptures correctly.  For the first time in my life, I began studying the Word properly so that I could discover for myself what it was saying.  I allowed the scriptures to speak for themselves rather than trying to crowbar my own agenda into them. Now I was truly searching the scriptures.  These studies left me breathless and full of tears in awe of God.  I saw how my thoughts and opinions paled in comparison to the depth of God’s wisdom.  I realized for the first time in my life how the Bible could speak for itself without personal bias tagging along.   The confusion and anxiety that I was experiencing began to drift away ever so slightly.  It was at this time that I finally began the slow process of rejecting the many lies I had been harboring. 

            

 Not only did the Lord bless us with this church, he also blessed us with another child, Alexis.  It had been seven years of desiring another child and the Lord heard my cry and gave me what I had asked of Him.  The pregnancy was smooth and uncomplicated.  Alexis was born healthy on the same day that Garth Brooks was singing in town and the same day that three tornadoes had touched down in Billings; the fourth of July, 1998.  It was quite a day.   Contrary to the day or the state of the weather, Alexis was a quiet and happy baby.

Faith, Fear and Control, Oh My!: chapter 6

Over the course of the next three to four years my false belief system began to emerge in not so nice ways. I had continued to obsessively search through scriptures concerning healing; which was producing a  profound confusion. I felt as though I was banging my head against the proverbial wall. I thought that I was yielding to the Lord by the fact that I was "searching" through the scriptures.  In reality, I was maintaining one mindset while acting as though I was open to what the Lord wanted to show me.  I was the epitome of being double minded (James 1:7-8).   I still had not recognized that my belief system was awry and because of my stubbornness almost everything else that flowed out of me was askew as well. I had read that book back in 1987 and talked with Darren but I had never acted upon those truths that the Lord had revealed to me.  I felt I could adjust my thinking to make things right, though the adjustment was done to soothe my conscience and not to please the Lord.

In order to understand what I went through next I need to explain some things about the Word of Faith movement.   I will use the analogy of a body. The head of this doctrine is a faulty definition of faith.  The heartbeat is control.   It is referred to as the Faith movement or Word of Faith movement because of its focus on faith.  Their definition of faith may appear to be similar to mainstream Christianity but in reality it is very different.  One of the very first phrases taught in course work at Word of Faith churches is this:  "Faith is a force".  According to them faith is a force outside of God that God utilized to create the world. The believer then needs to tap into this force, just as God did, in order to control the quality of life.  

            

 Here is a good example of how an indoctrinated person approaches faith:  Instead of directly trusting God through a God-ordained trial, the person places trust in the same faith that God utilizes and then claims God-like authority to remove the trial from his or her life. It is believed, then, that control over this trial is squarely placed in the believers lap.  All negative circumstances are contrived by the enemy and need to be stopped and reversed by the believer; nor should the believer speak about such incidents, but rather speak as if they were not happening.  This is an attempt to mimic God in His creative work.  God spoke all things into existence.  The Word of Faith doctrines teach that since we are created in the image of God we, too, have this power at our disposal.  A good example for this is when my friend Michelle tried to "speak" the plant back to health.  The believer, according to them, should use the tongue in such a manner to control health, finances, weather, and God.    If the believer is unable to produce a desired outcome than there is probably some sin or spirit in his life that is hindering his ability to utilize faith properly.  A lack of faith would be likened to someone with a maimed hand having trouble wielding a hammer.   If this is the case, the individual needs deliverance from this spirit or sin in their life that is creating the disability.   

             

Now for the heartbeat of the movement:  the faulty teaching that the Christian has control over their life. Last time I checked, humans were fallible and untrustworthy creatures. I don't know about you, but I do not want to be in control of my life.  I have met some heavy duty control freaks in my life and every single one of them is nearly paralyzed by anxiety.  From my own experience, I can tell you that the full fruition of this belief system is fear.  Although, one would never hear a disciple of the faith movement confess they are fearful.  I have found that fear is at the very core of what motivates them.  They are afraid of the negative things that happen in life and the pain associated with them: sickness, loss, death, financial struggles and the list goes on.  Who does relish these things?  Ironically, they believe that whatever is feared will come to pass. In other words, fear has the opposite power of faith.  Faith in faith produces "good" things.  Fear produces negatives things.  The result is a fear of fear.  Thus, fear is really like the connection from the head to the extremities.  If we were to present this movement as a body, this is what it would look like:  A head defining faith as a force.  A heart that beats, "I am in control".   And fear being the nervous system telling the legs and arms what to do. 

