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My wife Kathy and I have been blessed with five wonderful grandchildren. This story is about two of the greatest kids you could ever know, Miss Abigail Accomando and her sister Madelyn. For simplicity I will henceforth refer to them as Abby and Maddy.

About two years ago they moved from their home in southern California to beautiful Gilbert Arizona; about thirty minutes south of Phoenix and about an hour’s drive from my home.

In California their church attendance was sporadic but they were exposed to the things of Christ. Following their move to Arizona their church attendance went from sometimes to never, even though we encouraged Kim and her husband, Chris to find a church. Not long ago Kim’s hairdresser told her about her church Mission Community Church  and how great it was. That invitation turned into a visit, then regular attendance.  And so the story unfolds.

Just before Easter we had the opportunity to visit and attend the service with them and it was one of the greatest experiences anyone could want. The music was fantastic and the minister’s message was right on the money, applicable to everyday life.

Shortly after this our middle daughter Leslie felt strongly that she was to pay for Abby and Maddy to attend summer camp. Since neither of these kids had really been exposed to much of the Gospel she really felt that this was something God wanted her to do, so I encouraged her to obey. In fact; in her own words, she said the felt this was most important.

Leslie gave the money to pay for the summer camp. Neither of these kids had ever accepted Christ and the oldest (Abby) was a little apprehensive which is understandable but Maddy was ready to go.

Maddy went first. Her camp was filled with excitement, lots of recreation and also chapel twice a day where they had the gospel explained to them. She wrote that on the second day (the 12^th of July) they asked everyone who wanted to accept Christ to stand up. She wrote that she was shy and although she raised her hand first she did not stand. On the third day (the 13^th of July) which just happens to be my birthday the leader again asked anyone who wanted to accept Christ to stand up. She said that she felt that God had given her another chance so she stood up and prayed to receive Christ.

Abby went the following week. Abby is 15 years old and kind of quiet, although very intelligent and loving.  What goes on in a 15 year olds head can be a mystery so Leslie, myself and one of my best friends in California committed to pray for her every day. Well let me ask; does God answer prayer? If not then why pray?

Yesterday Kimberley called me crying and told me that Abby had called her and told her that she had accepted Christ and there was going to be a baptismal service that night and she was going to be baptized with her friends. The only request Kim had was that she be baptized again at the next baptismal service at the church so we could all celebrate. Of course Abby agreed.

And so – welcome to the Family of God my children. I haven’t stopped celebrating since I received the good news.

If you have children or grandchildren who are not walking with the Lord, never give up. Pray but also talk with them about their walk or lack thereof with Jesus. It’s not about attending church although Scripture teaches the importance of this; however many people have gone to church all their lives and still gone to hell. Christ wants to have a relationship with you and a relationship is more, much more than attending church.

She wrote this in a letter to a good friend of mine in California who emailed it to me. I got so excited I just haven’t been able to stop talking about it and rejoicing over what God is doing. So why am I surprised? I had prayed for this child every day for the last 13 years. God does hear and answer our prayers, doesn’t he? If not then why pray? Here is what she learned and wrote to my friend —

“In Middle School Ministries we read 1 John 2:15 – 17. We talked about how it warns us not to love the world, where in John 3:16 it tells us that “God loved the world”. That’s because in John 3:16 he meant he loved his children on earth, the children of the world. 1 John 2:15 -17 means don’t love what people do in the world.

Then we talked about the three things that we are warned about in 1 John 2:16.  You see when we try to be perfect women in the eye of a man it is the outer us they see and desire that and we turn into that. Our humanity is taken away. We are more of an object than a human.”

Well folks, that is pretty profound for a 13 year old who has not had a lot of Bible training.

The object of this lesson is if your kids have not been walking with the Lord – NEVER, NEVER give up. There is more power in prayer than we know. God wants to save our kids and grandkids more than we want him to.

If you raised your children in the things of God and they seem to have discarded the teachings, PRAY. God will answer your prayers. ‘Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.’ (Jeremiah 33:3)

Some say you left home,

I say you went home.

Some say they miss you,

I say I’m happy for you.

