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*All works presented on this page are copyrighted by the author.*

Each story presented below is Christian-based with positive messages, allowing you to apply what you’ve learned to your real life.

After I discovered Christian fiction, I have not returned to mainstream (secular) novels. I have enjoyed the positive messages and examples of godly men and women that the Christian authors have portrayed. These novels have changed my life because I can relate to many of the aspects that the authors have creatively woven into the novels to my everyday life.

I encourage you to go to your local Christian bookstore (or any online bookstore such as www.christianbook.com) and give Christian fiction a chance! I’m glad that I did. J

Below are some of my stories that have been featured on OPEN YOUR HEART. More are coming, so please come back and check them out! Want to be reminded of updates? Click here to subscribe to our new E-zine!

God Bless and keep the pages turning! ~Shauna, the editor

On this Page

Cherished: a novel

The Prayer of a Praying Mama

Tower of Strength

Story of the Month

(June 2003)

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born…” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

A Time to Be Born

By Shauna

lana Leroy closed her eyes and rubbed them quickly. Slowly opening them again, she focused on the history professor standing in front of the lecture hall. She glanced at her watch and inwardly groaned. Fifteen minutes until this class is over and I can sleep. Setting down her pen, she flexed her fingers and studied Professor Nape. His quiet, monotone voice made her want to yawn and fall asleep even more. He finally glanced at the clock above the exit door in the lecture hall and concluded, “We will return to the Constitution during the next session.”

She stuffed her books into her bag and merged into the line to ascend the theater-like steps to the double doors. As she walked across campus to her car, she spotted her study group clustered around the library steps. She bit back a groan. If they saw her, they’d ask her to join them in their discussion and she would have to comply. To avoid them, she changed directions and quickened her pace.

Ten minutes later she closed the door to her private two-bedroom apartment and collapsed on the couch. She entertained thoughts of dropping out of law school. Her father, an attorney at a Providence firm in Rhode Island, had always persuaded her join to the family occupation. Her great-grandfather had become a lawyer when his brother was unjustly accused of a crime. Since then, the elder son of the Leroy family went to law school, no questions asked.

Alana was an only child. Her father had wanted a son up until she was eleven years old when he finally realized that would never happen. He then showered her with law reviews, case studies, and legal documents. Her after school job since she was fifteen was working at his side at the firm. She reluctantly agreed to follow the family way because she felt her father would be disappointed if she didn’t. His eyes always lit up as he talked about a case or a trial he was working on. And he was good. She didn’t want to let him down so she never told him that she hated studying law. It gave her a major headache. Her father never suspected because she was always at the top of her classes.

She rummaged through her refrigerator and pulled out a toaster strudel. The strawberry pop-tart combination quickly warmed in the toaster. She flipped through last Sunday’s real estate section and brooded over the listings. She grinned broadly as she spotted a large house she had circled earlier. She loved real estate, the terms, and the houses...everything. Before church on Sunday mornings, she would jog to the convenience store around the corner to get a paper and a case of bottled water.

She flicked a crumb from her upper lip and tossed the foil into the trashcan under the counter. Her eye drifted back to the newspaper. Real estate was something that she had secretly always wanted to do. Her friends–the ones not interested in law, that is–exclaimed that she made a perfect real estate agent. She had even helped some of her newlywed friends find their perfect starter home.

If you love real estate so much, Alana, whispered a soft, gentle voice, then why aren’t you headed in that direction?

She blinked quickly and glanced around the kitchen. “Whose there?” she demanded, running into the adjoining living/dining room. No one was there. She stopped in the foyer and glanced at her reflection in the large mirror mounted on the back of the closet door. Her appearance had not been her first priority during the last few weeks as midterms hit her hard. Before law school, she had enjoyed dressing up... styling her hair, investing in the latest clothing styles, and covering her blemishes with expensive makeup. Alana dropped her shoulders and turned away from the mirror. She was miserable.

She padded down the hall in her ankle socks, the burgundy carpet feeling plush beneath her feet and dropped onto her bed. Her lip quivered and her head began to ache again. She was so lonely in this town. Everyone she knew and loved lived back in Providence while she attended Harvard. Something needed to change very quickly or she was going to stay miserable.

As she drifted off into a fitful sleep, she wondered what her father would say if she dropped out of law school and became a real estate agent in Providence.

“Y

ou cannot be serious!” boomed her father when she told him her decision the next weekend during their customary dinner at her parents’ home in Providence. Her father’s large fingers lost their grip on the silverware and the fork clattered to his plate. He hastily rubbed his mouth with a cloth and glared at his daughter. “You cannot drop out of school, Alana. I won’t have it.”

She lowered her eyes and felt like a seven-year-old instead of twenty-seven. “Dad, it’s my life. I have to do what will make me feel good. I will have this same job until I retire so I want it to be something I like. And I’m not dropping out of school entirely.”

He shook his head again stubbornly. “All of the finances I provided for you... the connections I had...” He frowned, pushing back his plate and his chair as he did so, and began to pace the large dining room. His shoes echoed off the polished wood floor.

Alana glanced at her mother for support and the woman gave a small, encouraging smile. “Dad, you’ve got to understand. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and my education, but I cannot stand law and trials and–and the Constitution. It’s so boring and gives me a headache.”

He quit pacing and whirled around to face her. “Boring? Do you think it was boring when I won the case for a desperate young mother, fighting her conniving husband for her children?”

“No, sir.” Afterward, she had helped that same young woman locate a nice rental home for her and her four daughters. The grateful mother even remembered to send Alana a Christmas card. Alana held back a smile. That hadn’t been boring.

“And just what are you going to do now, Alana?” He stopped by her chair and crossed his arms. “Are you going to sell houses or something?”

Her mother broke into a smile and her eyes twinkled before she covered her expression with her napkin.

Alana tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, rattling the large, silver hoop earring dangling from her lobe. “Actually, Dad, yes. I’m going to be a real estate agent.” She jumped to her defense before he could say anything. “You didn’t complain when I found this house for us when I was fifteen. Nor did you object when your firm needed to relocate after the fire. No,” she narrowed her eyes and felt her chest burn from years of holding back. “No, Dad, you didn’t mind that I ‘look’ at houses as long as I became a lawyer. Well, I’ll tell you right now: I hate studying law.”

Jaw tightening, her father blinked behind his stylish bifocals before his brown gaze hardened. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he declared, “Then you have no place in this home.”

She felt worse than being slapped by her worst enemy or being thrown from a moving car–things that actually happened to her. “You cannot be serious,” she exclaimed, echoing his earlier words.

Hands shaking, he lifted his index finger and pointed to the front door. “Out.”