Unfortunately, because fear was something I struggled with long before my introduction to the Word of Faith movement, it was a perfect fit for me. Not only did I want to be in control of my life,  I  believed that it was a God given right in my life.  It was simply the next logical step for me to believe that complete surrender to God's sovereign plan for my life was not a visible option.  I feared many things in life and just could not relent to the fact that maybe God would or could use suffering in my life.   

Here I Go Again: chapter 5

After the project was over I returned home and did not return to Lively Church.   I stayed away because Darren and I had agreed that it was best if I went to a church similar to his church upon my return to college.  We both agreed that if we were serious about our relationship it would be best to have similar convictions.   After my return home from Aspen, I went back to life as usual and had all but forgotten about my Word of Faith leanings.  The new church I was attending taught me about the importance of the Bible.   It was also at this time that I made a fresh determination to believe that God’s word was inerrant.  It became a new pinnacle of belief for me.  My faith could be based on God’s word rather than on my experience.  This was good.

             

I moved to Darren’s home town of Billings, Montana on December 28, 1987.  It was here that I finished my Bachelors degree.  I married Darren September 3, of 1988.    Life was good.  We had a strong relationship.  We both loved the Lord and were determined to serve Him to the best of our ability.  

             

On October 6, 1989 I ended up in emergency surgery with a ruptured tubal pregnancy.  It was a little bit of a jar to my faith, but I recovered quickly both spiritually and physically.  On October 6, 1990, I gave birth to my first born, Joshua.  When Joshua was only three weeks old he was diagnosed with Bronchiollitis and anti-biotics were prescribed.  A few weeks later he was diagnosed with an ear infection.  He was prescribed anti-biotics.  Again, a few weeks later the ear infection was back.  I gave him the prescribed antibiotics again.  This cycle went on for two years.  At this point the doctor felt it necessary to put tubes in his ears.  So we did.   As soon as the tubes fell out and his ear canal healed the ear infections returned thus the use of anti-biotics. By the time Joshua was three years old, he was no longer able to tolerate the anti-biotics.   The poor boy was experiencing such wretched stomach pain that I slept with him in order to comfort him through the night.  This went on for five weeks until my mom suggested that I give him yogurt.  I had no understanding of the necessity of good bacteria in the intestines but thanks to my mom I started him on yogurt and finally, the pain disappeared.    At this point however, I was at a complete loss as to what to do about his ear infections. I was beside myself.   Antibiotics weren’t fixing the problem and they were creating problems of their own.  On top of these health issues Darren and I desperately wanted another child but it just wasn’t happening.  I was in turmoil again.

             

The church where Darren and I served was considered Charismatic, but the Word of Faith Doctrines were not taught over the pulpit.   There was, on the other hand, a lady in the church named “Mary”, who befriended me and reawakened the Faith movement teachings within me.  She was sympathetic towards me concerning Joshua's health concerns.  Because of Mary’s zeal, confidence and sincerity, I entertained her instruction.  I started in some small areas, still unsure about her urgings.  I did work to stir up my faith.  This seemed harmless enough.    I also started working by trying not to confess anything negative concerning my son or my family. What harm could there be in this?   I am certain that every conversation we had about healing, curses, positive confession and the like were done completely on her part out of love and concern for me.  She could see that I was confused and questioning some things.  She ministered to me in the only way she knew how.  However, sincerity and love are not replacements for truth.  I was, again, considering the dogmas that I had thought were long departed.  I was filled with confusion, fear, and guilt.  Somehow, because of past influences there was something deep inside of me telling me that I was at fault for my son’s illness.  Her persuasions did drive me further into studying the Word of God.  I had to find better answers.   

