Serena struggled to rise from her mat. She was not looking forward to another day of pain and agony. Getting to her feet she straightened hoping to reach a full standing position. Disappointment flooded her as she only managed a waist high hunch. Silent tears flowed down her cheeks.

Her weeping had increased over the last eighteen years as hope seeped from her soul. Serena used to love life. She had been a beautiful young woman with a lively step, a kind word, and a song on her lips. Everyone in the nearby region knew her. She and her parents owned a fruit market in the center of town. They sold the best fruits from local farms and rare fruits from the Asian trade route. Serena was a tough barterer but always gave a fair price. She opened the market each morning and worked until midday. Her parents worked the evening shift.

Eighteen years ago, she got up one morning to find that she could not stand up. At first it started as a mild slump, but over the years progressed to where she could not stand up higher than waist level. Her back constantly hurt from being stooped over. Her neck hurt from looking up in people’s faces. Work was harder to perform because she could not reach up high and it was painful to carry baskets of fruit. The life she had loved had become unbearable. She wondered every day if things would ever get better. Songs no longer sprung from her lips. Her once joyful expression had turned to one of perpetual pain and sadness.

Sharp pains shot through her legs as she moved about the small room getting ready for the day. Upon leaving her room she greeted her mother who was entering the tiny home with two large pots of water from the well. Serena missed socializing with the town’s women at the well each morning. In the last three years it had become impossible for her to obtain water for the family. It hurt her deeply that her mother was now having to do this backbreaking chore again. Her mother was getting older. Serena longed to lift some of the burdens of caring for the family from her mother’s shoulders.

“I wonder if the man Jesus, that we have been hearing so much about, will be at the synagogue this morning,” her mother mused.

“I don’t know mom, but it would be exciting if He is. Everyone has been saying He is a wonderful teacher.”

Her mother paused and gave her a long knowing look. “I am sure you have also heard about the miracles He has performed.”

“Yes mother, I have but quite frankly, I don’t want to get my hopes up. None of the medical doctors have been able to help. Every time one promises a cure and I remain the same, a little piece of me dies. I just can’t bear any more disappointment.”

Her mother sighed. It pained her not to be able to help her daughter herself. Serena had changed so much.

“I understand my dear. Still a mother must hope for her baby. I want to see you happily married with children of your own and a full life. Your father and I are not getting any younger. We built our business so that it would be a nice bride price for you when the time comes.”

“I love you both for it and for keeping hope alive, but I am afraid I am tapped out.”

They continued working together in silence as they laid out a breakfast of flat bread, goat cheese, fruit, and honey. Once breakfast was finished and the kitchen tidied up, the small family made their way to the synagogue.

Serena’s father entered the inner courtyard and sat with the men. Serena and her mother sat with the other women in an outer courtyard. The synagogue leader opened the service with prayer. Then he took a scroll from the scriptures and began reading the passage. As he read a commotion began among the gentiles as a man with the long hair of a Nazarite walked in flanked by a group of men. He made his way through the gentiles into the women’s court. He paused near Serena. When she looked up, she stared into the most peaceful loving eyes she had ever seen. His face was full of compassion. Her heart felt as though it would not beat again even as her breath came hard and fast.

‘Who is this man, what is he thinking, and why is he staring at me?’ she thought.

He continued down to the front of the room where He took the scroll from the synagogue leader and began to teach on the passage the priest had read. Never in her life had Serena heard such wisdom. He had great insight into the scriptures, and it seemed that the words were being carved into her heart. His voice was like the sound of calm running water but with a deep bass to it. While His voice captured the audience, his eyes pierced their very souls. None could tear their attention away from Him. Suddenly he stopped teaching, His gaze lingering on her. He quietly spoke to some of the men who followed Him. They walked through the crowd. When they reached her, they helped her to her feet and assisted her in walking to Jesus. He looked down upon her with deep compassion and then said, “Woman you are loosed from your disability.”

Immediately she felt the bones in her spine begin to shift. Warmth flowed through her body as her blood began to circulate properly. Strength flowed into her back muscles causing the bones to come into alignment. The agonizing pain began to subside. Cautiously she tested her ability to straighten. To her amazement her body cooperated as her frozen spine moved, allowing her to stand up straight for the first time in eighteen years. The crowd gasped and held its breath as they watched the miracle unfolding before their eyes. Serena glanced over at her mother and saw that she was weeping with joy. She was not able to see her father in the men’s courtyard but could hear his cry, “Jehovah be praised!” As she fully stood upright where she could gaze into the eyes of the man who had healed her, the deep compassion and joy that she saw melted her heart. She wept, laughed, and cried out with utter happiness as the realization of what had happened hit her. The crowd went crazy celebrating with her and her parents, the miracle God had done.

But there was one who did not join in the revelry. The synagogue leader burned with anger his face a bright red from the blood that rushed to it.