Tears burned beneath her eyelids and coursed down her cheeks. “Daddy...” She turned to her mother, who stared at her husband in disbelief.

Her mother rushed to her side and hugged her. She whispered, “Do as he says for now. He’s just angry.”

Angry enough to throw his only child out of his home? She fled from her parents’ home and never looked back.

lana pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes with her forearm and bent back over the mop. She scrubbed the hardwood floor vigorously, but the stain remained stubborn. Groaning in frustration, she tossed the handle away from her and marched into the other room. Why was she constantly being punished for her decision to quit law school? She had never realized how much her father had supported her. God had helped her to forgive him, but the pain of his rejection still hurt.

She didn’t have a job; therefore, she had no money. Her father had taken care of her living arrangements, providing her with a spacious apartment near the school and had replaced her 67' Chevrolet with the latest Lexus coupe. He had taken them all back when she dropped out of law school. She didn’t understand his fury. Why was he acting like this? It was her life!

Alana looked around her run-down studio apartment in despair. This was the only the place she could afford from her emergency fund, but even this shack would be too expensive in two months. Unwanted tears slipped from her eyes and she hurriedly brushed them away. She couldn’t take classes at the university until the fall, so she had no means of supporting herself. God, where are you? Help me to figure out my life. She should have prayed before entering law school so she wouldn’t have ended up in this mess. God, help Dad to change his mind. He’s so stubborn sometimes. Her eyes drifted to a family photo near the windowsill. Her father was grinning proudly at her in the photo of her reading her acceptance letter into Harvard Law. “Maybe I should have stayed in school,” she murmured to herself, stretching her arm to rummage through the magazines and papers strewn on the chipped, wooden coffee table. She winced at the strain and finally found the page she wanted.

The Real Estate Section.

Glancing at the clock, she realized that she could still make the Open House of a home she wanted to view if she hurried. Within minutes, she coaxed her Chevrolet into starting and hurried to the address below the article. Parking down the street, she glanced at her reflection in the visor and grimaced at her expression. Swallowing and closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax. Satisfied, she stepped onto the pavement, her clear two-inch heels clacking against the asphalt. She strolled down the sloped street to the large house, rang the doorbell, and entered the foyer. She had already seen the blueprints of the house and the three dimensional pictures. Lovely.

Her breath caught in her throat. The interior was more than she had imagined. An impressive, circular staircase angled to the second floor balcony and catwalk in the left corner of the entryway. A formal dining room with an elegant stone 2-sided fireplace stood at her left and on her right, a formal living room/library combination. She stepped forward, noting the marble floors with a smile.

“We’ve been expecting you, ma’am,” came a voice from the dining room.

Alana whirled around, nearly colliding with one of the white pillars dividing the rooms, and replied, “Excuse me?”

“Yes,” answered the young female dressed like an executive with a sharp hairstyle and top of the line pants suit. Her voice was native New York and she said, “We’d like you to show us around. The man before us said that you would return soon.”

Realization dawned upon Alana. “I’m sorry, I’m not–”

“On time?” finished the woman with a small sigh. “I am already late to an appointment. Could the tour be quick?”

“Sure,” Alana finally said, leading them through the living room. She knew the house better than she knew her own parent’s home. There would be no telling when the realtor would return... and the businesswoman was impatient. “Right this way,” she said. She described the house in great detail, her eyes shining as they entered various rooms. The onlookers nodded in appreciation as the group returned to the front door.

“I’ll view a few more houses before I make my decision,” the businesswoman concluded before she left.

Alana watched the front door close and exhaled loudly.

Someone clapped behind her.

She whirled around and gasped, “You’re the realtor, aren’t you?”

The woman, around fifty or so, nodded with a smile. “You did an excellent job. One of the customers talked with me about making an offer. He said that my assistant is very talented.” She tilted her head. “What would my assistant’s name be, by the way?”

Alana flushed deeply. “My name is Alana Leroy.”

“I’m Wendy KayLee, from KayLee and Seven’s Real Estate.” Wendy narrowed her eyes at her and suddenly asked, “Aren’t you Gordon Leroy’s daughter? The attorney?”

She nodded glumly. “I’m really sorry that I took the opportunity to show the house. It was not my place. My father would not agree with that.”

“Your father is an amazing man,” Wendy commented as the two women walked outside. She locked the front door and wiggled the knob to check. “He saved my business when it was sued two years ago. I speak with him occasionally, last night in fact, and he mentioned that his daughter was interested in real estate.”

Eyes widening in shock, Alana exclaimed, “My father said that?”

She nodded, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. “He said that you are talented and,” she smiled, “I believe him. Alana, you have such a fresh approach to real estate that I have a proposition for you.”

Her heart beat faster and faster, but Alana forced herself to steady her voice. “Yes, Ms. KayLee?”

Wendy stared into the younger woman’s eyes. “How would you like to train under me... at least until you can return to school. I will pay you commission for whatever you sell. What do you think?”

“I’ll have to pray about it,” Alana started to say when she felt God nudging. Had it not been for her prayer that morning, she would not have even considered coming to today’s Open House. She smiled at Wendy. “I will be honored to learn whatever I can under you, Ms. KayLee.”

Wendy clapped her hands. “Praise God!” She told her to come by the office later that day so Alana could meet the rest of the staff.

Alana walked back up the street to her car with a broad smile. Things did work out! Her heart sang and she felt like a new person. She was going to do what she had always wanted. She fumbled with her keys, trying to locate the right one when she heard a car brake behind her.

“Alana.”

She rose to her full height and turned around. “Dad.”

Her father’s bifocals slid down his nose again and he took them off. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I had no right to control your life the way that I did and I want your forgiveness. I was in the back of the group at the tour and I realized that you are very talented.” He offered a smile. “Forgive me?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, but did not fall. “Yes, Dad. Actually, you helped me see what I’ve been blind to. I’m stronger in the Lord now and I’m learning to support myself through my means and God’s.”

Dad laughed. “So does that mean that you don’t want me to finance your next apartment and vehicle?”

Alana wrinkled her nose and glanced down at her clunky Chevrolet. “Well...” she shook her head and climbed inside. It wouldn’t start. Laughing, she ran to the passenger side of her father’s BMW and slid inside. She replied, “I suppose you can help me out a few more times. I need a ride to my new job.” Leaning back against the leather fabric, she grinned. “I feel so alive... so–so...”

“Born again?” offered her father. Her eyes swung to his face and she gasped. A grin spread across his face and he began to explain how he had found the Lord when he finally relinquished authority over his own life.