             

Because of this new relationship, Joshua’s issues and my own health issues, I started obsessing about health and healing in the Bible.  I wanted to believe that Mary was right.  I spent hours studying the Bible trying to find the answers I wanted to see.  I studied the Bible but I was getting more confused.  I didn’t understand how the Bible could be so seemingly ambiguous on such a prominent issue.  By the time Joshua was four years old (1994) I felt forced  to admit that God’s will for us as Christians was to be healthy though I had yet to find firm scriptural basis for this. I wasn’t completely sold on this belief but neither could I find any solid evidence to the contrary.   The conclusion I had temporarily drawn was this:  If we weren’t healthy it was our own fault somehow because we simply did not have enough faith.  I wasn’t particularly vocal about this belief, but on occasion it would slip out.  I recall one example of just such a slip.

             

One evening, at a home fellowship meeting, a couple asked for prayer because the husband had recently been diagnosed with cancer.  They were very distraught and frightened.   After we had prayed for them, the man’s wife and I got into a discussion about healing.  We both agreed that it was the right thing to do to pray for healing.  I couldn’t leave it at that.  I continued on by saying that if we don’t receive the healing it’s our own problem.  Needless to say she was stupefied and hurt.  Not catching the hint I blundered on.  I stated that it couldn’t possibly be either God’s will or His fault.  If it wasn’t God’s fault then it must be our fault and our problem.  Justifiably, she and her husband left in a hurry.  I hadn't meant to hurt their feelings, but that was the outcome.   My only motive was to help in some way.  Perhaps I had been searching for someone to confront and correct me.

              

From time to time, Darren and I would talk about my confusion concerning health and healing however, I was careful to mask the depth of my fixation to him.  Since it appeared to him that my concerns were minor, he concluded that it was better to let the Holy Spirit work it out in me.  This way, the conclusions I would draw would be permanent and not derived from wishy-washy human intellect.  He listened and gently commented but not enough to change my course.  I wish that I would have been honest with him and asked for help.  My struggles may have ended much sooner.           

 

Divine Appointments: chapter 4

I was the only one from my college Inter Varsity chapter to sign up for the Aspen Evangelism project.   My dad drove me up the mountain to Aspen that summer of 1987. The trip was uneventful and most pleasant.  I was one of the first to arrive at the Aspen project. I had free run of the place. I took the opportunity to walk around the small chalet which was to be my summer haven. A number of college students from all over the country were expected in the next few days. The leadership team had already started setting things up. Among those things was the book table. I took a moment to scan the titles. Upon first glance nothing really caught my attention until I perused them again and saw a book called, “The Health and Wealth Gospel”. The title was catchy. It sounded like a book that fit well with everything I had been learning.  However, just a cursory glance at the cover made me a little uncomfortable.  The book seemed to be little more than a neutral discussion concerning the teachings that had charmed me.  I guessed it to be a risky read.  I can't say why I thought that.  I left it there for the time being and thought it over. Thinking it over was an understatement. I couldn't get it off my mind so I decided to just read it and get it over with.   I liked what I read at first but as I progressed deeper into this piece of non-fiction I became both increasingly intrigued and anxious at the same time.   The first naggings started up in the back of my mind. 

The author started off talking about the "Faith Movement".  I hadn't heard of that movement but the concepts he described rang familiar.  It certainly wasn‘t what I would call relaxed reading.   Some of the testimonials of people who held to this system of beliefs were shocking. So shocking I wasn’t sure I could believe them. The book startled me. I had to ask myself, “Were these 'Faith Movement' ideologies really one and the same with those that I thought were so cool?”  How could the beliefs which produced joy and excitement in me be the same ones that caused heart ache and even death in others? I put the book aside for several days but I was unsuccessful at forgetting about it.  The stories played over and over in my head.  The more I thought about it the more defensive and angry I became.  I was trying desperately to justify my beliefs in light of this book but in reality deep down I knew that these stories represented my beliefs.  And if that were the case I was in trouble.   Knowing this, however, and acting on it were two different things. The conflict threw me into a tail spin.   