Some people cry of sadness,

I prefer to cry of happiness.

No matter where I go,

You’ll be with me.

I miss you now,

But one day I will rejoice again.

You didn’t abandon me,

Everyday you walk by my side.

You went to the Lord 5 years ago,

I just turned 8.

It was too soon for me,

But it wasn’t for you.

The Lord needs the best,

And you were one of them.

He eased your pain and gave you strength,

He fixed what was once broken.

I will love you forever,

You will always be in a special spot in my heart.

We will never part,

Every day I think of our few, but great, memories.

You know I can’t wait to see you one day in the far future

I love you grandma.

]]> http://firequill.wordpress.com/2011/04/11/grandma-by-madelyn-accomando-kathys-grandaughter/feed/ 0 firequill http://firequill.wordpress.com/2010/03/01/kathy%e2%80%99s-testimony-as-written-to-a-friend-in-taiwan/ http://firequill.wordpress.com/2010/03/01/kathy%e2%80%99s-testimony-as-written-to-a-friend-in-taiwan/#comments Mon, 01 Mar 2010 17:55:21 +0000 firequill http://firequill.wordpress.com/?p=843 ]]> Webmasters note: A few years back we had the privilege of hosting a student from Taiwan for about ten days. This was a charming young lady and after she returned home Kathy mailed her the following letter giving her testimony of how she became a follower of Jesus Christ. I hope you enjoy it and if by some chance you haven’t given your life to the Master, do so now; why put it off? God loves you and sent Jesus to pay for your salvation. The price is paid, the gift is yours but you must claim it to make it your own.

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Let’s see.  Today I am going to tell you how I became a follower of Jesus Christ. I used to say “how I became a Christian”, but that term has so been misrepresented by the world that I have changed it.  My faith is my life.

When I was seventeen, I graduated from high school.  I did not come from a religious family.  My mother was Roman Catholic and my father Protestant.  But by the time my brother and I were born, they didn’t attend church.  My grandfather was a Christian and he took Gary and me to church with him.  That was really my only education as far as the things of God.  But when we moved to California, his influence ceased, so I didn’t go to church much at all.

When I was in high school, I had a friend who’s father was the Methodist minister in our town.  I loved my friend and her family.  They were loving and kind just as my own family was, but they were different.  Their love seemed to come from a common source, whereas in my family we all loved from our own innermost beings.  That’s probably badly written, but it’s the best I can do.  Anyway, my friend’s family spoke of God as though he were a dear friend.  I always thought of God as someone who lived way off in heaven.  I certainly never thought he was the least bit interested in my life.

While I enjoyed being in their home, I didn’t enjoy talking about God.  But it seemed to me that this was normal to them as breathing. I sensed, even as a non-Christian, that to involve God in my life would demand much more than I was willing to give.  I was right.

When I graduated another friend of mine and I went to Pasadena California to go to college.  We became roommates.  Here I was, 17 with an apartment of my own, a checking account and a 4 year scholarship.  I thought I was really grown up and that the world was going to be lucky to have me show it what life was all about!  In other words, my head was a lot bigger than my brains.

Unknown to me, my Christian friend was in college 3,000 miles away praying for me.  God heard those prayers, and proceeded to answer them.  The first morning of school I awakened with the most unhappy, miserable feeling I had ever had.  What had happened to the joy of yesterday?  I was so unhappy I didn’t want to live!  I know now that this was God working in my life to turn me to Him.

As the days dragged on, my misery became more intense.  My roommate was worried about me, but when she tried to find out what was wrong, I couldn’t tell her.  I didn’t know myself.  I only knew that if my emotional anguish was going to continue, I didn’t want to go on living.  I couldn’t eat and lost weight and I couldn’t sleep.

I began reading books on religion in the college library.  They were no help.  Finally one day I checked out a Bible and began reading in Romans.  The first chapter told me what my problem was: I was a sinner and God hates sin.  I assumed that meant He hated me too.  I am so happy I was wrong about that.

