My First Principal Position

It was my first shot at being an elementary principal. I was fresh out of school, with a new license for a new career; in a new town, with no familiar faces. I was ready to take on this exciting journey. I had worked hard in my doctoral program in educational leadership and while I hadn’t started my dissertation yet, I was excited about trying on my wings with school administration. My leadership style comes from a heart of integrity—doing what is right, even when it might cause a jolt to long-held traditions and to those who hold them ever so tightly.

 I was passionate.

I was ready to change the world, one school at a time.

That is until the very first time my boss, the superintendent walked into my office.

I had rearranged the furniture because the previous principal did not use what I considered to be an efficient design for a smooth flow of traffic; nor one that would allow for some discretion. The building secretary also shared this office space, and although we got along well, I knew that some conversations needed a better sense of privacy.  It was an easy fix, using the large computer desks to create a wall between the areas, and flipping my side of the room. However, when Mr. Superintendent walked into the room, he kept saying, “Oh my, what have you done here?” and, “Oh, this is quite a change!” and, “You will need to be careful, because change doesn’t come easily around here.”

I knew I was in trouble from that first encounter, but it went downhill from there. To start with, there were some extremely difficult behavior concerns that had been hidden from the superintendent for many years. When I brought them to light, and worked with him to secure resources, somehow, these problems were seen to be my fault. He kept asking me that if these issues had been happening for years, why he didn’t know about them. I reminded him that I was new to the district and I couldn’t answer for those before me, however, they were long-ingrained problems that needed to be resolved.

As the messenger and whistle-blower, I took the heat while trying to make things better.  The real reason he didn’t know was his son was in this grade level, and the school personnel had made sure all through the years that the Superintendent remained unaware as to how out of control things really were in his son’s class.

A teacher on staff had made it her goal to make sure I got fired. She sent messages to board members about how poorly I was handling the behaviors that were causing disruption to student learning. One day, an incumbent board member came to observe how I was handling one particular student causing a lot of issues. I informed the soon-to-be board member that the student was not available since I had just emergency-removed him for the day due to his outbursts.  The newly-elected board member was quite shocked. His information was that I was afraid to discipline this fourth grader.

The reality was, I had engaged in a very positive relationship with this young lad’s family. He was a black student attending school in an almost entirely white environment. He was being raised by grandparents with a strong faith, with whom I had built a very positive relationship.  I had good communication almost daily with this family, and they respected the way that I was handling the behaviors of their misguided grandson. They wanted him to make better choices, and worked very well with me to build strategies to help him.

One day, this boy told another student to keep his m***f** hands off of his basketball. When he was sent to the office for using profanity, he and I discussed how that language was not going to ever be acceptable at school.  His response was that the other kid should have kept his m***f*** hands off of his ball. It was his private property.  I asked him, if it was private property and not to be shared with others, then why did he bring it to a public school?  He smiled and said, “good point.” He promised he would try harder to curb his language, and I thought the situation was over.

The next day, I was called to the superintendent’s office. I was interrogated about the profanity situation, and asked for how many days I suspended the student. A suspension is the highest level of punishment available to a building principal. I had no idea why I would suspend a student for using bad language with a peer. What if he had used that language toward an adult? What if he had been physically aggressive? Why would I pull out the biggest gun available for words alone? As these thoughts were scrambling through my brain, the superintendent told me that he was rethinking his decision to hire me, as it was quite obvious to him that I did not share the same values as their district. Obviously I didn’t. It was quite clear to me that this street-wise black kid was not welcome in their mostly white school.

The students with special needs were also not treated appropriately. This district had the children with IEPs on the high school schedule to accommodate some bussing concerns. This meant that the unit with special education students ate separately and at a different time; had a different recess; lined up in their own line, separate from their classmates; and often missed end-of-the-day activities and assemblies as they left an hour earlier than the rest of the school. Even to those unfamiliar with special education law, it was quite obvious the school was out of compliance. When I asked about the bussing situation, I was told there was nothing that could be done. I suggested reconvening and looking at the geographical concerns once again, but I was told to leave it alone.

A few weeks later, a new family with two school-age students arrived. One was on an IEP and the other, in the next grade above, was in a regular setting. The mother was told that her younger child would board the bus an hour before her other child and would come home an hour sooner. This mom was distressed that her two children were attending the same school and had different schedules. I shared my concern as well, and I told this parent that I had tried to address this situation (a blatant disregard for inclusive practices) but that my hands were tied. I suggested that she speak with the director of special education about her concerns.