Blizzard Dreams

By Shauna

Winter 2001

he approaching blizzard brought snow in thick, white swirls, instantly covering the leafless trees and barren ground. The heavy gust rattled the front door’s hinges, making it burst open and bang against the wall. With a startled cry, Aimee jumped to her feet and struggled to close it. Shivering, she hurried across the room to the fireplace. The few seconds of cold air chilled her to the bone. She picked up her mug of steaming cocoa that set on the table and warmed her hands around the cup. The dark liquid soothed her soul as Aimee sank into her recliner. Minutes later, she entered the kitchen, rinsed her mug, and cleaned the cocoa pot.

Backtracking to her chair, she lifted a book of fairy tales onto her lap and flipped through the pages. Princesses and their heroes made her cry out. Would she ever find love? “Once upon a time,” she murmured, “princes stumbled upon their loves and they lived happily ever after.” Aimee pushed the book off her lap. “That never happens in real life.” Wrapping a quilt around her, she curled up in a ball and tried to fall asleep. The hum of the wind, the crackle of the logs, and the soft classical music in the background eased Aimee’s troubled heart.

A loud knock made Aimee jump to her feet. She hurried to the front door, expecting to see her concerned neighbor. “Mr. Derek, I’ll be fine–” Aimee’s voice cut off in surprise as she stared up at her visitor. “Who are you?” What was this man doing out in a blizzard in her woods?

“Please,” he whispered, his voice shaking from the cold, “may I please come in and warm myself?”

“Cer–certainly. Come in.” She watched him hurry to the fireplace and asked, “Who are you and what are you doing out here?”

Blowing his hands, he answered, “I got lost.”

“I should say you did!”

“I’ll be on my way as soon as I warm up.” His warm black eyes made Aimee’s heart race. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’m Casey.”

“You’re welcome,” she stammered, staring up at him. “And I’m Aimee.” Aimee couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked as if he were a model, posing for a winter magazine. His skin was light brown, a thin mustache lined his top lip, and his nose was red from the cold. Even his clothes looked fashionable. Aimee fiddled with the fabric on the recliner. “Would you like some cocoa? And take as long as you need to dry out. This blizzard isn’t going anywhere.”

Once the drinks were ready– Aimee had to use the last of her milk and cocoa mix– they sat in chairs opposite each other and warmed themselves by the fire. They talked for hours about anything and everything. Aimee knew it was too soon, but she felt drawn to Casey, this man whom the blizzard blew her way. “Don’t think I’m being forward,” she said softly, “but I want to see you again after this storm stops.”

Casey reached for her and kissed the back of her hand. “I’d like that too.” He turned his wrist to glance at his watch. “I must be on my way. It’s nearly morning.”

Aimee’s face fell and tears filled her eyes. “When will you return?”

Slipping into his coat, Casey gently smiled at her. “Soon,” he promised. Before opening the door, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. The swirling snow engulfed him as he left the porch and Casey was gone before she could even cry.

~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~

Aimee yawned and opened her eyes. The fire had died down and the wind’s howl had lessened. “Was it a dream?” She jumped to her feet and scurried to the kitchen. Her head pounded as she pulled open the refrigerator door. Milk was still in the jug and a small amount of cocoa mix remained in its container. Truth hit Aimee hard as she stumbled back to the living room. “It was only a dream.” Soft cries escaped from her lips. “A dream.” She glanced down at the book of fairy tales and cried harder. That book had influenced her thoughts and had made her think she had found love. Casey wasn’t real. They hadn’t talked or shared an evening around the fireplace.

Storming to her studio, she retrieved her easel and paints and began sketching Casey. Her memory of him was quickly fading. An artist by profession, she applied strokes to the canvas as tears streamed down her cheeks. She scrutinized the painting while she muttered, “Once upon a time, I found love, but it was only a dream.” Dropping the paintbrush, Aimee sank to the floor and sobbed.

There was a knock at the door and Aimee’s eyes widened. She sprinted to the front door and pulled it open. Her heart fell. “Hi, Mr. Derek.”

Mr. Derek laughed. “Nice greeting for your concerned neighbor.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

Mr. Derek raised his eyebrows. “Did you remember to restock your wood supply?” When Aimee groaned, he chuckled. “Just what I thought. I had my nephew cut extra before the storm arrived.”

“Just have him set it beside the fireplace.” Aimee turned her back to Mr. Derek and began folding her blanket. Upon hearing the second male voice, she jerked around. “Casey?” she whispered, her voice full of hope.

The man dropped the logs on the floor then shook her hand and smiled. “I’m Kirk.”

“I thought you were someone else.” Aimee stared at him in disbelief. He looked and sounded like her dear Casey. A tear slid down her cheek and she turned to avoid Kirk’s gaze.

Kirk replied, “My mother used to call me that. It’s short for Kirk Caden.”

“K.C.!” Aimee’s face broke into a smile. “You’re real!”

Kirk eyed her. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

Grinning, Aimee glanced at the book of fairy tales. “We met once upon a time, on a stormy night such as this.”

Story of the Month

(May 2003)

“Who hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace.” II Timothy 1:9

Love’s Choice

Shauna

irsten Quinn dug her fingers into the soft, white sand, and lifted her hand before letting the sand particles float away in the summer breeze. Dusting her fingers, she sat back against the bench and stared at the ocean ahead of her.

“Won’t you say something?” prodded Marques Bailey.

“What can I say?” she responded, finally finding her voice. She turned and watched his face carefully. “Marques, are you sure that’s what you want? You’re sure you want to go overseas to practice your medicine?”

The young physician nodded. “I want us to be together… to continue with our wedding plans next month, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to give up everything you love here in the States to follow me around the world. I love you, Kirsten, but God has to speak to your heart about this decision.” His pager went off and he pulled the device from his cutoff jeans to glance at the number. “Work,” he replied with a sigh. “I’ve got to go… you don’t have to make your decision today—just soon.” He kissed her goodbye and hurried in the direction of the hospital.

Kirsten bit her lip as she watched Marques leave. He was a good doctor. He was a good man and would make her a wonderful husband. But she was shocked when he told her he wanted to leave the States. Sure, she recalled him mentioning his dream of practicing overseas when they were first dating, but she’d never put any emphasis on the idea. Now it was coming true.

She shook her head and began to walk along the beach, sandals dangling in her hand. “God, what do you want me to do? I love Marques, but he’s right. I have to follow Your plan for my life.” She remembered a scripture she and Marques had read during their devotion yesterday. “The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience… I need all of those God if I do what I think you want me to do.” She closed her eyes and dropped to her knees, groaning, “Oh, Marques.”