Now that I knew I was a sinner, I was faced with what I thought were two solutions.  I could end my life, but reading the Bible had convinced me there was a hell — a place of eternal separation from God.  I certainly had no desire to go there.  The other solution would be to live a life of good works pleasing to God.  Perhaps then he would overlook my sins.  So, I set about being good.  But I couldn’t.  If I wasn’t doing something wrong, I was always thinking something wrong.  It was like trying to catch the wind in my hands.  All this venture did was convince me more deeply than ever that I was indeed a sinner.  What to do?

I wrote to my Christian friend and told her of my misery.  I also told her that I was going to visit her dad next time I was home for a weekend.  And that’s exactly what I did.

Keep in mind that during this time I was reading the Bible many hours a day and praying too.  I felt like my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling and falling back to earth, and every verse I read just affirmed that God hated sin and would someday judge it.  You can imagine what my studies were like.  I couldn’t concentrate on my books or classes.  I was failing some of them.  My parents were very upset about that.  When I graduated from high school, I was an honor student, I won a scholarship.  What happened, they wanted to know.  I couldn’t make them understand what I was going through.

On my next trip home I went to see my friend’s father.  I felt awkward and didn’t know how to tell them what I was going through.  But they were wise people, and they knew that God was working in my life.  I told them how wonderful school was and how happy I was — which was of course not true.  I remember sitting there feeling like I was going to shatter into a million pieces.  Finally, he began telling me how happy my friend was because she was learning about God and how much He loved her.

That was too much!  I broke down and cried.  The minister and his wife just sat there patiently and let me cry.  Then I looked up at him and said, “Do you think God would do for me what He’s doing in Pat’s life?”

“Of course He would.  He loves you and that’s why you’re here”, they replied.  God loved me?  Me, Kathy, with all my shortcomings and the weight of my sins.  Oh, if it were only true!  How I wanted to believe.

He took out his Bible and showed me all the verses where Christ said that he had come to die for a lost world.  In all the times I had read the Bible, I had never read that.  I know now that God had blinded me to these passages until I was convinced that I was a sinner.  How wise he is to lead us one step at a time.

Then they asked me if I would like to pray and ask Christ to forgive my sins, come into my heart and make me a new creation.  Would I!  And that’s what I did.  When I left that house to go back to college, I was a new Kathy with a new life stretching before me.  Where there had been unhappiness and misery and a fear of God, there was now joy and a new relationship with God.  He was no longer my judge, He was my father.  He had loved me all along and had brought me through this terrible time so he could show me that great love.  There is a verse in Jeremiah that says, “Behold, I loved thee with an everlasting love and drawn thee to myself.”

Daphane, how strange yet wonderful that telling you this after all these years (34) is just as exciting and vibrant as though it happened ten minutes ago.  And how wonderful to share it with you. I have failed many times in my walk with Christ, but he has always been there with his love and forgiveness.  I have learned that the only strength to live a life pleasing to him comes from him.  I have also learned to love his word.  I have studied and taught the Bible for many years.  There’s so much more to learn.

Agoraphobia: fear of the marketplace.  This unrelenting terror stalked into every room of my life demanding dominion and dread—a world without end, until I dreaded anyplace away from the safety and security of home

When did it start?  I can’t say.  Somewhere along the way my shyness became a monster of uncontrollable dimension until much of the past twenty years was an everyday wrestling match with the overwhelming desire to venture less and less into the world outside my front door. The days when I wrestled less, was due only to the wonderful grace of God.

Through those years our three children never discerned my fear.  I never talked about it.  A mistake?  Perhaps.  I guess I was afraid they might “catch it.”  I seldom told anyone, and when I did my words were vague and carefully chosen.  You see fear is like the child molester who threatens the victim with awful reprisals for telling.  Long to share it with someone, and it whispers, “Tell anyone, and I’ll become even worse.  I’ll drive every friend away.  I’ll make them think that you’re bad and crazy and should be locked away.”

During the second year of our marriage, I finally told my husband, Dewey.  And then only because our relationship was threatened by my resistance to discussing the times I refused to leave the house.