“How dare you! You who are an invited guest rabbi! How could you profane the Sabbath by healing this woman!”

To the people, the synagogue leader said, “There are six days when one has to work. So come to be healed on one of those days not on the Sabbath day.”

“I am ashamed that I gave you the honor of addressing this gathering!” he shouted at Jesus.

Jesus looked at him and said, “You hypocrite! Don’t you untie your work animals and lead them to drink water every day, even on the Sabbath? This woman that I healed, a daughter of Abraham, has been held by Satan for eighteen years. Surely it is not wrong for her to be freed from her sickness on a Sabbath day!”

The synagogue leader was immediately embarrassed at his outburst after Jesus’ words. His pride deflated and shame filled him as he disappeared through the crowd and into his office to sulk. Meanwhile, the people continued to rejoice and talk about all that they had heard Jesus say as well as the miracle they saw him do.

Serena was surrounded by townsfolk as they reached out to touch her, hug her, and talk with her. In all the disturbance Jesus had vanished from the pressing throng. Eventually her parents were able to get to her. They held her and cried, then forming a protective shield around her, they ushered her out of the Synagogue, down the streets to home.

“Oh, my precious love, I told you not to give up hope,” cried her mother as she held Serena out an arm’s length looking at her eye to eye.

“I am so glad you never gave up mother. I am sad that I did not get to thank Him properly. We must bring the proper thank offering to the temple when we are able.”

“Yes, I agree,” said her father. “I will arrange it as soon as possible.”

They only had a few minutes alone together at home before they were descended upon by family, friends, and neighbors all bringing food and beverages to celebrate the family’s good fortune. As news continued to spread, the party spilled out into the surrounding streets. Musicians played, people danced, and food was shared.

One young man in particular was taken by the vision of Serena dancing with the other women. She had her hands raised overhead as she beat a tambourine. Her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders, her eyes shone with happiness, and her joyous laughter rang out as her feet moved in rhythm to the music. Joshua had loved her since they were in their mid-teens but had not wished to add to her burden by asking her to be his wife, knowing that whatever she did she put all her heart into it. The weight of taking care of their household in her previous condition would have been too much. But now…

“Excuse me, Ruben,” Joshua said to Serena’s father as he approached the door of the family home.

“Yes Joshua, what can I do for you?”

“You know I have loved Serena since we were kids but put off asking her to marry me. I have yet to take a wife; instead, I have been praying for a miracle. I have come to ask your permission to marry her.”

Suddenly Joshua was pulled into a tight bear hug as Serena’s dad broke down crying on his shoulder.

When he finally released Joshua, Serena’s father said through choked back tears, “I prayed this day would come, but my hope had worn thin. Just when I was about to give up, God stepped in and healed her. Young man you have my blessing. I know you will make her happy. I am also sure you will make the business flourish as it will now be yours when you are officially married.”

“Thank you, sir. I promise to take very good care of her. You just made me the happiest man in Israel!”

Joshua went to find Serena. She was still dancing. He joined her and slowly moved her out of the crowd into a quiet space near the food tables.

“I am so happy for you, Serena. It is magnificent to see you standing straight and tall without pain etched on your face.”

“Oh Joshua, I am so grateful for all the prayers people have prayed over the years. To think God heard them and answered them on behalf of one so little as I.”

“He hears the prayers of all His children on behalf of His children. Sometimes the answers can be a long time coming. At times the answers are not always what we think they should be, but He hears and answers all the same. I am particularly thankful He answered mine for you. I have loved you for a long time, but I did not want to make you sadder and more stressed than you were.

Serena, your smile lights up my world. The kindness you constantly show to others makes my heart swell. Your hair shines like ebony and your eyes are like dark pools I can get lost in. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Your father has already given us his blessing.”

“Yes Joshua, yes! I never thought I would be asked, especially now as I am considered an old maid. Before, my deformity meant that I did not stand a chance at love. Now my age is the barrier. I had always hoped you would ask because I too have loved you since our youth. I understand now why you didn’t. You have always been kind but in this you have been compassionate.”

“I can’t wait to start our lives together my beautiful bride. I began working on our new home years ago. It is nearly finished. Your father is giving me the business as the bride price. We have nothing holding us back.”

“I am looking forward to spending my life with you Joshua.”

Together they walked hand in hand to find her parents, thankful that Jesus had noticed a bent over, life worn, and depressed young woman long enough to take pity on her. Because of His gift of compassionate healing their future together looked bright.

Have you ever had an identity crisis? You know that place in time where you question who you are and what your purpose in life is. In my case I have had a few.

The first time was when I had just graduated from high school, had no skills, and realized I had to make my own way in the world. Up until that time I had been a responsible student, introverted teen, and loving but sometimes rebellious daughter. I had no clue how to become a functioning member of society. It took the mentoring of a former high school teacher and the honesty of a boss who terminated me to get there.