~*~*~ ~*~*~ ~*~*~

Marques rang the doorbell to Kirsten’s apartment before unlocking the door. “It’s me, Kirsten. Are you here?” Closing the door, he flipped on the living room light and took a step back. “Kirsten, why are you sitting in the dark?”

She had her back to him, her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She had never felt so vulnerable; never felt so heart-broken.

Marques slowly circled the couch to sit beside her. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. He blinked hard and whispered, “You aren’t going with me, are you?”

A small teardrop snaked its way down her cheeks and she blinked her long eyelashes. “God doesn’t want me to. I’m sorry.” Marques opened his arms and she hugged him. “Marques—how can we get married if we live continents apart?”

Holding her tightly, Marques frantically prayed, Oh, God, grant me wisdom. I can’t bear to lose the only woman I’ve ever loved. Please don’t make me choose between her and my dream. “We’ll pray very hard until the day of our wedding, then we’ll make that decision.” He pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “Everything will work out.”

Kirsten searched his face. “I hope so.”

~*~*~ ~*~*~ ~*~*~

“Mom, do you know who sent this?” Kirsten asked a few weeks later, indicating the toaster oven near her foot.

Mom poked her head into the living room and frowned while staring at the wedding gift. “I believe your Aunt Sara sent that one.”

“Okay,” she answered, her voice shaking. She looked up Aunt Sara’s address in the phone book and copied it onto the return package.

Walking into the living room, Mom studied her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly as she struggled to write the name Sara Lovest. She kept writing “love lost”. Kirsten tossed down her pen and let out a cry. “No, Mom, I’m not all right.” Eyes filling with tears, she covered her quivering lips with a shaking hand. “I miss Marques.” They’d come to an agreement that it was no longer the right time for them to get married. Perhaps in a few years after Marques got his practice in Africa settled. To Kirsten, a few years of Marques being an ocean and continent apart were the equivalent of eternity.

They had decided that they must follow God’s will… even if it meant that they wouldn’t get married. Marques reminded that for any marriage to stand, they must listen and obey their Counselor. Kirsten didn’t argue. Choosing not to marry Marques was one of the toughest decisions she had ever made. God would give her peace; he would heal her heart.

Kirsten stopped packaging the wedding gifts and crossed the living room to the Christmas photo she and Marques had taken last year. She outlined his face with her forefinger. She felt as if she’d never see him again. She remembered their goodbye earlier today.

She had driven Marques to the airport. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she hugged the man she loved, but could not have, for the last time.

Marques thumbed away her tears as he gazed into her eyes. “God knows best, Kirsten. He knows what he’s doing. Remember the verse I gave you this morning?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to be thinking of it while I’m gone.”

“So will I.” She studied his handsome face, engraving all the perfections and imperfections into her mind. She lowered her gaze and whispered, “You’re going to forget me.”

He cupped her chin and tenderly kissed her. “Never. No one could ever forget you, my darling.” His colleague shouted at them and waved for Marques to board the plane. Frustrated, Marques nodded to his friend. Eyes frantically scanning her face, he kissed her again and walked away, his heart a torrent of emotions. The pain of losing Kirsten accompanied the peace he felt over their decision. No matter what happened, God came first. He clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on his suitcase and hurried to the ticket counter.

“Wait!” exclaimed Kirsten as she hurried after him.

His back to her, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Kirsten… please… I have to go. This is hard enough.”

“I know,” she answered as she sniffled. She reached for his hand and dropped her engagement ring into it, then closed his fist around it. “Keep it. If we ever get back together… give it back to me.”

Slowly turning to face her, his jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple lifted abruptly with emotion. “I will,” he whispered huskily.

Exhaling another sob, she whirled around and rushed from his sight. She raced from the airport and maneuvered through the parking lot to her car. She fumbled with her car key as she tried to start the engine. Finally she gave up and pounded her fist against the steering wheel. God, this is too hard. What was that verse he wanted her to remember? “Who hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace.” Before driving away, she glanced back at the airport. Dear God, ease the pain in my heart.

~*~*~ ~*~*~ ~*~*~

Kirsten nervously twirled her ring around her finger. Noticing what she was doing, she clenched her hands together and glanced up at the clock mounted above the secretary’s desk.

God, please show me favor.

Since her broken engagement five years ago, Kirsten had immersed herself in the calling God had given her: creating awareness of neglected, abused, and orphaned children. Based on her Christian upbringing, she and her other Christian colleagues started the Choose to Live Organization. They were more than social workers because they cared for the children’s souls as well as their physical and emotional welfare. They were a private, nonprofit organization that had helped hundreds of children come to the Lord.

Today she had a meeting with a director from a church in the next state. He was considering sponsoring the organization in his state. This was their first opportunity to expand and she was nervous.

After praying and seeking God’s will, she felt the same nudge as when she and Marques ended their relationship. She had to do this.

The office door opened and the secretary motioned her inside.

Standing, Kirsten straightened her blue pinstriped suit and smoothed back her hair. “He has called me with an holy calling, not according to my work, but according to his own purpose and grace…” she hastily murmured under her breath as she entered the office.

The office was of modest size and consisted of a large mahogany desk, two chairs and a bookshelf against one wall. The director was a compassionate man with kind brown eyes and a warm heart. At the end of the lengthy conversation, they both stood and shook hands.

Kirsten couldn’t resist a smile. “Thank you so much for sponsoring us. This will benefit the children of your state so much.”

“I agree.” He paused for a second. “You will be collaborating with our assistant youth pastor. He’s been a blessing since he joined us three years ago. His visions are similar to yours.”

Her smile never wavered. “I’m glad to know. We need more people with this desire and love to serve God. Our children are hurting and need to learn about Jesus’ love and companionship.”

“Exactly!” The director left the office and returned minutes later, laughing and joking with the youth minister. “Ms. Kirsten, I’d like you to meet our youth minister, Dr. Bailey.”

Kirsten’s heart froze as she stared at her ex-fiancé.

Seeing she was speechless, Marques replied, “We’ve already met. Steve, why didn’t you tell me it was Kirsten Quinn from Choose to Live?”

The director frowned in confusion. “Did it matter?”

The two exclaimed in unison, “Yes!”

Steve shrugged. “Make an appointment for your earliest convenience. You’ll be spending a lot of time together, setting up everything.”

Marques led her out into the reception area then stared at her in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? What about you? Last I heard, you were fighting a malaria epidemic and now you’re a minister?”

“I’m still a physician too.” He gave her one of his irresistible grins. “It’s great to see you.”

She didn’t know what to say. The man she thought she would never see again was standing with her. She glanced at his ring hand and noted with pleasure that it was bare of a commitment ring.