His response to my tearful confession blessed and astounded me.  “Let’s pray.  God knows how to handle this.  You are not crazy and I am not leaving you.  I love you, Kathy.”  With that he knelt with me in his arms and prayed.  Never did this wise, gentle man say, “Get a grip, woman!”  His love for me coupled with his faith in God kept me from going under.

Throughout the years of child rearing, drama ministry, Bible teaching and writing and speaking, God answered my husband’s prayers, and gave me His grace.  I went in that grace – that amazing grace, on vacations, retreats and other places.  That same grace carried me on those days when going to the market for a loaf of bread took every ounce of the prayerful courage God always gave me.

Looking back, it seems such an enigma.  Our home was happy and filled with laughter.  I loved inviting people in.  There was always something going on in our home — Bible studies, a back yard barbecue, parties or games.  God was teaching me to rejoice and even enjoy peace in the midst of the fire.  Yet, I knew the monster of fear would lock me in my home and never let me out if I allowed it.

During those years the Bible became my shield of sanity.  I loved teaching Bible studies; often remarking to my classes, “How can anyone get through life without God and His Word?”  Wasn’t I living proof?

I served on the staff of a local church as drama director.  One year at the peak of a successful drama season, the fear became more constant; as though punishing me for success.       One day, I read II Corinthians 12 where Paul talks about his thorn in the flesh.  Three times he begged God to remove it, three times God told him that His strength was perfected in Paul’s weakness.  Paul agreed with God that boasting in his affliction, not begging for its removal, brought glory to God.

Deeply stirred by this passage, I knelt and prayed,  “Father, I have begged you hundreds of times to remove this thorn from me, but you never have.  If then, this thorn brings you glory, I thank you for it and I will never again ask you to take it from me.”  I stood up firm in this new resolve.

The phobia became even worse!

But I kept thanking Him and began to tell others.  I started with my Bible study group.  Of course, no one called me crazy.  They returned next week, so I guess they concluded I wasn’t too crazy to teach.  In the ensuing weeks they were shining jewels of love and prayer in my life.  Their comfort and assurance of acceptance and faith made my faltering steps into God’s grace surer.

I took another step of faith from God’s Word.  Luke 17: 11 – 14, tell about the healing of ten lepers.  Jesus told them to go show themselves to the priests; a strange command since they still had leprosy.  But as they turned to obey Jesus, verse 14 says, “. . .as they were going, they were cleansed.”  I promised God that I would go wherever He sent me.

About a week later, a friend from Albuquerque called.  “Come be one of the workshop leaders at our retreat.”

“Go out of state — in an airplane!  Come on, Lord.  I have my limits.”  (I envisioned the quizzical lift of the celestial eyebrow over that announcement.)  I remembered my promise.

“Okay.  You have no limits.  I am going to go on that plane, and if they take me off babbling and drooling, I’ll be babbling and drooling in Albuquerque.”  I called my friend and told her I would be there.

The Sunday before I was to leave, while sitting in the church service it seemed that everything and everyone around me seemed to fade away.  It seemed as though God said, This trial is over.”

Startled I looked about me.  Was this real, I questioned?

“Lord,” I prayed. “If this is not just wishful thinking or some head game, have Dot wait for me after the service.”

My friend, Dot, was seated three rows in front of me.  One of the busiest women in our church, the last word of the benediction was her springboard into action, usually off and running before I stood up.

But this Sunday there, waiting at the end of her row, was Dot; a questioning look on her face.  “Kathy, during the benediction I had the strongest feeling that you wanted to tell me something.”

Goose bumps the size of cantaloupes took up residence on my arms.  I whisked her off to a quiet corner and told her what happened.  I told my husband when we got home, I told my women’s Bible study group the next week, and then I flew to Albuquerque.

Guess what?  Not a babble did I babble, not a drool did I drool.  It was over; the long journey was over — at least that one.