The next day, once again I was called to central office. This time I was interrogated by three administrators. I was told I was not a team player. I was told that my loyalties were in question, and that it was obvious I was not a good fit for the district. I was told I was on probation and that my salary was frozen at the entry level for the second year of my contract.

Knowing that I was not in the right place to use my leadership skills, I applied to multiple other districts to no avail. I was the second place candidate for three positions, but nothing panned out. I was going back to a place where I was not valued, and not looking forward to it.

When I arrived back at the helm the following August, I was informed that some teachers had been moved. A teacher from another school in the district had come to fill an open position. After the second week of school, this teacher, John, stopped in my office after school and asked if I had some time to speak with him. He shut the door, and for the next few hours told me that he had been involuntarily transferred to my school to “clean up the mess” that I had supposedly made. He had been working on his administrative certification, and the superintendent thought that by bringing John to my school, he could gather information to prove how unfit I was for the principalship in this district. John then proceeded to tell me that he valued me as a leader, and saw nothing at all to report to the superintendent, except that he thought I was doing an excellent job. He wondered why he had been transferred, and asked me if I could shed some light.

I really couldn’t, except I knew that my relationship with one of the teachers had drastically changed. At first, she tried to be my best friend, and then she abruptly became cold and distant.  She was the one that was in contact with the board member about my supposed inability to handle student discipline, and often seemed to try to rally the rest of the staff to be in opposition to whatever direction I proposed. John told me that this teacher had a long history of stirring up trouble. He wasn’t sure why. She had been caught three separate times shoplifting in town. Because it was a small community and she came from an established family, the shop owners were willing to settle out of court so that she would not lose her teaching certification. John figured that her goal was to get the limelight off of herself, and she had already done a pretty good job of it.

As John and I discussed the timing of the change, I suddenly realized when it happened. It was the day after I had shared with her during a meal break during parent teacher conferences that I had been raised in a Jewish home and then became a Christian in college. It started to make sense that things began changing rapidly after that casual conversation.  I later found out that this community had very strong ties to an anti-Semitic group, but of course I couldn’t prove anything. I just had John’s affirmation that I was not the problem, and the timing was undeniable.

In February, I informed the superintendent that I was pregnant. Two days later I was given my notice that my contract would not be renewed once the school year had finished. I found this timing to be uncanny as well, but had nothing substantial to prove my suspicions of discrimination.

John was a great support and became a good friend and confidant. I somehow made it through the school year, and continued to provide the best leadership that I knew. At the end of the school year, I encouraged the staff to try some multi-age cross-content learning by allowing students to choose a country for in-depth study.

The students moved to the study of their choice for an entire week of cultural immersion. We held a special event for families to participate as their students demonstrated their learning. Special food was prepared representing each locale. Costumes were made, art created, items displayed, and students shared the results of all that they had learned. It was truly a spectacular event. However, it didn’t happen without a battle. That teacher did everything in her power to not allow this to take place. She used every trick in the book, but this time the rest of the staff did not allow the squeaky wheel to get her way. Everyone else was on board, and they told her to give it a try. It was interesting, but at the end of the unit of study, this teacher had changed her tune about project-based learning.  I couldn’t help smiling when I overheard her explaining to the school board members about the value of multiage and cross-content learning.

My teacher-friend, John had chosen to lead the learning on the country of Israel. The students made flags and Stars of David to display in the windows facing the road. When I had gotten near the end of the year, I decided that it was time to exit gracefully. I had enough sick leave to go a few weeks early, and the High School assistant principal had already been hired to fill my position. He came the day before I left so that he and I could tie up loose ends. As I walked out the front door, I noticed that John’s students had made a banner that said they would miss me, but on either side, there were still the Stars of David and the Israeli flag. A fitting send-off for me, no doubt.

When I was hired in my last position (which I held for seventeen years until I retired), the superintendent in this district asked me if he were to speak with my former superintendent what would he say? I took a deep breath and said that I didn’t think it was a good fit for me there. My new boss thanked me for being honest and said that he was looking for someone with integrity. He had already been in contact with my former boss, and knew things had not gone well there. He said that he knew that not every job was a good fit, and that everyone deserved another chance to prove themselves. I will always be grateful for that opportunity to try my wings again as a building principal. I might have been let go from my first experience, but what I learned was that integrity matters. No matter what!