To say the least, I was confused. I have very few memories outside my own dilemma for a portion of that summer due to the fact that I was so preoccupied.  I literally lived with a pendulum of thoughts and emotions. One moment, I was stubbornly convinced that the last six months of experience and learning were well founded and the next moment I questioned my salvation.  Much of my walk with the Lord up to this point was based on experience therefore if one part of my experience was coming into question perhaps all of it should be questioned.   My tenuous faith was teetering and I believed that it was the fault of that book. To this day, I remember one story that haunted me constantly.  It was a story about parents who refused to take their daughter to the doctor because they believed if they had enough faith God would surely heal her.  They prayed for her at home instead. According to them, it was a lack of faith by taking her to the doctor and therefore God would not heal her.  Their only seeming choice was to stick it out by believing God.  The little girl died.  I wondered how these people could be so backward as to let their own daughter die, on the other hand, this was the only kind of faith that made sense to me.  It was the only way I had been  taught to believe.  I could not conceive of any other way.  If the way I had been taught was wrong, my whole infrastructure and foundation was at risk too, leaving me spiritually sinking.   Now I knew why reading this book was risky. 

For some strange reason, however, I felt compelled to finish it.   But before I could do this I needed to know more about the book and the author. There was a fellow named Darren Zent attending the Aspen Evangelism project who was very well read in a lot of Christian non-fiction.  I asked him about the book.  He had read the book and said that it was very good.  I remember thinking that it was possible that Darren didn’t know what he was talking about.  Somehow, however, I wasn’t able to convince myself of this.   Eventually, I admitted to myself that there were no excuses left. I had to finish the book.  

 Meanwhile, Darren inquired about my curiosity. I have never been a private person. I have always been open about my life to anyone interested.  Therefore, when he asked, I spilled everything I had been going through since I had started reading it. I couldn’t have chosen a better person to open up to. Not only had he read it but he was also very familiar with the movement the author addressed. We conversed at length about this movement. He was not shy about his complete disagreement with anything and everything tied to this particular faction of Christianity.  I argued with him, still not willing to abandon all of my allegiance.  I could, on the other hand, concede that the extremes of the movement were harmful and I wasn’t going to be extreme. After many nights of debate with Darren, I solidly determined that my belief system was ok as long as it stayed balanced.  This newly fostered frame of mind calmed my wavering faith for the time being.  I was okay or so I thought.

In our very first conversation, Darren delivered a scripturally firm foundation which girded up my faith forever concerning my salvation and my experience in the Baptism in the Holy Spirit.  It was this conversation, too, which firmly delivered my heart into his hands.  From that moment on he was to me "the friend who sticks closer than a brother" (Prov. 18:24). Darren and I became very good friends and spent hours talking and praying together that summer. What I did not know was that before Darren and I really ever spoke together seriously he was being teased ruthlessly by his room mates because of his crush on me. They played relentless jokes on him and many of these tactics were done right in front of me.   Either I was too consumed by the conflict within me to notice or the Lord protected me until such a time that He opened the door of relationship.  Probably both are true.  Either way, I am thankful.  He and I went on to minister the Baptism of the Holy Spirit to nine other people that summer.  It was remarkable and unforgettable.  We got engaged in October of 1987.

Hook, Line and Sinker: chapter 3

I stuck it out with the Catholic Church for two years after my salvation. After my life changing experience with God, the Catholic services no longer struck me as interesting, pious or holy but rather dry and rote. I had been taught by my precious mother that we were part of the one true church started by Peter himself.  However, the Catholic Church I had experienced was not anything like the church accounted for in Acts and although Peter was a paramount part of this Biblical model, something wasn't lining up. I very much wanted to believe my mom so I talked to the priests about my concerns. I never received an answer that came remotely close to answering my questions. To top it off, the priests were clearly annoyed that I would ask such questions. I became increasingly indignant with the Catholic Church for not meeting my needs and not answering my questions adequately.  

It broke my heart to break my parent’s hearts but I had to leave the church and find my own spiritual way.   I felt like a withering grape on the vine.  I had an overwhelming drive to know more about God and His Word. It was in my second year of college, when I was nineteen years old, I blindly skipped off into Christendom without a map.  I wandered from this church to that church for awhile but “Lively Church” was where my happy-go-lucky skipping finally landed me.  The only thing that I knew for sure about this place was that they did believe in speaking in tongues.  This was enough for me.