While the healing means much to me, I glean from the pages of Scripture that it is not the healing alone that glorifies God. I believe when I stand before the judgement seat of Christ, the glory I give to Him will be the walk — the terrible, wonderful jeweled walk into unknown places with fear and trembling.  I see in my mind’s eye, as I stand there with Christ in heaven, how He will put his arm about me, and point to a blazing instant replay that shows Kathy dancing on hind’s feet across every mountain that in her earthly mind had loomed so threateningly.  “See, how faithful the Father was?” He will say to me.   “See how you were never left alone for a moment?  How you were never out of the sight of our grace and mercy.  That’s the glory, child.”

Then will I shout through tears of laughter, “Thank you for Your grace that never failed.  Thank you again for the awesome gift that glorified You and made You more real to me.”

Your trial, your illness, your affliction will not last one moment longer or end one moment sooner than His eternal loving design has ordained. But in its midst I can promise you the sufficient grace of God so richly offered moment by agonizing moment basis.

You see, I learned that when you just can’t take anymore, you can — with Him.

This is due to a malfunction in the original prototype units code named Adam and Eve, resulting in the reproduction of the same defect in all subsequent units.

This defect has been technically termed “Sub-sequential Internal Non-Morality,” or more commonly known as S.I.N., as it is primarily expressed.

Some other symptoms include:

1. Loss of direction

2. Foul vocal emissions

3. Amnesia of origin

4. Lack of peace and joy

5. Selfish or violent behavior

6. Depression or confusion in the mental component

7. Fearfulness

8. Idolatry

9. Rebellion

The Manufacturer, who is neither liable nor at fault for this defect, is providing factory-authorized repair and service free of charge to correct this SIN defect.  The Repair Technician, Jesus, has most generously offered to bear the entire burden of the staggering cost of these repairs.  There is no additional fee required.

The number to call for repair in all areas is: P-R-A-Y-E-R.

Once connected, please upload your burden of SIN through the REPENTANCE  procedure.  Next, download ATONEMENT from the Repair Technician,  Jesus, into the heart component.  No matter how big or small the SIN defect is, Jesus will replace it with:

1. Love

2. Joy

3. Peace

4. Patience

5. Kindness

6. Goodness

7. Faithfulness

8. Gentleness

9. Self control

Please see the operating manual, the B.I.B.L.E. (Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth) for further details on the use of these fixes.

WARNING:  Continuing to operate the human being unit without correction voids any manufacturer warranties, exposing the unit to dangers and problems too numerous to list and will result in the human unit being permanently impounded.

DANGER:  The human being units not responding to this recall action will have to be scrapped in the furnace.  The SIN defect will not be permitted to enter Heaven so as to prevent contamination of that facility.

Thank you for your attention!

Please visit Kathy’s website

Need a car loan but have bad credit? You will qualify!!

You see, my mask and I are almost inseparable. Almost. I’ve worn it for years and pressed it so close to my face that one would think it might at last become part of my flesh. But hard as I press, and as often as I wear it, it is still removable, thus necessitating my having my having to replace it daily upon my face.

My mask makes me unique. No one else has one like it. I made it myself. It has taken years of molding and shaping. I thought it would never harden. Often I had to rearrange its features for they would slip into lines of emotions:  Happiness, sorrow, or worse a vulnerable openness. Once I was almost tempted to take it off in a moment of a friend’s grief to let her see my lines of sorrow and care, but, thank goodness, I caught myself in the nick of time and kept it firmly in place.

I wear it to church, Bible study, funerals, weddings, prayer meetings, neighborhood coffee klatches and work. It has protected me from the heartaches, joys and trials of others, keeping me safely inside and them safely outside.

But lately I’ve been having recurring pains behind its insulating hardness. It sometimes pinches as though too tight and when I take it off at night I notice fleetingly, in certain light, that my fleshly features are beginning to resemble those of the masks. at first I thought, “Wonderful, it will spare me the trouble of taking it off and on”.  But now I find a reluctance, no, almost a terror at the possibility of being permanently locked behind this impassive visage of my own design.

Also, during my times of prayer, I sometimes imagine God asking me to remove the mask and give it into his permanent keeping. But then I must be mistaken. Surely he doesn’t want me, his child, to be hurt. Besides didn’t he give me the ability to create it?