            

Short-Sighted and a Three Dog Light

     While stopped at a red light, the truck in front of us had a sweet little dog in the back seat. The doggie had his head out the window and seemed to be enjoying the view. Then all of a sudden, he wiggled himself completely out the window, and was hanging by his leash attached to the collar around his neck. Slipping his collar, he ran around to the back of the truck. Thankfully, the light was still red.

            My mouth was wide open and so was the driver’s, who frantically jumped out of the driver’s seat, picked up the dog, and placed him back in the truck (with window now closed). The light still hadn’t turned green yet.

            My husband laughed at how long the light was, saying there was time to chase after three dogs before the light changed. He said he would be calling it the “Three Dog Light” from now on.”

            We followed the truck a few blocks, and then watched them turn into a local groomer’s parking lot. I had to laugh at that poor little doggie who risked jumping from a rather tall truck, almost strangling himself with his own leash and collar, and then ran into traffic—all to avoid a visit to the groomer’s.

            This reminded me of how short-sighted we must seem to God. We balk, and go in any direction instead of the one we need to, just to not have to endure what we think might be distasteful or scary. Yet, we often will put ourselves in even greater risk—just like this poor little doggie—to avoid something that really is pretty simple. God tells us to just take one step and then He gives directions for the next. When our thinking turns to worry and fear, it becomes easier to leap out the window than to stay the course.

            I wonder how many times I have run into greater obstacles just to avoid stepping out into the unknown? I have been just like this little pup more times than I can count. Enduring a bath at the groomers may seem like a mountain at the time, but in the grand scheme of things, it probably isn’t.

            Next time I start to stall when I am asked to leave my comfort zone, I will forever have this mind picture of a tiny dog leaping out of a truck window, hanging by his collar, and running into traffic just to avoid a bath. 

           Thankfully, the Three Dog Light held a happy ending today!

In Training

This past weekend, I was in downtown Indianapolis by myself attending a Women of Joy conference with over 6,000 other women, none of which I knew. I had to push through several difficult things with my thoughts that were NOT currently being “brought into captivity unto the obedience of Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5).

First, the weather report was not good, and major thunderstorms were predicted. My husband prayed with me before I left on my two-and-a-half hour drive for peace through the storms. I prayed for no storms until I got there.  Thankfully, and so very gratefully, God heard my earnest prayers, and I had barely a sprinkling the entire trip.

Then there is the driving in the city part. I have a lot of angst about city driving, especially when I do not have a clue where I am going.  I managed to keep nailing my anxious thoughts to the cross right up until I made it to the valet parking area. Yes, the extra $6.00 plus tip were worth it to not have to get back into my car to find the self-parking garage. The only thing I could think of at the time was, “We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto!”

I wasn’t worried about not knowing anyone, although it was pretty weird having dinner on my own. I knew I was there to learn, to be listening, and hearing God. And frankly, I did a poor job of it much of the time. That actually surprised me, because I knew I was sent for training purposes. I really thought I was ready to receive the training. I wasn’t.

At dinner, my waiter’s name was Jacob. He  was a very endearing young man. The first thing out of his mouth when he realized I was dining alone was, “I would love to be able to do what you’re doing. Bless your heart!”  I knew that I wanted to bless HIS heart, so I told him that I have a new practice that I will be asking my wait staff how I might pray for them. I also, sheepishly admitted, he was my first.

He was quite astounded, and I told him to think about it while he brought my drink. He kept checking back with me, telling me he was “still thinking.”  I thought I’d heard a word for him. It was “trust your gut.” So I told him. He didn’t know what it meant, but wondered if it was something that was about to happen. I hadn’t considered that possibility, because I was expecting him to instantly resonate with this “word from the Lord.”

Feeling unsettled, I thought I heard that I was to leave him a $50.00 tip. I asked again, because right now my finances aren’t where I have been expecting them to be. I have sown into various moving ministries, and haven’t yet received my promised abundance. Knowing the meager amount in my checkbook and the bills yet to be paid, I asked a third time.  Really, $50.00?  I heard, “want to make it $100.00?”  I smiled, and obediently wrote out the tip for $50.00, and wrote, “trust your gut” beside it. I have no idea if this was God or not, but, heck, I’m in training, so I was encouraged. That is until…

I hadn’t been in a large city’s downtown for many years. I had forgotten what homelessness looks like. The pit of my stomach still aches for these people on the streets. I wanted to hear their stories. I wanted to know why they were there, but I walked past them without making eye–contact, thinking, “If I help one, don’t I have to help them all? How do I do that?”  It was easier to not see them. So, I walked by, pretending I didn’t see them. But I did. They were not invisible to me, yet, all the others around me walked right on by as well. Their conversations didn’t stop, they seemed oblivious to the pain and suffering. I was miserably trying to hear what to do, all the while thinking, “how can I fix any of this?”