My next struggle came when I gave birth to my daughter. I was a somewhat viable citizen making $90 every two weeks and was terrified that I would fail at being a parent while desperately wanting to be the best mom possible. Growth came as I found the courage to move from job to job in pursuit of the necessary skills to bring in a decent living. My type A personality came in handy for absorbing and gaining information quickly. I learned to be adaptable in applying the knowledge I gained so that I could train others to be able to step in to replace me when I left.

Motherhood was a different story. It was a day by day process in which I made a lot of mistakes but I also got some things right. In the end my baby grew up to have children of her own giving me the gift of being a grandparent. Now I am watching her make her own journey through the terrain of motherhood. And while our paths have not been the same her adventure has been a joy to watch.

Transitioning from a mom to an empty nesting caretaker of my mother presented another challenge. I had wrapped my identity up in being a single mother with a focus on providing well for my child. Now my child was out of the home, married, and a mother herself. In the meantime my mom’s health was declining so she required my care. My time was divided between working full-time, stopping by to check on my daughter who was having trouble carrying the baby and caring for my mother. I totally lost who I was. My identity became intertwined with the roles I was carrying out rather than who I was as a person.

Mom has been gone now nine years last month. I find that during this quarantine I have had the time to really focus on who I am a part from all the roles.

My birth names means Beloved Gift of God. When I was younger I used to ask my mom why they gave me such an unusual name. She said they were only expecting to have one child so they took letters from her name and letters from my dad’s then threw in the “Z” for good luck. I never really put much stock in my name until now. What would it look like to live up to my name “Beloved Gift of God.” I am coming to realize it is not about being the beloved of man but to be the beloved of God. In that I can relax and stop trying to please those around me. God’s been telling me for years to just be. Stop running the rat race. Stop trying to be someone I am not. Just be and rest in Him for surely then I will find true rest.

I have two nick names given to me: one given to me by my mother and the other by one of my past co-workers. My mother nicknamed me Zori which means light of the dawn. She came to the restaurant to have dinner while I was working one night. Amazed at how quickly I moved from table to table taking care of my customers she said it was like I was wearing roller skates. It was my Type A personality kicking in. I wanted to make lots of tips, have my customers come in asking for my tables, and make people happy. Mom said it reminded her of when I ran around the house using whatever long object I could find as a sword to carve Z for Zorro, my favorite superhero. Thus I was nicknamed a female version of his name.

By nature I am usually an upbeat person. When I worked in an optical lab 25 years ago I would sing, hum, and whistle as I wandered about the lab checking on my lens jobs. One of my co-workers nicknamed me Songbird as a result. Somewhere along the way I lost my joy of singing while performing the monotonous tasks of life. During this quarantine I have rediscovered my joy of whistling while I work. I have even begun to to sing again from time to time.

Around the same time that I worked at the optical lab I attended Faith Community Church. While sitting in a women’s service the leader of the prayer team approached me. She had been observing me for some time unbeknownst to me. In her observance she had noticed I was a strong prayer warrior and invited me to be a part of the team. This was not something that I had ever thought of myself as. I knew I loved to worship and seemed to have a gift for it but prayer never felt like my strong suit. As I have matured in life I have found that I prefer to pray about issues rather than fight about them. I have always been reticent to fight and much prefer being in the background observing rather than the center of attention.

My final nickname came from a chance encounter. We were attending the Los Angeles County fair when I heard the most haunting but lovely melody coming from one of the vendor tents. My mom and I made our way over and stepped inside. It was filled with all sorts of Native American goods. The man behind the counter was playing a Native American flute. While I stood mesmerized, my mom wandered through the shop. The sound of the flute seemed to touch something deep within my soul, so much so that I began to cry silent tears. They were not tears of sadness nor of joy but it was as though I had finally come home.

As the last note played mom called me over to where she was. There standing next to her was an old man with long gray braids hanging neatly beneath a brown leather cowboy hat. He was dressed in brown jeans, a plaid shirt, and a leather belt with a beautiful beaded buckle. It wasn’t so much his manner of dress that made him stand out. Rather it was his bearing. He stood straight and tall with a sense of dignity as though he were royalty. When he caught my gaze he held it for a time. His eyes were kind and full of a deep wisdom. At last he spoke. Although his voice was gentle it held a note of authority to it. The man who had been playing the flute had come over to join us. He interpreted what the old man said since he spoke in the Cherokee language.

The flute player said the old man was a Cherokee Indian Chief. He had enjoyed meeting my mother but my mother insisted that he meet me. She had told the chief that we were part Cherokee. He said the chief saw something in me which is why he held my gaze. The chief named me Usdi Walela, “Little Hummingbird”. He said the hummingbird is a prized warrior among the Cherokee people. It does not fight in the usual way but frightens off the enemy by the humming of its wings. According to the chief the hummingbird is also prized for its beauty (something I have never thought of myself as). Mom and I were more than a little awed that an Indian chief would take notice of me much less give me a name. From that point forward it has remained a interesting memory tucked away as a keepsake. Mom learned to draw before she died and gave me two beautiful drawings of hummingbirds as a reminder of the experience.