But still more and more often I feel my thoughts and emotions welling up and hurtling themselves against the inside of my mask. There are times when I think that one more thrust will shatter it, and there I will be for all the world to see:  Open, naked, defenseless, plagued by trials, weakness, hungers and loneliness.

I have read in the Word that God’s grace is sufficient for such a revealing torment. But for now my only question is, “Will my mask hold against this stormy onslaught?”  You see if all fails, then I may have to avail myself of that terrible frightening grace, but for now I must be a good, “Christian” steward of my mask, mustn’t I? I mean you all understand, don’t you? Especially those of you with masks of your own to care for. Perhaps a little more glue at these spots under the eyes that seemed to have weakened due to some moisture.  Probably the rain. Yes, no doubt the rain.

I knew you needed a nickel to buy a banana Popsicle and a towering ice cream cone (it was 1946).  I knew the grumpy old man at the newspaper stand demanded a nickel for two Tootsie Rolls (twice the size of the ones you get nowadays for fifty cents).  My nickel would purchase ten, two-for-a penny lollipops.  Oh, yes, I knew all about nickels.  My five year old mind reveled in a wanton gateway to confectionery luxuries.

Little did I know that my nickel would never buy these delicacies.  Had fear and misery been stock and bonds, my nickel was about to reap an investment that would have been the envy of any stock broker.

As the day wound into a lazy summer afternoon, I grew tired of caressing my nickel.  So I popped it into my mouth.  I reveled in the new sensation of shiny metallic taste clinking against my teeth.  I switched it back and forth from cheek to cheek, scrubbing it with my tongue.  I strolled by Grandmother, cheek bulging with the coin of the realm.

“Kathy, take that nickel out of your mouth right now.  You might swallow it.”

“What would happen then, Grandma?”  I asked.

“Well, you would have to go to the hospital and have the doctors cut your stomach open.  And if I see you with it in your mouth again, I’ll take it back.”

I promptly poked the nickel into the linty pocket of my cotton overalls.  I knew that Grandmother, not given to repeating orders, would confiscate my booty if I disobeyed.

Grandma laid down her Sunday paper.  “Goodness, I just cannot hold my eyes open I’m going upstairs to take a nap, Kathy. You should take one too.”

“Can I sleep on the glider out on the porch?”  I loved nestling among the glider’s soft cushions watching people walk by on the street in front of the house.

“I suppose so.  But you stay right there until I come downstairs.”

The day was so warm that no one was out walking.  Bored, I took the nickel from my pocket and popped it back into my mouth.  Grandma would never know.  I even discovered a new game.  Laying flat on my back, I balanced the nickel on the end of my tongue, pushing my tongue out as far as I could.  By crossing my eyes I could see the shiny coin as it wobbled on the tip of my tongue.

It was during the highlight of this acrobatic triumph that the nickel slid off my tongue and down my throat.  I sat up and swallowed.  The pain was awful.  It took three swallows to dislodge the coin.  I could almost hear it clink as it hit my stomach.

However no sooner had the panic from swallowing the nickel subsided when a worse one replaced it.  Oh, no!  I couldn’t tell Grandmother because then the nickel would have to be cut out of my stomach.  That meant hospitals, doctors, smelly ether.  No thank you, please.  After two surgeries, one for tonsils and another for a lengthy orthopedic procedure, nothing would force a return to those reeking halls of torture.  There was no alternative.  I could not—no would not, ever tell.

At home that evening I hardly touched dinner.  The thought of carrots and peas jockeying for position with the nickel discouraged my appetite.  That night I dreamed of surgeons with saber‑like scalpels poised over my bare tummy.

Gloom clouded the following day as I grew more scared.  What if the nickel killed me?  Food now seemed to stick in my throat.  A huge lump seemed to have taken up residence in my throat.  Oh, no, I thought.  It’s the nickel trying to come out.  During lunch I felt sick to my stomach and ran into the back yard where I threw up.  Mother came out and held my head as I retched.  Vainly did my eyes try to spot the shiny object of misery in the mess at my feet.  It was nowhere in sight.