The conference was amazing. If you have never been in a large group setting where everyone is worshipping together, you really need to do so. There are no words to explain what being in the Presence is like. In our Sunday School materials this week we read the analogy between using words to describe the Presence like taking a Polaroid snapshot of the Grand Canyon at night, and trying to portray the immense grandeur with the photo. Just can’t do it justice!

The evening’s events ended with Natalie Grant pouring her heart and voice into all 6,000 of us. I was so blessed. Then walking back to the hotel, I spotted him. The homeless one I was supposed to talk to. Our eyes made contact. His sign read, “Help me, please. God bless you.” I heard God’s voice. But I didn’t want to hear it. I still had many blocks to walk in the city at night back to my hotel. I was alone, although I wasn’t really. It couldn’t have been about my safety. There were many others leaving the arena and heading back to the same hotel. There were also other homeless ones all around him. Yet, I had honest reasons to not stop. I convinced myself that I “shouldn’t.”  I didn’t do the one thing God asked me to do.

I enjoyed the rest of the conference. It was inspiring, uplifting, and affirming. Yet in the pit of my stomach, I was totally undone. I came to Indianapolis to hear God’s voice and to do what He asked. I failed the test. I didn’t obey. I will never forget the look in that homeless man’s eyes.

I am praying that God sent another more obedient one to that man. In spite of my shortcomings, I pray that God’s will was done by someone with less resistance than me. I can rationalize all of my “reasons,” but the truth is, I fell short of the mark in my training. I balked because I was uncomfortable. No, I was scared out of my wits. I don’t want to admit that. I would rather see myself as fearless, but the truth remains. I chose fear over love, and I hate that part of me.

Today, I am resting in God’s mercy and forgiveness, but I am also forever changed. I am sure I will continue to wrestle with obedience when God is asking me to step out of my comfort zone. I am counting on remembering that homeless man’s eyes, boring into my soul—waiting to be helped.

Jesus tells us in Matthew 25: 35-40

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?” The King will reply, “I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brother of mine, you did for me.”

I am humbled. I am ashamed of my fears. I am truly sorry for not obeying. But then, I also am basking in the forgiveness of the Great Trainer. Tomorrow is another day! Let the lessons continue!

Coincidence?

Last week, I encountered two people whose life’s work and passion had a profound impact on me.

First, I found an author who writes about the things that matter most to me. Her writing style flows with ease, and she intersperses scriptures with enlightened meaning in ways that anyone can understand. I bought three of her books and found her to have a fascinating ability to reach into the depths of my heart.  I guess she is well-known, although I had never heard of her before. Thank you June Hunt for impacting my life so much already. I want to write like you so that my words penetrate the hearts of my readers. You have given me such a remarkable example to follow.

Then, just two days later, I encountered an amazing woman of God who has the mantle of a healing anointing upon her. She and her team, through the power of the Holy Spirit, healed over a hundred women at a conference I was attending. I, too, was blessed with a healing from chronic pain that I have lived with for over fifty years caused by various injuries along the way. Just like that! Gone, in the name of Jesus! Hallelujah! Let me tell you, going from chronic pain to no pain is truly a life-altering event!

Her name?  Joan Hunter.

Now, is it a coincidence that June Hunt and Joan Hunter both entered my life within a 48-hour period and created such an overwhelming impact that I can hardly contain it?

I don’t think so. I believe that it was no accident that these two ladies with almost the same name came to me at the same time because God is about to jumpstart the next phase of my journey.

I am ready! I am grateful, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt it was a God-incidence that I was allowed to experience the passions of these two amazing ladies almost at the same time.

No, it was definitely not a fluke or an accident. Rather, this is the affirmation of Godly orchestration of purpose and growth for my life. For that, I am ever blessed!

Buried Baggage

            Today, I sit in awe of God’s majesty and how He continues to bless in spite of my shortcomings. I am currently doing purpose work through a mentoring course, and my focus has been on me for several weeks.

Frankly, I don’t like it.