The day the COVID 19 seclusion began in California with the shutdown of our schools happened to be my 55th birthday. I had big plans for the day. Breakfast with my friends was on the schedule as well as lunch with my daughter and a mutual friend. I was going to go shopping all day and take advantage of as many senior discounts as possible. Then I hoped to have a lovely dinner with my family. The next weekend we were to celebrate with a party. I had planned to go to the racetrack to fulfill a lifelong dream of driving a race car. Most importantly I was going to get out of my introverted shell and join the Vintage Vine group at church. I figured I could make new friends while enjoying fun activities with the senior group.

Instead I had a delightful birthday breakfast with my friends, enjoyed a quiet lunch with my daughter, and then the whole world changed. We picked up the kids from school with all the gear they would need to do school from home indefinitely. We found one restaurant still open to have a birthday dinner but it was not my first choice. Shortly thereafter I was told to work from home for the indefinite future. At the time of this writing it is 7 months later. The kids are still doing school from home and I am still working from home. We order pretty much everything online and have it delivered or go for a touchless curbside pickup. Gone are all the activities and socializing. It has not been hard for me as an introvert but it has been hard on the extroverts, my daughter and grandchildren.

I have used this time for a lot of self reflection and prayer. At 55 I reached another crossroads. One that I thought I had the answers to but I was wrong. It was never about breaking out of my shell and becoming other. It was about finally being free to be me. All of my nicknames were born out of who I was not just randomly given. The combination of two, Zori and Songbird became my alter ego for writing and performing, Zori Songbird. Meanwhile the rest of them have been quietly waiting on me to come into my own skin, shedding the need to please others, and learn to just be. I am not there yet but I am getting there.

I am the Beloved Gift of God, Light of the Dawn, Singing Bird, Little Warrior of Peace (translation – Worshipping Prayer Warrior seeking and sharing the light and love of God). Just be.

An eerie stillness hung in the air as though this was the calm before the storm. Dark clouds hovered overhead and lightning flashed, cutting a gash through the gloomy sky. A palpable change occurred in the firmament as an awesome energy gathered there in preparation of being unleashed on the unsuspecting landscape. Thunder rumbled low and deep ending with a murderous crash which broke the ominous silence.

Then the opaque thunderhead released the moisture that it had been holding onto for what seemed to be an eternity. Torrential rains poured down covering the terrain with murky waters. A fast moving wind whipped the waters into a frenzy. Flood waters rose up obliterating everything in sight. Soon there would be no sign of life left.

Suddenly a small speck of light broke through the clouds. As a result the storm grew more turbulent. The wind howled and the lightning hissed as the thunder roared, but the light was persistent. As the of the warmth of the Son penetrated the atmosphere the thick gray covering began to disintegrate. Thundercracks and illuminating slashes of electricity continued to rage, however they soon lost their strength due to the power of the Son. The assaulting rains subsided under the onslaught of the Son. Heat transfused the air slowly drying up the flood waters. At last the terrible maelstrom surrendered completely to the supremacy of the Son.

The Son bathed the valley in the fulness of His glory bringing total transformation. Now instead of obscurity there was light. Peace reigned in the place of the cacophony of the gale. Tranquil waters dotted the lush countryside and everywhere evidences of new life abounded. Fragrant flowers scented the air with a pleasant perfume while their brilliant colors form a tapestry of sheer beauty. Fluffy white clouds floated through the heavens as a rainbow shone bright with the promise of a new tomorrow. Life was restored.

I was born on March 13, 1965 to an awesome young couple. There could not have been two more different people much less parents. My father was the stern enforcer who occasionally broke down to become the tickle monster or barbeque king. He was always working to make a better life for our family so he was rarely home. Mom on the other hand was the glue that held the family together. She was the comforter, teacher, nurse, and best friend. She was a stay at home mom until I went to junior high school therefore there was no shortage of home cooked meals, hand-made clothes, and hours of nurturing. During the next forty-six and a half years I was given the amazing chance to truly get to know my mother. I have only begun to get to know my father since his retirement. Much of who I am and how I react to life are directly related to them both, however there is another person that plays into who I am. God my Father has molded and shaped me since I accepted the gift of salvation through the precious shed blood of my Savior, The Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

My mother is the one who made it possible for me to know the Lord. My dad never wanted for his kids to be forced into faith. The result was we were not allowed to attend church. This however did not stop my mother from seeing to it that we knew the gospel. She read us Bible stories, showed us View-master slides related to the Bible, and taught us to worship through the music she played daily. Her nightly prayers with us before bed led me to know Jesus as my best friend. I talked to Him all the time and still do.