The gesture was not lost on him. He shrugged. “I couldn’t imaging being with anyone except you.” He traced his finger down the side of her cheek. “I still—” He halted, noticing that she wore a wedding band. His face flushed and he abruptly turned away. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know you got married. I shouldn’t have assumed that you would—”

“Wait for you?” she whispered.

Clenching his jaw, he put more distance between them. “I promise not to bring up the past again. You’re married and—”

“Marques, stop. I’m not married.” She laughed. “I couldn’t consider any other man because they couldn’t measure up to you. This ring symbolized that my heart was taken by you.” She slipped it off and dropped it into her pocket.

Love shone unchecked in his eyes and lit up his face. “I never stopped loving you. After I was in Africa, God led me to help children. I still didn’t understand, but I remembered our verse and he brought me back to the States.”

She sighed. “But not back to me.”

“but not back to you,” he echoed. “I guess he wanted us to focus on helping others first while we were unattached.” He grinned again and hugged her. “But I know that our time has come.”

Kirsten gasped as he pulled out a jewelry box and revealed her old engagement ring. The cool band slipped onto her finger and felt as if it had never left.

They shared a kiss of promise: a promise of the future, of loving each other, and of serving their Lord. Being willing to serve their Heavenly father restored their love. Love made them wait. Love brought them back together.

Their Hope

by Shauna

Summer 2002

Part One

arjorie left the doctor’s office and entered the waiting room in a calm stroll as she forced back the tears that threatened to fall. The nurse who had led her into the office earlier bid her a good afternoon. It took all of Marjorie’s energy to smile back. Inside her heart, however, she felt that her soul was tearing to shreds. The doctor’s diagnosis wasn’t good. She had lung cancer and needed immediate treatment.

Locking the car door behind her, she tried to insert the key into the ignition, but her trembling fingers would not obey. A tear rolled down her cheek and her chin quivered. “God, how could this happen? What have I done wrong?” She managed to drive herself to the small home she shared with her husband fifteen minutes away without bursting into tears. Her chest growing heavy, she stumbled up the porch steps and unlocked the front door.

Standing in the middle of the living room, she wrapped her arms around herself and started to cry. She wished James had been with her at the doctor’s office to console her and to tell her everything would be all right, but he wasn’t. He’d nearly lost his job while he was at her side during her testing during the past few weeks, and his boss at the factory threatened to fire him if he took anymore time off.

To assist James in paying the bills, she worked as a waitress at a local restaurant and as a cashier at a nearby department store. They couldn’t afford another bill that came with the treatment and her health insurance was a joke.

She let out another cry as she stumbled down the hall to the master bedroom. Pausing outside the guest bedroom, she felt a new torrent of tears flood her eyes. She and James wanted children… they wanted a large family. Now that may never happen. She laughed slightly as she remembered James showing her the house before they were married five years ago. He’d eagerly pointed to this room and described how he would decorate it for their baby.

Their baby. Marjorie cringed, held her flat stomach, and rushed to her room. She collapsed onto the queen-sized bed and cried out, “Oh, God! Help me. You said in your word that I should be full of joy even when I suffer and that you will give me the strength to go on. God, I—I can’t do this. It’s too much. Please spare me.”

She heard James’ distinct car pull into the driveway by the rattling muffler he still had to repair on his to-do list. She quickly grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and dabbed at her cheeks, sitting up in bed as she did so. James’ footsteps grew louder against the hardwood floor as he called out her name. “I’m here,” she said weakly.

James entered the room, his shirt unbuttoned to the chest and dirty sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and crossed the floor to his distraught wife. Lowering himself to the bed, he reached for her and whispered his love.

Marjorie clung to him and started to cry again.

“Shh, baby, it’s going to be okay.” He kissed the top of head before claiming her lips. He rocked her back and forth for a few minutes, waiting silently until her sobs subsided. James gently held her within arms length and asked, “Was it the doctor?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes again with another tissue. “I have cancer,” she replied in a solemn voice.

James’ heart fell and he lowered his eyes. Oh, God, please. Not Marjorie. Not my girl. “How long?”

“He said I have one of the worst cases he’s seen in years. Even with the radiation and the chemotherapy… maybe five months.”

His heart restricted and he reached for her again. “Darling, it’s going to be all right. God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.”

She nodded against his chest. “I know. But it feels so overwhelming, James.”

“We’ll get through this together.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her that his boss had carried out his threat—he’d been fired when he clocked out this evening. James stripped off his soiled work shirt and tossed it into the hamper in the corner. “I’ll be back after I get cleaned up,” he said as he laid her on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. He stroked her hair as she tried to relax. His heartstrings began to break and his head pounded wildly. Oh, God, what are we going to do? We’re running out of money, we’re running out of time... I might lose my wife... I don’t know what to do anymore.

The gentle, small voice whispered, I know, James. I’m here. Don’t give up. I haven’t gone anywhere.

“Oh, God,” he cried out in a hushed whisper as he moved away from the bed, “help us.”

Part Two

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He crossed the hall to the only bathroom in the house and glanced back into their room with a sigh. As he showered, he prayed, “God, Marjorie and I have been constantly battling hardships. First with her miscarriage, nearly losing the house, and…”

I know, James, answered the spirit.

“God, what am I supposed to do? I need help and guidance.”

Read Romans 5. Believe it.

“Romans 5. Will do.” He returned to their room. Marjorie was asleep, a tired expression on her face. James glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Eight-thirty. He dressed her in her nightgown, knowing that she hated falling asleep in her dress suit. He was surprised when she didn’t awaken.

Padding to the kitchen, he pulled out the tuna casserole from the refrigerator and sniffed the contents. “One more day,” he concluded as he scooped a helping onto a plate. He turned on the microwave then settled down at the dining room table, bible in hand. He flipped to Romans 5 and read aloud, “We have been made right with God because of our faith. Now we have peace with him because of our Lord Jesus Christ.” He took a slice of bread and ate half. Eyes back on the scripture, he noticed Marjorie had highlighted verse three in her favorite color: pink. “We are full of joy even when we suffer. We know that our suffering gives us the strength to go on. The strength to go on produces character. Character produces hope. And hope will never let us down.” She had printed today’s date in the margins.

“God, give her strength. Help me to be the best husband and friend I can be.” The casserole popped in the microwave followed by a large BANG! James whirled around in his chair so fast that one of the legs broke. Catching himself before he fell, James quickly unplugged the microwave and opened the door. The casserole was on fire.

“Get behind me, Satan!” Spraying the fire extinguisher’s contents into the ruined microwave, he heard Marjorie’s voice.

“What happened?”

“Nothing more than the usual setbacks, dear.”

“The microwave’s dead, right?”

“Very much so.”