Through this process, I am forced to reckon with the parts of me that I don’t want to be. I usually gloss over the deep, hidden barriers that I have buried under mounds of course-corrections, hoping that my Godly goals will cover over the junk that is, nevertheless, still there.

I know it doesn’t work that way, but yet, that is what I have been doing for a very long time. Far, far too long.

It seems to me that I have trouble finding the line between recognizing my sin in order to confess it so that I may move on; and wallowing in the mire of my faults and shortcomings. There is a very subtle boundary here, and typically when I begin processing my desire to dig up the buried garbage, I quickly feel defeated and so very unworthy of His time and love.

The truth is—I am unworthy. I always will be when I come with just myself.

The other, and way bigger truth, is—Jesus made me worthy. Because of Him living in me, I am no longer unworthy. This is what being free means.

So, here I sit, knowing I still have buried garbage that needs addressed, and not wanting to go through the effort of stripping away yet another layer of sin to pin to the cross. It is a painful process. I don’t want to admit that I haven’t fixed these areas of my life yet.

I wanted to believe that burying them would be enough to let me forget them. Out of sight, out of mind, right? 

Nope.

Now I see that unless I allow the blood of Christ to remove them completely—to be fully washed away—they will eventually spring to the surface in the ugliest of ways.

I also am learning that when they bubble up to the surface, they are even more abhorrent with the decay and rot of the burial I so carefully devised.

Today, I am allowing the Holy Spirit to dig up the garbage that I have wanted to stay buried at rest. I want to reckon with the reality that these things hold no power over me any longer, and I release them. I am trusting that I am now cleansed and made whole by letting go of the buried baggage.

It is amazingly freeing to know it is this simple.

Whirlwind Day

Today has been a whirlwind of life-altering events around me. A famous band member committed suicide; a notorious murderer and thief was paroled; a high school friend’s infant grandson passed away; an even closer friend’s adult son has relapsed into drug abuse for the umpteenth time; and my daughter was just offered the job of a lifetime after being out of work since she had been laid off after her maternity leave ended over a year ago.

I am so happy for my daughter. While she has not had any college coursework to prepare her for this position in marketing and PR for her city of residence, she does have some solid experiences from her previous job that will serve her well, indeed.

Years ago when she told me her plans to pursue her Master’s in Creative Writing, I wondered how she would ever make a living with that degree. I think it’s the “creative” part that landed her this position.  I know she will have a huge learning curve ahead of her, but I also know she is up for the challenge.  Needless to say, I am so very proud of her.

I’m sure she’s worried about going back to working motherhood again, now with two littles at home, but this job is only about a ten minute drive away (rather than the grueling hour plus she endured in her previous job during rush hour to get in and out of the city). That alone makes this new offer so appealing.  

I am so happy for her, but I am rather shocked at the array of splashed emotions on my heart this day.

It makes me feel like I just need to take a deep breath and exhale. Twenty times.

Couldn't Ask For More

For some reason, the decision-makers in public education have decided that every child needs to be prepared for college or a career. In theory, this sounds really good. However, the reality is that some people have no desire for college or a professional career. And frankly, I’m glad.

While out for my morning walk today, I was watching the guy driving the refuse truck around my neighborhood. There were so many gadgets and buttons and bells and whistles on that truck that I wondered how anyone could properly learn to operate it. There were also two steering wheels so that the guy could drive right by the curb and not have to waste time walking around the massive machine. I paused, in awe of his skills.

I know those kids in school who would love to drive a giant truck every day. They are the ones fiddling with erasers and small objects while the teacher is yammering away. The ones who don’t understand why it matters what the author’s intent was or why they actually have to write entire paragraphs about it. Give them a project to do with their hands— they are engaged, enthralled, and saying, “more of this, please!” Ask them to put their thoughts on paper, and it is as though we told them to write it in flawless Chinese.

Years ago, we used to have apprentice opportunities for kids who did not want to choose a more academic path. I don’t know why we decided this way is better, although I hear, thankfully, that the pendulum is starting to swing back.

The skills that garbage pick-up guy had were amazing to me because I have none of them. I want him to know how to do his job and do it well. I want him to know how grateful I am to him for learning how to operate huge machinery and handle the aspects of his work. There is much planning involved – where to stop to be the most efficient; which garbage is in the correct can for the mechanical arm to lift; which cans need to be physically handled; how to deal with the geography and the weather.  It really is a huge skill set.