She had an amazing faith. He brought her back from the dead twice. Once when she died on the operating table at six years old and again at thirty-four during a fire in our home. She was seventy years old when she died but she had walked with God since she was seven years old. Can you imagine waling with God for sixty-three years? My mom was one of the strongest people I have known. She had her faults and her weaknesses but she did not live in them and she taught me not to live in mine.

I went to counseling for grief management because I was alone with her when she died. My grief was deep. She had been my best friend, prayer partner, and roommate for forty-three and a half of my forty-six years. After my first counseling session I was driving home and the song “Because You Loved Me” by Celine Dion came on. I sang the song loud and clear while I sobbed and I sang it to her. Usually when I sing it I do so as a love song to my Heavenly Father but this time I realized it was ok to sing it to mom because I am everything I am because she loved me. I could be living as an invalid but she taught me not to live as though I am handicapped even though I am blind in one eye. I should have died in the fire with my brothers but God got me out thanks to her prayers and my dad’s determination. She encouraged me and assisted me in the raising of my daughter as a single parent. Mom cheered me on as I went to school to gain skills to improve my viability in the job market. I might have died in February six years ago, but she added her prayers to mine and God left me here again. Even as her faith was failing she spent her last two weeks asking me questions about our faith and why we believe. I recognized after her death that she was making sure I would be okay when she left me just as my grandmother did with her before she died. The women in our family practice the art of die empty (pour all you have into those around you to leave a legacy of faith). I miss her terribly. She was a rock we could depend on. Although I grieved deeply for my brothers I did not know grief could be so cavernous.

A few months after mom passed away for a couple of weeks Chris Sligh’s song, “Arise” kept playing in my mind and I would silently sing it. I realized one Friday, God had been telling me to arise out of my grief and start living again. God began showing me that I had been given a great privilege in that He allowed me to walk her home to be with Him even as the Mark Schulz song, “Walking Her Home” declares. What a blessing. I could have missed it but He gave me the strength and courage to see it through. As I started to live again He began to heal my heart through worship music, His Word, and the lives of people He allowed to touch mine.

John Courson stated in a sermon, that his grandmother whom he dearly loved said she was just changing addresses. One of our clients said that her husband left her but was waiting for her to join him. My mom left me, she moved to heaven, and changed her address but she gave me clear instructions for me to follow. She wanted me to make sure that I did not stray from the faith but rather joined her there when my time arrived and make sure that the children would go to heaven too. In order for the children to be there she requested that I take on the role of matriarch that had been left to her. As the matriarch, I would be expected to pray, teach, and lead by example so that all the little ones will know the way.

The legacy continues. Mom and grandma were a prayer team that were unstoppable. My and I became the dynamic duo when grandma passed. Now my daughter and I are the crew to beat. Our prayer list extends far beyond family as she often calls me to give me names and situations of people in need of prayer. Now my middle grandchild is coming into his own as a prayer warrior. I still miss mom but I am not alone.

The final piece of the puzzle for the healing of my broken heart was a song by Avalon, “I Can’t Live A Day Without You.” While I am making it without my mom, I have not and cannot live a day with God. He is my reason for living and to be honest I do not want to live a day without Him. And since mom is with Him I can ask Him to hug her and tell her I love her on the days I miss her the most.

I know that I will always love my mom. I will have times of sadness when I think of her but also times of amazing joy and laughter as I remember life with her. I may be angry because of how her last days were but these emotions are okay because they were a part of my life with her. The most important thing is that I got to love her without reservation and without regrets. She left me the same legacy my grandmother left her, unconditional love and the greatest gift of all, love for my precious Savior. What better treasure could be given to anyone! My desire is to use the gifts I have been given to live life to the fullest in love with my Savior, my Heavenly Father, and those that He blesses my life to touch.

z

I walked out the door with my daughter to get the mail. It was Sunday evening September 22, 2002 a 5:30 pm. We were getting the mail one day late because everyone had just been too lazy to outside on Saturday. As we walked toward the mailbox I looked up at the sky. My daughter pointed out the pretty colors. The colors were so different she concluded there must be a fire somewhere based on how we had seen fires change the sky on other occasions.

I walked toward the middle of our apartment complex to get a better view towards the mountains in the north. I saw a thin column of smoke. Incredibly the smoke intensified the hues of the sunset. Strokes of rich purple, deep fuchsia, burnt orange, and cobalt blue were flung across the sky forming a fantastic tapestry. As I focused at the beautiful scene before me I contemplated on the fact that something as terrible as fire could help to create something so breathtaking.

Late that evening as we watched the news we learned the fire was in the Glendora mountains just a few short miles from our home.