She sighed and slid onto the kitchen chair. “What verse are you reading?”

James replaced the fire extinguisher into its holder then joined her at the table. “Romans 5:3.”

She nodded. “I read that before I went to the doctor today.”

He carefully studied her face. “Do you still believe that?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still hard to deal with.”

He agreed. Reaching for her hands, he suggested, “Shall I pray?” At her nod, he closed his eyes. “God, Marjie and I have been praying separately all day long, but now we’ve come together. Your word says that our strength will produce hope and that our hope won’t let us down. We put our hope and faith in you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“Amen,” she echoed. Placing her hands on the table, she pushed herself to her feet. “I know you must be hungry, but will a salad do? I didn’t get a chance to go to the store today.” Translation: we don’t have enough money this week.

James answered, “A salad will be great. Want to share?” He cut up the ingredients and lovingly watched her prepare the salad. She held up the vinegar and raised her eyebrows. He nodded and she grinned, adding a few tablespoons. They sat back down. “My boss called me into his office today.”

She stiffened, but remained silent.

He sighed heavily and angrily stabbed his lettuce before forking it into his mouth. “He fired me. Said I was a bad influence, a trouble-maker, and a slacker.”

Marjorie shook her head. “You are the hardest worker there!”

He shrugged. “My buddy said that the boss overheard us talking about God during our lunch break, hence the bad influence claim. The boss doesn’t believe there is a God.”

“Would the trouble-maker bit have anything to do with your helping a co-worker get the courage to face him once she realized that he was cheating her out of her pay?” He nodded. Marjorie shook her head. “And being a slacker must mean taking off an afternoon to take me to the doctor! That man is so—”

“We should love our enemies, Marjie.”

“That man is so—in need of Jesus.” She smiled and laughed. She suddenly stopped. “The devil is not taking a break in trying to bring us down, is he?”

James shook his head. “But we are more powerful because of Jesus.” He took their empty salad bowls to the sink and rinsed them out. Returning to her side, he slipped his arm around her slender waist and led her to their bedroom. They prayed again, called their family to tell them the news and scheduled a prayer meeting at their church for the following night. Then they drifted off to sleep.

Part Three

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“The tests just came back and… we can’t do the radiation and chemotherapy, Mrs. Paulis.”

Marjorie gripped James’ hand. “Why not, Dr. Nathan?”

Dr. Nathan, a man in his early fifties with gray hair, intertwined his fingers together. “You are pregnant.”

James’ mouth dropped. “What?” He glanced at his wife then back at the doctor. “When?”

“The baby will be due in early March.”

Marjorie’s eyes watered. “I’m going to have a baby?” Joy filled her being, but crashed to the floor when she remembered her present situation and the time limit that Dr. Nathan had given her. “But… what about the cancer? Will that affect my baby?”

Dr. Nathan sighed heavily. “This is the worst part of my job. I know how hard you and James have tried to conceive, but your cancer has spread in a very short time and the survival rate is very slim. We need to do the chemotherapy and radiation as soon as possible, but we won’t start because it is your decision. Your baby’s life is at stake with the treatment, but then you may not live to have the child anyway.”

James silently watched his wife’s enthusiasm crumble and he fervently cried, God! We can’t take anymore. He gripped her hand and studied the doctor. “What will happen if she gets the treatment?”

“If the baby survives, it may have major deformities or mental problems.”

Marjorie closed her eyes as the tears began to fall. “Then I won’t take the treatment.”

“If you don’t, then you will die. If you survive the nine months, there are no guarantee’s that you will make it through the birth.”

Standing up, she walked to the window away from the men and muffled her sobs with her hand. She wanted this baby. She needed this baby. But James needed her. She opened her eyes, her vision blurred with tears, and whispered, “James… what should we do?”

Her husband remained silent, though he shared her distraught look. He remembered a happier time when he first showed her the “baby’s” room. He’d been so happy when she got pregnant the first time, but after the miscarriage, they’d had to cope with the loss. But they were together. The scripture they had read from the night before echoed in his mind. “Our suffering gives us strength to go on.” He knew that God did not want this to happen to them, but there had to be a reason. Still he couldn’t see any good coming from their situation. He went to his wife and engulfed her in his arms. “We’ll pray. And then we’ll decide.” As she nodded, he told the doctor they’d call him tomorrow with their answer.

They went straight to their church and collapsed at the altar. Several women saw them and rushed to Marjorie who was holding her stomach and crying hysterically. James closed his eyes and remained silent. He felt a strong hand squeeze his shoulder and heard his pastor’s soothing voice. Someone called their prayer team and within minutes, the sanctuary filled with the most of the congregation. They cried unto God in one voice as the sanctuary filled with prayers and petition for the young couple.

That night as Marjorie leaned her head against James’ shoulder as they watched an old 60’s movie, she said, “I’ll do the radiation and chemo treatment.”

James searched for the remote, found it behind his pillow, and turned off the TV. “And our child?”

“—will be in God’s hands.” She stared into his eyes, her own gaze begging him to understand. “James, I must get better so I can have this child. We’ve been waiting for this moment for years ever since our first…” her voice trailed and she cleared her throat. “This is the toughest decision I’ve ever had to make.” She paused and quickly brushed back the torrent of tears. She gripped James’ hand and tried to steady her quivering voice. “No matter what happens to our child, we will love him or her with all our hearts. And I love you. Is this all right with you?”

He stared at the blank TV screen for several minutes in silence. Voice heavy with emotion, he finally answered, “I want only God’s best for you and if you feel that this is what He wants, then do it.” He cupped her chin in his large hand. “I don’t want to lose you.” He kissed her then she turned off the light and turned on her side, falling into a fitful sleep within minutes.

~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~

James knocked on Marjorie’s hospital door with a smile. He’d located a job that paid more than his previous one and had been hired! He pushed open the door and swooped the bouquet of roses and lilies from his neighbor’s yard—he had asked!—and laid it on top of the sheets.

Marjorie was fast asleep, her shallow, rhythmic breathing the only sound in the private room.

James watched her sleep. She’d been in the hospital for five months and the cancer was not subsiding. His eyes drifted to her pregnant belly and wondered about his child’s health. He laid his cheek against her stomach and closed his eyes. A sharp jab poked his jawbone and he raised his eyebrows. Was the baby kicking? He sat up and outlined his wife’s thin, pale cheeks with a soft caress. Her once thick head of dark, coarse hair had dwindled down to a baldhead. To show his support, he’d shaved his own head. Marjorie had laughed for days at the sight of him and momentarily forgot her pain. He kissed her forehead and tiptoed from the room.