I continued going to Lively Church where the “prophetess” had visited early in 1987.  It was the excitement and the energy of the place that attracted me.  It seemed like a lot of fun.  I diligently listened to the pastor’s teaching.  At first, most of the notions he presented were difficult for me to grasp.  Nonetheless, I found his concepts captivating and my ravishing hunger seemed to be satisfied.   What I also found to be just as striking as the pastor’s teaching was the rich fellowship of fellow college students who attended the church as well.  I found the content of their numerous campus discussions to be exhilarating.  It did not take long for the Lively Church concepts to burrow deep into my thinking.  To this day I can remember these campus conversations concerning wealth, our authority over sickness, the power of the spoken word, our rights and privileges as God’s children and the principals of faith.  Every chance we fellow Lively Church goers had, we buckled down to our theological discussions.  Being the novice that I was, I was content, at first, to listen, taking in and soaking up the new information whenever I could. They never argued but they sure did laugh a lot.  Eventually it dawned on me that the laughter was due to their giddy astonishment about how much Christians could and should have.  Slowly but surely I did involve myself in the conversations.  It all began to make sense to me and it seemed to fit into what I had read so far in the Bible.  

Looking back I can say with all assurance that a very few good things came from my time with these believers.   Among the few things that was good was that I started praying much more by myself and with other believers. An upperclassman named “Michelle” had befriended me. She and I hung out together regularly.  She taught me the “Way”.   We alternately took turns meeting each morning at six in our dorm rooms to pray for an hour.

 Praying was the end of her good influence on me, however. One particular day stands out in my memory.  Michelle and I were on an errand to water some plants at a friend’s house that was out of town.   One of the plants was dying. Rather loudly, Michelle proclaimed to the plant "live in Jesus’ Name!” After I got over my initial fright I joined in her excitement over the authority we thought sure was ours for the taking.  We just knew that the plant would live. We talked all the way home about the power we have in our tongue over life and death. Both of us questioned why we didn’t see more Christians speaking in such a manner to reflect this truth. We concluded that we were enlightened but other believers were not. I think we both considered, from that moment on, that it was our primary objective to convert as many people as we could to this form of Christianity.  We never knew if the plant lived or died. 

I submerged myself in the new found role of the illuminated believer. I walked around campus all smiles unafraid to voice my love and praise for Jesus. I truly was in love with Jesus. Why didn’t other believers exclaim their love for Him as boisterously as I did?  I boldly voiced what I confidently held as truth at the IVCF meetings, which I still visited on occasion. One can only imagine the response I received there.  And it was these responses which caused me to completely stop attending these meetings. I had no intent to hurt, offend, or anger my other Christian friends.  I was moving forward in my faith in the best way I knew how.  In the long run it mattered little what others thought of me or what I vocalized; I was set on my fresh course in life. No one could discourage me.

Every week the college church group met for home prayer meetings at different ladies homes. The meetings were attended by just us college kids and a few ladies. I wasn’t the only one who thought that these meetings were intoxicating.  My church friends and I went regularly. I looked forward to these so much that I would daydream about what might happen.  First, we would spend some time in worship. The emotion I felt during worship was intense. Then we would pray.  The praying didn’t seem to last very long. It usually ended abruptly because one of the matronly ladies had a prophetic word or a vision she wanted to share. The supernatural essence of these meetings greatly appealed to me.  I never questioned what happened there. We rarely read the Bible at these meetings and I never protested that either.  I read the Bible at home and it was referred to in church. That was enough for me. I inherently trusted these people.  I had no reason not to.  They appeared to care about me.  Not knowing any better I received with a whole heart. 

 I faithfully attended Lively Church and the prayer meetings for six months.  In these six months I adopted beliefs that would affect my life profoundly for years to come.  If anyone had asked me to write a paper on what I believed at the end of those six months, I doubt I could have filled half of a page.  I had strong ideas and I could spit out jargon like nobodies business but I had no idea what was deeply embedded in these beliefs.    I could quote scriptures that had been quoted to me.  I could repeat key teachings of the men, Kenneth Copeland, Charles Capps and Kenneth Hagin; not grasping the essence of the teaching itself.  I had never heard of the Word of Faith movement but I was accepting its most prominent doctrines.   I was just like the fish who found what it thought to be a real juicy meal.  Like the unaware fish, I listened; I swallowed, hook, line and sinker.