We awoke Monday morning to a pall of smoke hanging low in our valley. As I drove my daughter to school she took pictures of another natural yet unnatural phenomenon. I was headed east toward the morning sunrise. It was 6:55 am. San Dimas High School was in sight when we were greeted by a strange, eerie sun. It looked like something you would see in a horror story or maybe in pictures of an apocalypse. All the streets were deserted around us. A smoky haze formed a ghostly shroud over the valley and in the middle of the covering was our sun blazing as a white-hot ball of heat. The sun stood guard as a sentinel over the entire valley. My words cannot begin to describe the weird feeling this experience produced within us.

The fire continued to rage throughout the day, growing in intensity. Ash and burning sparks showered down on the San Dimas High School campus. Students who attended school that day said it was as if a light snow was falling.

That evening we found out certain mountain roads had been closed and people were being evacuated from their homes.

As my daughter was talking on the phone she happened to glance out of her bedroom window. She uttered a loud cry. From her window, she could watch the flames as they licked the mountainside. During the next 2 hours, she gave us constant updates on the progress of the fire. The personality of the fire was aggressive but sneaky. One mountain was literally capped with flames all the way across its top. However, the mountain next to it stood tall and stalwart as though, to say it was not going to be defeated. Unfortunately, the fire was devilish in the way it played with this mountain. Flames would shoot up so high from behind the mountain that they seemed to crest it. Then just when we thought the fire won, the flames would shrink back down until they had disappeared.

Flames gobbled up the mountain that had been burning for a while. My daughter predicted the stouthearted mountain would be engulfed before we retired for the night. Just before bed we all took one last look at the burning landscape. As predicted the indomitable mountain lost its battle to remain unscathed. The fire now consumed all the mountain terrain visible from her bedroom window.

At school the next day my daughter was told her teacher was now living in his car because he had been evacuated. Many of students she attended school with had also been evacuated. Several of the local schools were used as emergency shelters for the evacuees.

My daughter and her classmates were informed that her school was next on the list. If it was necessary to use the school, the students would not be able to attend classes. A discussion ensued among her friends and her regarding the situation. One student was happy that they might not have to attend school for a few days. However, this was not the case among most the young people. They were sad that so many people had been displaced from their homes and thankful their school was available to be used as a temporary shelter for them.

The Glendora Mountain fire continued to rage for another week before it was contained. Several homes were lost as well as other buildings. Thanks to the concentrated effort of countless fire fighters many more buildings were saved and no lives were lost. Stories of individual courage and neighborly kindness to the exhausted fireman abound. I am sure none of us will forget the devastation that occurred or the terror caused by the night of the reign of fire.

 

I am a woman. Over the years that term has come to be demeaned. To much of the world I am not valued. I am often treated worse than a slave and yet I am not considered to be worth as much as these prized assets.
Throughout the world it is o.k. for me to be abused. I am often misused for the sexual gratification of men with no thought taken to consider that I am a human being. I am slapped, punched and kicked. Sometimes I am stabbed, burned or chained up. Often I am killed or tortured in a horrible manner and no one knows.
My mind is constantly being bombarded with the fact that I am not good enough. The media says that I am not pretty if I don’t have a certain look or a certain weight. Therefore, I also abuse myself in order to please others. I get plastic surgery to change my face or body to conform to certain images. I shave, wax, tweeze, perm, color, and paint to achieve the “look”. Finally, I starve and exercise myself to death trying to obtain the ever-elusive appearance of beauty.
And yet no matter what I do it will never be good enough. The bombardment of negative mental pictures continues in all areas of my life. My children yell and say they don’t love me, or tell me I am not a good mom. My husband or boyfriend shouts at me because dinner was late, I spent too much money (trying to get the “look”), his shirts aren’t pressed just right, or I am not a proficient lover. My co-workers either hate me because I have achieved the “look” or not achieved it, can perform my job well or don’t know what I am doing, am a person of integrity or not. Then there is my boss who is constantly looking for something to say that pulls me down rather than build me up. Finally, society says I am a terrible mother if I work outside the home. However, the women who do work outside the home say I am worthless if I choose to stay at home with the children. Whatever I do it is never good enough.
I am a woman. I have been demeaned. I have no value. So society would have me to understand.
I am a woman. I have value. No one else knows it yet. Shhh! It’s a secret.