Yet, if I asked this guy about his experiences in school, I would wager he would have many negative memories to share. I imagine he still harbors feelings of failure and unworthiness.  It breaks my heart to even think about it. The reality is, he wasn’t the failure. They system failed him.

Why are we not celebrating the uniqueness of every person?  I am so thankful that my trash guy chose his occupation. Each week when I bring my trash cans back into the garage, I am beyond appreciative that someone took the time and effort to get rid of all of that yuck for me.  Watching him drive that massive truck with all of those knobs and levers made me feel inadequate and very small.  I bet, however, he wouldn’t believe it if I told him.

We have a long ways to go before we figure out how to make the trash guys and the nurses’ aides and the road workers and all of those other very skilled people how valuable they are.

Today, I celebrate those that have the skill sets that I am lacking, yet make my life so much better. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!  I really don’t care if you can put a sentence on paper or not. I do care that you have found a trade that fits for you and you do it well to make a difference in the lives of others. We couldn’t ask for more!

Praying to be in Prayer

I have nothing on the calendar scheduled for today. That, in itself, is unusual. I am grateful for time to breathe and just move as I choose. Yet, something inside still feels unsettled. It’s as though I am forgetting something really important—some divine appointment that I am missing because I am sitting at my computer instead of elsewhere. I have no idea where else I should be.

Nothing is really wrong, and still I have this inner sense of unsettledness. It isn’t about doing something or not doing something, it is more of an unrest.

Then I remember. I am called to be an intercessor.

Some days (actually it is usually in the middle of the night) I am asked to pray for someone I have never met or even heard of before. Other days, images of friends and acquaintances will pass through my thoughts, and I have to jar myself into remembrance to pray.

Today is one of those days.

I have been having trouble lately staying focused in prayer. Between my blind husband and his highly energetic guide dog breaking my concentration, I still have plenty of my own scattered thoughts that continually interrupt.

I am trusting that my sporadic moments of prayer will release the Kingdom power needed to move Heaven to Earth, yet, I am overwhelmed with my own inadequacy.

I think I may need prayer to be in prayer.

Papa, I don’t know why You have chosen me to be a vessel for Your work. I am so honored to partner with Jesus in bringing His Kingdom here to my little neck of the woods, and yet, I am doing all that I know how to do to shove away my negative thoughts and limiting beliefs about my role as Your Princess Warrior. I am grateful that You have brought me to this place, and I am expecting to see mighty signs, miracles, and wonders because of what Jesus accomplished on the cross. I know You want Your power to move ahead of us, and I am straining for the finish line to be able to say I finished the race. But I don’t want to just finish, I want to bring others with me across the line in amazing glory. Thank You for open eyes to see and ears to hear. Amen!

Almost Scammed

I almost fell victim to a scam yesterday. I am feeling rather mad at myself for being so naïve and gullible, but this scammer knew what he was doing.  I am assuming it was a man, but it might not have been.  For ease in writing, I will use the masculine, however, I am aware it could have just as easily been a woman.

First he sent me a private message that appeared to come from my Christian mentor. I am taking an eight-month course with her, and she is so very in tune with the spirit. I am hoping to learn much from her.

The first message said that the Lord had laid some scriptures on her heart that she wanted to share with me, if I had the time. She also said she only had a few minutes, which of course made sense to me because she is quite a busy lady.  Here is the copied post:

God bless you..Am really busy but the lord said i should speak to you he says good things are coming your way and he gave me some bible passages to share with you just few minutes may i?

I should have realized something was up with the poor grammar and Lord not being capitalized.

I agreed, and so this post came next: 

The light of God will not depart from your life....The scripture says in Philippians 1:6, “He that began a good work in you will continue to perform it until it’s complete.” The good news is, you’re not a finished product. God is still working on you.

 

The next post:  hold on the words of God and he will Prosper you. "Behold i am the Lord,The God of all Flesh; Is there anything too hard for me to do? Jeremiah 32:27 .Where are you from, How old are you,What is your occupation?I will Pray for you,for your blessings are so near you...

I stupidly answered all of the questions, but of course a google search would turn up my email and my cell number, and the rest of my information. My hometown and occupation are written on the back of every one of my published books. Even still, I feel quite violated having just naively handing over this to such an evil person

Then this came:  God is opening the windows of heaven for you. He meets your every need according to His riches in glory by Jesus Christ. He is causing men to give unto you good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over. God has given you the power to get wealth. you are redeemed by the Blood of the Lord Jesus Christ.you are redeemed from the curse of the law. you are blessed in the field.