Back at the house, he turned up the television to drown out the intense silence of the house, as he got dressed for work. It was too lonely here. He couldn’t live like this. He grunted angrily and jerked the tie from around his neck. He couldn’t fix the stupid thing properly. Narrowing his eyes at his reflection in the mirror, he forced his shaking hands to arrange the tie. Having to settle for the tie being less than perfect, he grabbed his car keys and hurried to work.

He’d been shopping for a present to compliment Marjorie’s car one day at a car dealership and had helped one of the patrons select a car. The owner of the dealership happened to be listening and hired him on the spot. The pay was great and the atmosphere pleasant, but he had to wear a suit and tie everyday. He laughed. He’d had worse jobs. The greatest benefit of the job was his boss. Ms. Yvonne was a kind, Christian woman who had great sympathy for James and Marjorie’s situation. She’d already allowed him to take a day or two off to be with Marjorie when she had major treatment or complications. Yvonne would just wave her hand and exclaim, “You sell so many cars that it compensates for your absence.” With the job came any choice of a car he wanted to drive. Still sensible, he chose a simple, yet attractive sedan.

During lunch, Yvonne rushed into the employee lounge and dropped to a chair beside James. “It’s your wife. Her heart has stopped.”

James dropped his sandwich and felt his own heart stall. He numbly allowed Yvonne to drive him to the hospital. He snapped out of his daze when he saw her lying motionless underneath the doctors and couldn’t stop the tears from running down the side of his face. He heard Dr. Nathan approach him, but kept his eyes on Marjorie’s lifeless body. His wife. His family. God, please.

Dr. Nathan pulled his arm and led James into the hallway. “You have a choice, Mr. Paulis. There is still some brain activity and we’ve gotten her heart to pump again. You’ve got five minutes to decide if you want her on the breathing monitor or if you want her to pass away peacefully.”

James ran a hand across his shaved head and stared at his wife who was shallowly breathing with the help of the oxygen mask. “Put her on the monitor.”

Dr. Nathan nodded and returned to the room, giving orders to the nurses as they leaned over Marjorie.

Yvonne questioned, “Is there anyone I can call? You don’t need to be alone.”

He gave the number of his pastor’s office.

“Don’t worry about coming back to work. Take as much time as you need.”

He forced a smile and entered his wife’s room.

Part Four

One day passed. Then two weeks. Finally three months. James slept on a pathetic cot every night at the hospital after he got off work. He was exhausted. The house was a mess, the yard a disgrace, and his countenance wary. Only because Yvonne and his church family insisted that he not neglect his appearance and his God did he keep outer appearance presentable. But inside, his soul had been trampled day in and day out. Marjorie had not awakened since her heart stopped and was revived three months ago. The cancerous cells were not multiplying as fast, but were still doing immense damage to her lungs and other organs. She could not breathe on her own and her brain would die from lack of oxygen if she were not on the machine.

He didn’t know what to do. Their unborn child would no doubt have complications and his wife probably would not survive childbirth. He dropped his head into his hands in despair and tried to pray. He felt that God had left him and didn’t know where to find him. Feeling smothered, his soul was numb and heavy. There was no hope for him or his family. Gone. He was losing everything he loved. The time their first child did not survive, James had Marjorie to lean on and pray with. Now… he was alone.

His mind suddenly drifted to a scripture they had read eight months ago. Where had it been? He rummaged through the desk drawer in search of the HOLY BIBLE. Instead, he found a spiral notebook. Curious, he returned to the cot, glanced at his wife’s status, and flipped to the first page. His eyes burned at the sight of the familiar, delicate handwriting. Marjorie had written several entries at the start of her sickness. He hadn’t known.

June 15,

Treatment was today and it was awful! The only thing that kept me sane was the thought of James and our baby needing me to get better. I’m smiling through my pain right now. Our baby. I’m so happy that I feel like I’m going to burst. I hope we made the right decision to have the treatment. Oh, God. I don’t want to die just yet, but I’ll obediently do whatever you want me to do.

We read a great scripture last night and I memorized it after James went to sleep. It’s Romans 5:3 and it says, “We are full of joy even when we suffer. We know that our suffering gives us the strength to go on. The strength to go on produces character. Character produces hope. And hope will never let us down.” It’s so hard not to lose hope—and I’ve been through this only one day! God will really have to help me make it beyond six months. It’s a fight between my body and time. I’m trying to be strong and have faith, but it’s so hard.

James is going to be the most affected by all of this. I know how much he loves me and our unborn child. It’s tearing him to pieces that we have to choose. I’ve been praying for him that he will stay strong, no matter what happens.

I’m not planning on leaving this earth anytime soon, but if I do, I suspect that James will eventually read this. If you are, James, know that I will always love you. No matter what happens, don’t blame God.

James read the rest of the entries and closed the notebook. He swiped his hand over his eyes and sat on her bed. “I love you so much, Marjorie. You can make it. I’ll try to be my old self again. You are so much stronger emotionally and spiritually than I am, but we’ve taught each other so much. You beat the doctor’s deadline and even past it by two months. You will wake up and our baby will be healthy. But you have to wake up, darling. You’ve got to breathe.” He took her hand in his and stared at her expressionless, yet peaceful face. Her last entry the day before her coma requested that James have Romans 5:3 read at her funeral.

No, he whispered. He wasn’t ready to accept that she was dying. That verse always seemed to strengthened them and he wasn’t going to wait until her funeral before he read it. He read the scripture then sank to the floor, laying his head against the bed.

~*~*~ ~*~*~ ~*~*~ ~*~*~

Something thin and soft ran over his face and James stilled, wondering what it could be. The spindly touch gently poked at his closed eyelids, his nose, then his lips. He pressed his lips together tightly and tried to orient himself. Where had he fallen asleep? He racked his tired brain for the answer then suddenly remembered. He opened his eyes at the same time he heard a familiar voice call his name. He inhaled a sharp cry and raised his head to face the bed.

His wife eyes were slowly fluttering open as she touched his face again. Her pupils focused on him and she whispered, “James.”

He kissed her hand and ran to get the nurse. Rushing back to her side, his eyes traveled the length of her. “You look great, darling. Praise God that you are awake!”

Dr. Nathan entered the room, unashamedly showing his surprise. “Welcome back, Mrs. Paulis.”

She ignored him and stared up at her husband. “Baby?”

He smiled. “You haven’t had the baby yet.”

She closed her eyes and tried to speak around the tube down her throat. “Sick… baby?”

Dr. Nathan spoke up, “We’ll know for sure once it’s born. It will be any day now.”

After a while, the doctors and nurses left, leaving husband and wife alone. Tears streamed down Marjorie’s cheeks. “I… ‘eard you say… Romans… and f—felt God say… wake up.”