What kind of value? I am a helper. That is my designated role in creation. As such I have the ability to be anything that is needed at the time it is required.
I am a woman. I am a teacher, nurse, administrator, peacekeeper, music director, chauffeur, traffic cop, cook, seamstress, laundress, dishwasher, housekeeper, bookkeeper, gardener, mother, wife, friend, employee, boss, manager, activities director, travel agent, tour guide, concubine, lover, fashion consultant, personal assistant and all purpose glue. I fulfill several of these roles at one time in any given moment.
I am a woman. I am valuable. I am beautiful. I come in all shapes, sizes and colors. Each combination of size, shape and color makes me unique. Whether small or large, tall or short, with long hair or short hair, fashionable or unfashionable I am beautiful. My hair may be black, brown, red, blond, any shade in between or even gray with age. I may have blue, green, hazel, violet or even brown eyes. My skin may be olive, white as milk, tan, golden, dark brown or any of the tones in between yet I am still beautiful. In other words, no matter what my size, my age, my shape, my race or natural coloring I am uniquely beautiful.
I am a woman. I am your helper. What do you need me to be? Whatever it is I have the ability to be what you need at the time you need it. There are some things however I will not be. I am not your doormat. Nor am I your punching bag. I will not stand for verbal abuse. The media will not dictate to me the standard of beauty I must live up to in order to be accepted.
The surprising thing is that as I live out the reality of the knowledge of who I am, I finally achieve that quality of beauty I kept looking for through changing my outer appearance. Why? I know who I am. I have value. Armed with that knowledge I stand straighter almost regally. I carry myself with grace and a calm assurance of my personhood. An inner confidence in my abilities helps me to relate to others with self-assurance. I can risk fully loving because I now love myself enough to know what real love is and is not. As a result I am not afraid to lovingly let you know those times when you are not showing me love. My face softens as the strain of pleasing everyone else weakens. The sheer joy of just being me in all my uniqueness radiates from within leaving the mark of beauty that no make-up, hairstyle, clothing or plastic surgery can duplicate.
I am a woman. I know who I am and what I was created to be. As such I will no longer lie to myself nor will I accept your lies about me. I am one who gives assistance. I contribute to the well-being of mankind. I promote the success of humanity. I give relief to those in distress. I alleviate problems and cure what ails you. I improve the quality of life. I benefit the lives of everyone around me. I am able to prevent catastrophe from occurring and change the direction of the circumstances of life.
Why? Because I am a woman — taken from man — created to be his helper. I can be gentle and loving not out of weakness but out of great strength which I choose to control. I know who I am. Because I know who I am I can have a strong backbone and not be intimidating. I can apply the wisdom of this truth to all areas of my life. My relationships will be stronger, my work easier, and my life sweeter.
I am a woman. I am life. I am love. I am a woman.

The year was 1976 in the month of July. Our nation had just celebrated its bicentennial birthday on the fourth. All across the country people were rejoicing that we had freedom for 200 years. Backyard barbecues, firework shows, and symphony orchestras playing our patriotic songs were mainstays of the celebration. Our family was no different. We enjoyed my parents barbecue feast, swam in the pool, and hung out with our friends at the community playground. What a day it had been!

But today we were celebrating something else. It was my mom’s birthday. Her actual birthday had been last Sunday but only mom and dad had celebrated with a special dinner out. Today, Saturday the 24th the whole family was celebrating. Dad told us to get up and get dressed. We put on our nice casual clothes then went downstairs to consume pancakes, eggs, and bacon that mom and dad made together. We all piled in the car full of excitement.

After a couple hours journey we arrived at a large brick building with huge white letters on the front that spelled out NASA. I remembered those letters from the rocket launches I had seen on TV. I told the boys we were going to see spaceships. We did. We saw the Apollo 13 space capsule, wax figures of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, as well as lunar rovers. There were lots of exhibits to explore and interactive displays. We all enjoyed our trip there.

We left NASA and went to dinner. After a great meal we stopped at the store where mom and dad brought a surprise for us kids. The ride home seemed extra long because we could not wait to see what they had brought us.

When we arrived home. They gave us the bag. Inside was a skateboard! With cries of joy and happiness we ran off to show our prize to our friends. All of the boys and girls gathered around. We were the first kids in our neighborhood to get a skateboard. Everyone wanted a chance to ride it. Taking turns, we learned to ride that day but not without some bumps, scrapes, and falls. Fortunately there were no broken bones just lots of squeals of pleasure. Reluctantly we all went in as our parents called out for us to go home.

Unbeknownst to us, it would be the last time we would all play together as a huge group just having fun. The boys and I fought over who would take the skateboard to their room. I decided to let them have it because I loved them and wanted to let them have the joy of having it in their room. I am glad I did. They died that night in a fire that also burned up the skateboard. But I will forever have the joy of knowing how much we all loved that treasured gift and the fact that they got to have the joy of having it with them on their last night on earth.

Whenever life gets too heavy to handle I can go to the ocean and there find peace for my soul. Sometimes my life feels like someone took a deck of cards and threw them up in the air. The events in my life then seem to be determined by where the cards land.

One such time was during the nine months my mother was dying. I was working full time when she  fell ill. She lost her eyesight overnight and her ability to walk was diminished. The doctors diagnosed her with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, and multiple sclerosis. As a result she was on 17 different medications.

I arose early every morning and woke her up to take her morning meds. Then I prepared her breakfast and lunch. I put out her medications based upon when she needed to take them and left her a couple of snacks to help her get through the day. Giving her a kiss and wishing her a good day I would head out the door to work. She insisted on staying home by herself and refused to let me bring someone in to sit with her. This was very stressful to me because I spent my days worrying about her.