Mother thinking I had the flu, sent me to bed to rest.  Every day for two weeks that horrible lump in my throat made me sick to my stomach.  Only now I slipped away to the upstairs bathroom where no one could hear me.  I knew what fate awaited me if mother discovered the truth.

My nights became terror, and my days moderated somewhere around a misty sense of doom.  If a seven year old could come perilously close to clinical depression, I did.

Three weeks after I swallowed the nickel Mom and Dad left for a two‑week vacation.  Aunt May came to take care of me.

Dear sweet natured, gentle voiced Aunt May.  I didn’t obey her because I had to, but because I genuinely wanted her approval.  She just made being good easy, and best of all, she read to me.  I loved being read to — for hours.  Anyone with leather lungs and a cast iron throat was mine.

In the twilight hours, I would snuggle up against her ample chest as her soft voice and chuckles wafted over the top of my head.  For a time I was almost happy again, nearly forgetting the sword that dangled over my life  — or rather, the scalpel over my stomach.

One evening Aunt May read the newspaper to me.  We laughed while oohing and aahing appropriately over the stories.  It made me feel so grown‑up having newspaper articles shared with me.  That’s what I loved Aunt May, she did things just right.

“Mercy, just listen to this, Kathy,” She said. “Why I never!”

It seems a baby had swallowed an open safety pin and had to have emergency surgery.  Suddenly I was all hot and sweaty.  I ran from the room crying; all the weeks of misery welling up and gushing out.

Aunt May caught up with me and gently turned me to her. “Child, whatever is the matter?”  Her kind face took tender hold of my tear filled my eyes.  “Come tell me.”

Between chest-heaving sobs, I laid the matter before her, from swallowing the nickel, the lump in my throat, to throwing up.  I withheld nothing.

Aunt May gathered me in her arms and held me close.  “Oh, poor child, how you’ve suffered these past weeks.  And all for nothing.”

For nothing?  Hadn’t she heard a word I said?  Didn’t she understand that I should be rushed to the hospital and carved asunder forthwith?

She grinned at my open mouthed shock.  “Kathy, that nickel isn’t in you anymore.  It went out day after you swallowed it.  You know, when you went to the bathroom.  Everything we put in our mouths comes out in the bathroom, Dear.”

“But why did the baby have to go to the hospital?” I asked.

“Well, that was different.  The open pin could have poked a hole in his tummy and caused big trouble.  You see your nickel was round and smooth, it just rolled right on through.”

Relief upon relief.  Still another question lingered.

“What about the lump I feel in my throat?”

“You were so frightened you made your yourself sick, with that big imagination of yours.”

How simple the answer!  I threw my arms around Aunt May’s neck and hugged her hard.  With a final laugh, she kissed my cheek and sent me off to bed.

Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream.  Aye, there’s the rub.  But there was no rub that night, no dreams of perchance; only the sweet slumber of a relieved soul until the sunlight and warmth of tomorrow would awaken me.

Like children, we often process false information from ignorant sources and draw conclusions that rob us of peace.  We become isolated prisoners of fear or pride.              “If I tell some one what I’m going through,” we reason, “I will be written off, or laughed at.”  So we add dimensions of terror to our already heavy burden.

In the family of God, we have a wide array of “Aunt Mays” from whom to seek scriptural counsel, encouragement, and holy common sense approaches to our quandaries.  Proverbs 25:11  “Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a word spoken in right circumstances.”

Believe me, swallowed pride and fear go down a lot easier than my nickel did!

For more great short stories like this I hpoe you will visit Kathy’s website and tell all your friends about it also.

Can a woman be a priest, a pastor, a CEO, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker?  Is her only domain the kitchen, and being barefoot her only permissible fashion statement?  Is her absolute, written-in-stone occupation, childbearing?

During America’s suffragist movement, women suffered tremendous abuse for the “crime” of petitioning their government to accord them with the same rights men enjoyed.  Their English sisters didn’t fare much better in their quest for equality.  When they were jailed they went on hunger strikes.  Jailers force fed these women by ramming rubber hoses up their nostrils.  Some died, while others came away with life-threatening and lifelong physical complications from such inhumane treatment.