James clamped down on his lower lip and let his hands explore over her face. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She tried to smile. Her eyes widened and she arched her back. “Baby… now…”

James grinned worriedly and hurried away to alert the doctor.

Part Five

“Dad, where’s the wrench?”

James Paulis came around the other side of the car and leaned his hands on the car. “Check the other toolbox.”

Michael nodded and hurried across the dealership garage to the row of toolboxes. The thirteen year old returned with a grin as he finished his project.

James grinned proudly as he squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Great job. Clean up so we can meet your mother and sisters at the restaurant.”

They arrive in record time at the restaurant. James kissed Marjorie hello the hugged his two daughters, Hope and Patty. The Paulis family blessed their food and thanked God for blessing their family.

Hope was born a healthy baby to Marjorie and James fifteen years ago and was at the top of her tenth grade class. Michael followed two years later followed by Patience “Patty” the next year. James became an asset to Yvonne’s car dealership and was able to finance Marjorie’s return to college. She fully recovered after a lung transplant and was currently co-owner of her restaurant.

The Paulis’ never forgot the grace of God or the book of Romans. They were a testimony to all around them and an inspiration to those suffering. Through the difficult times in their life, they remembered Marjorie’s miraculous healing and the birth of their healthy daughter, Hope.

Romans 5:3 “We are full of joy even when we suffer.

We know that our suffering gives us the strength to go on.

The strength to go on produces character.

Character produces hope.

And hope will never let us down.”

Thank you for taking this journey with me. God Bless!

Shauna

The Prayer of a Praying Mama

by Shauna

Summer 2000

hile driving through the hills of Tennessee in the middle of the night, I began drifting asleep at the wheel. “I’ve got to stay awake,” I muttered, trying to keep my eyes open. I yawned. “Only three more hours until I get home. I’ve got to stay awake.” I glanced at my younger brother and nephew who slept soundly in the backseat, then glanced at the cars passing me on the interstate. I pushed the gas pedal a little further. “Got to stay awake,” I ordered myself. I tried very hard to stay awake as the sleeping spirit fell over me like a wet blanket.

At home, my mother awoke from a troubled sleep. She left her bed to sit in her rocker and pray. “Lord, give my son the strength to drive back home because I feel that his life, along with my son’s and grandson’s, is in danger. Send your angels to guard that car from all hurt, harm, and danger.” My mother rocked vigorously back and forth. “Please help Alan to stay awake. Lord, I feel the urgency to pray.”

My car started to sway back and forth. “I’ve got to stay awake. Only three hours left.” I yawned again and my eyes started to close. Suddenly, I felt a strong arm jerk the steering wheel to the right side of the road. I tried unsuccessfully to steer the car back to the left.

My mother stood up. “Lord, you must take care of my children, for there is nothing more I can do.” She slid under the quilts and exhaled slowly, “Thank you for hearing my prayer, Lord.”

In the back seat, my brother and nephew were unaware that their lives were in danger. Dozing off, I forgot I was still driving. A strong hand gave the steering wheel one final turn then the car came to a complete stop on the side of the road.

Suddenly, I felt a cool breeze. “Why is the air conditioner doing on?” I blinked my eyes open and gasped. “How’d the car get parked here?” The car was motionless on the roadside with the engine off.

I realized that an Angel of the Lord must have parked my car. The Angel of God had stepped in and saved our lives from a tragedy. I thank my God for the prayers of a praying mama.

Tower of Strength

By Shauna

Winter 2000

ineteen-year-old Madeline Barnett sighed heavily as she leaned back against her pillows. Her mind tried to digest the horrid news she had received hours earlier. She had leukemia and if she didn’t go into remission within six months, she was going to die. Anger and fear darkened Madeline’s countenance. “I can’t die, not yet.”

Her father Jeremy knocked on her open door before peering inside. “How are you doing?”

“How do you think, Dad?” snapped the young woman. Madeline sighed again and replied softly, “I–I’m just trying to get used to all this.”

Jeremy nodded sympathetically. “Me too. God will help us through this.”

“God?” Madeline quipped, her eyes blazing. “If God is so powerful, why did He let this happen? How could He do this to me? Am I so unsatisfactory to Him that He wants me dead?”

Shaking his head, Jeremy sat on the bed beside her. “You know that’s not true. God loves you, even more than I do. He will be your tower of strength, Madeline.”

“I can do things for myself. I won’t die. I just refuse to surrender to the cancer.”

“Madeline, you need to trust that God will work everything out for His purpose.” Jeremy stood to his feet and crossed the room to the door. “He knows what He’s doing. Your life isn’t over yet.”

As months past one by one, Madeline felt herself losing the battle. Despite her father’s plea, she couldn’t... wouldn’t... let God be her strength and her Lord. She continued to run her own life, and she was failing miserably.

“There’s nothing more I can do, Madeline. It’s out of my hands,” her doctor told her one day. He looked down at Madeline as she lay in her hospital bed. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Madeline’s composure broke away, piece by piece. Tears streamed down her drawn, pale brown cheeks. “Stop this, please, doctor.” Madeline pleaded, “You can’t do this to me! You’re a doctor and you have the resources. You have the knowledge and the ability–”

“–only God has the ability to reverse something like this,” admitted the prominent doctor.

Madeline clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you are one of them! Those Christians,” accused the distraught girl, “who thinks their God is in control of everything!”

“I am. He is and you need Him more than ever.” The doctor gently added, “Don’t try to run your life and do what you want all the time. Learn that you aren’t always in control of everything. If you don’t straighten your life out and live for the Lord, and you die... where would you be then?” After telling her he’d be back later, the doctor grabbed his clipboard and walked out the room.

Madeline frowned at the door then closed her eyes. Shifting her position to get more comfortable, she muttered, “I don’t need them or God or anyone. I’m just fine.” But you aren’t. You’re dying and you have no control of it. A voice echoed in her mind. Madeline’s eyes jerked open. That was true. She wasn’t fine. She was dying. Regret and fear etched throughout her body. Where was her soul going to go when she died? The thought vibrated hauntingly. Madeline had never thought of that before. Without reluctance, Madeline carefully rose to her elbows and lifted her head heavenwards.

“Lord, I know I haven’t been the best person in the world. I want to belong to you. You are truly the tower of strength. I can’t depend or lean upon anyone but you. Come into my heart and be with me. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done and for doubting You. I’m not asking you to come into my heart just because I’m dying. I really want to know you and love you, Father. Forgive me and cleanse me with your love.” She concluded softly, “And please heal me.”

With God as her tower of strength, Madeline gradually beat the odds and the cancerous cells went into remission.

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