After a full day of work I would head over to my daughter’s apartment to check on her. She was pregnant with my second grandchild and having a tough time carrying the baby. It took much prayer for her to carry him to full term. I would make sure that she was ok and see if she needed anything. Mostly I was there to reassure her that all would be well and to encourage her in her marriage.

Heading home I often prayed for strength to complete the day. Upon arriving home I would cook our meal, wash the dishes, and help mom shower when she wanted to do so. Then we would sit and watch TV until bedtime. Sometimes we would talk but most often she would doze while we watched TV.

There were many nights that she would get up to go to the bathroom and get stuck with her walker. She would lose patience with me because I would talk her out of the jam by telling her which way to turn the walker. She wanted me to just move the walker for her but I told her that it was best for me to talk her out of these situations because she was alone during the day and she needed to know how to get out by herself.

The only way I could often relax was to listen to the sounds of the ocean on a sound machine. I would do this every night during this stressful time. I even did this during times of prayer.

My grandson was born safe and sound in March. I felt particularly blessed to be there for his birth because I almost died of pneumonia in January myself.  His birth eased some of the stress but not the busyness. Now I was stopping by my daughter’s place so that I could visit my grandson for a few minutes each night.

My mom passed away in September. Before she did I had to battle with the hospital staff and the nursing home which did not care for her as I did.

One of the first things we did after a period of grieving was go to the beach. There standing beside the ocean and listening to the roaring waves I was reminded we are not alone. The God of the universe who created such an expansive body of water and controlled the crashing waves was still the Master of my life. When all those cards were floating in the air, He knew where each one was and where it would land. He gave me what I needed to handle each situation as it arose and He still does today.

Three months after my brothers died, we moved from Virginia to Michigan in order to have a fresh start. We left my friends, school, and extended family behind. Suddenly I was in a foreign world and I was lost. Compounding matters we all were devastated by the unexpected loss of my younger brothers and we each handled our grief in different ways.

My parents did not talk about the boys. Instead dad threw himself into his work. Mom busied herself with taking care of me when I was home and crying when I wasn’t. I found that I had a hard time making friends. The three of us kids had been inseparable, therefore we made friends together and we all hung out as a group. Now I had to figure out how to make friends on my own but this was not easy to do since my normally shy nature was now hampered with extreme grief.

We were not really a family anymore. Each of us was trapped in our own world of pain. Evenings were spent watching T.V. but not speaking to one another. Dinners were quiet. I wanted to talk about how I was feeling with them but they could not handle hearing the boys names or seeing their pictures much less talking about them. All the friends that knew them were now hundreds of miles away. There was no one to share what I was going through.

Then one day my dad brought home bikes for mom and I. They were to replace the ones lost in the fire that took the boys lives. I couldn’t believe the bike he got me. It was a 24″ tan beach cruiser. My first grown up bike. That bike changed everything. Mom and I went bike riding on a regular basis. We explored the beauty of Midland, Michigan daily. Although she still could not talk about the boys, mom was more present on those bike rides. Instead of being separate watching T.V. after school, we were sharing conversation as we rode the streets of town. We picked flowers, got ice cream from the ice cream truck, and chatted with neighbors. We laughed at the antics of the birds, enjoyed the sightings of various species of butterflies in the area, and stopped for animals as they crossed in front of us. We spent time loving each other. That is why a bike to me represents togetherness.

Mario waited anxiously for Stephanie to arrive. He looked around the rooftop of the skyscraper. Everything he had envisioned for months was laid out to perfection.

A small round table was draped with a beautiful white Irish lace tablecloth. It was set with fine bone china, gold plated silver ware, and a candelabra filled with glowing red candles. Bouquets of red roses, babies breath, and yellow carnations lined the perimeter of the rooftop. The night was warm and clear offering a great view of the Los Angeles skyline.

Tucked in a corner was a small orchestra. Luis the violinist was rubbing his hands and grimacing in pain. Luis was an old friend of the family who played in the philharmonic orchestra. He had volunteered to bring a few of his friends to lend a magical touch to the special evening.

Mario approached Luis with a great deal of concern. “What is wrong my old friend.” ” My arthritis is acting up and I am afraid I may not be able to play.”

Mario grabbed a bottle of pain pills from his duffle bag. “Here you are my friend,” he said as he handed Luis two of the tablets. Luis took them gratefully and downed them with a cup of water.

A half hour later a blushing Stephanie arrived on the rooftop. Right on cue the orchestra began to play the way you look tonight. Luis walked over to the couple and played a special violin solo then he handed Mario a small box.

Mario got down on one knee and asked Stephanie to marry him as both their families stepped out of their hiding places among the flowers. A surprised Stephanie accepted his propospal. After a round of hugs and kisses the families left the happy couple on the rooftop to enjoy their candlelight dinner. It seemed as though the whole of the heavens smiled down upon them as they basked in their joy.