Today we’ve forgotten their hard won victory.  Nary an eyebrow is raised when women stream to the voting polls.  Now women occupy positions as teachers, physicians, phone operators, presidents of business, police officers–all were once the domains of men.  But still the war between the sexes rages on.       When will we learn that the victory lies not power but in service.

Salvation Army founder, General William Booth, often said that there wouldn’t be a Salvation Army in America if not for the women.  These women made up the first wave of evangelists, preachers, and commanders (pastors) of corps (churches) in America.  They established and pastored congregations of more than a thousand members laying the foundation for the Army’s ongoing humanitarian work.

Booth’s wife, Katherine, a more gifted speaker than he, by his own admission, worked tirelessly with her husband fulfilling their mutual call to lead men and women out of sin’s darkness into God’s light.  What they accomplished within their marriage of equality is truly amazing.  Today, the Salvation Army still practices the biblical truth that women and men better serve God and society under the banner of unified equality in rank as well as reason.

Unfortunately, many churches continue to regard women as inferior to men.  Some forbid women to pastor churches; others deny them places on church boards, or positions as deacons and elders.  Still others say a woman may not teach men, only other women.  (Odd. Is a woman’s truth different from man’s truth?)  Sadly, such thinking laps over into society, subtly perpetuating the myth that women are inferior to men, or need constant direction and supervision from men.  Bible verses that actually promote equality are often taken out of context with total disregard of the cultures to which they were penned.

The Bible never teaches that women must be subdued, enslaved, controlled and “put in their place.”  In fact, such nonsense is a breeding ground for abuse.

Women often accuse the apostle Paul of chauvinism.  Not true!  Not the Paul who wrote in Galatians 3:28, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free man, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Not the Paul who ends the Book of Romans with a loving salute to the women, as well as the men, who have been part of his ministry.

Priscilla and Aquila, a husband and wife, traveled with Paul. (Acts 18:2)  When referring to this couple, Priscilla’s name always precedes Aquila’s because Greek etiquette placed the name of the more educated spouse first.  In Acts 18: 26 they met a zealous evangelist named Apollo, whose theology wasn’t quite complete–he hadn’t heard of Christ’s death and resurrection.  Both Priscilla and Aquila “took him aside and explained to him the way of God more accurately.”

Aquila didn’t order Priscilla to serve coffee while the men folks discussed manly, manly things too deep for a mere woman.  In Luke 10: 39-42, Christ himself commended Mary for choosing “the good part, which shall not be taken away from her,” by remaining in his presence listening and learning when Martha demanded she help out in the kitchen.

In I Timothy 2: 11-12, Paul writes to Timothy, a young pastor at Ephesus, to counsel women to be silent, to learn quietly, and not usurp authority over men.  This verse often has been used to “keep women in their place” in the church.

Using what is known of that day’s culture, along with putting the verses back into their surrounding context, we will see that Paul wasn’t urging the suppression and silence of women.

In Roman culture learning quietly was considered a virtue.  But few women had the privilege of education.  Furthermore, they believed that their only worth lay in physical allure.  Some of these women may even have been temple prostitutes before their conversions since Ephesians embraced religious expression through sex in pagan temple rites.  Paul’s use of the Greek word, authentien, meaning to wrest away authority by violent or sensual methods, makes sense when the reader understands the culture.  Paul is merely telling these newly converted, uneducated women that learning quietly is more godly than employing sensuality to usurp positions of leadership. He’s teaching them that everything has been made new– new lifestyles, new roles, and a new way of using their true gifts and achieving new positions in a new way.

The Bible records stories of women as prophetesses, judges, business owners, teachers, preachers, church officers, landowners, and rulers. Scripture never teaches that one gender, one class, one race is superior, or has the right to dominate another.  Rather it calls men and women to enjoy and use to the fullest capacity the gifts and talents which God in His wisdom has bestowed upon them.

What can a woman do?  What can a man do?  “Whatsoever is in your hand to do, do with all your might.”  (Ecclesiastes 9:10) Nothing limiting about that!