I mentioned that I was attending a conference from her organization in a few weeks and that went ignored.

Deuteronomy 31:6 - Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he [it is] that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.There's nothing impossible for our lord Jesus....Take the limits off of God. This is the year for Him to show out in your life, to accelerate His goodness, and to thrust you to a new level. When you ask big, that’s not just being hopeful, that’s your faith being released, that’s what allows God to do great things.

Please Send me your email and number for daily Prayers and Prophecy as directed by the Lord for your time to shine alight is now. 

I stupidly gave that information. Ugh.

But I want you to know the truth my that Being prosperous is not about buying the most expensive items the world tell us we cannot live without. God wants His people, His children, to love and care for each other . James 1:27 The Christian who is pure and without fault, from God the Father's point of view, is the one who takes care of orphans and widows, and who remains true to the Lord--not soiled and dirtied by his contacts with the world

I responded that I have a heart to give.  I walked right into the trap.

I ike the way you think .. You are a giver , your kind is very rare this days

God will prosper you and elevate you if you work everyday with him through prayers and worship...When you take time to shine light into other people’s lives—you’re kind, you’re helpful, they feel your love—that’s what opens the door to their heart.

I have a word from God now for you .. Are you ready to obey the voice of God without hesitation and reap from the blessings of obedience ?

The Lord Put a word in my Heart for you . There is an Orphanage home i support in west Africa,They suffer from a great storm ,as they are just recovering from a fire accident....the Lord is calling you to sow a seed of faith by donating to them and he will give you abundance in whatever you request. I see a great upliftment coming to you dear Child of God. Are you willing to do the will of the Heavenly Father by helping his children today ?

The name of the orphanage is called LITTLE SHEPHERD ORPHANAGE HOME. https://www.facebook.com/LSorphanage/ ..... Like their page and send them a message telling them your intention to donate and how to do that

When you go to that page, and inquire as to how to donate, they want you to wire money through Western Union to Nigeria. Finally the light is starting to go on. When I asked why they didn’t have a direct website, they informed me that they were still working on that.  I told them I wasn’t sure how to do that. The response was to go to Wal Mart or Walgreens near me.  That is when I finally realized what was happening. No one in Nigeria is going to tell me to go to Wal Mart!  But to be sure, I ran it by my husband. He reminded me about a video my mentor had sent out a few weeks ago about a scammer. I had totally forgotten!

When I quit responding to the imposter, this came:

God bless you I will be here to pray with you after you do so... You have such a kind heart and God will always be by your side

I Pray for you today , God i Plea you extend your soul to the hungry and satisfy the afflicted soul, then your light shall dawn in the darkness, and your darkness shall be as the noonday. The LORD will guide you continually, and satisfy your soul in drought, and strengthen your bones; you shall be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. Those from among you shall build the old waste places; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; and you shall be called the Repairer of the Breach, the Restorer of Streets to Dwell In. (Isaiah 58:10-12 NKJV)

Then I wrote this:

I see now that you are an imposter. It took me awhile, but whoever you really are know this: I cannot imagine what Jehovah God has in store for those who use His Word for filthy lucre. False Witness is an evil. I trust that my Abba Father will deal with you accordingly.

Funny, the posts quit coming.

So, after I quit beating myself up for being conned and lacking discernment sooner, I just can’t stop thinking about why someone would use God’s Word and prayer for financial gain. I know it is because I trust my mentor so much that I would have donated to a cause she believes in, but I just couldn’t imagine someone going to this extreme.  This person has to be enrolled in our course, or else he couldn’t have gotten my name to begin with.  That’s a lot of deception right there.

When I asked Holy Spirit why I didn’t discern sooner and needed my husband to straighten my thoughts, I was told, “You didn’t ask.”

I didn’t!  I saw my mentor’s beautiful picture and assumed the posts were really from her. The words seemed so Godly.  

So I asked, why didn’t You stop me sooner.  I was told I need to learn and be aware. There will be more imposters and false prophets and we can never assume because they speak the Word that their source is Jehovah God.

I feel ashamed at my gullibility and childlike trust. I am disappointed in myself that I gave so much of my information away (email , hometown, cell number). But of course anyone can find that information. It is out there in many places due to my writing work. But it is hard to not feel violated.

Thankfully, I didn’t send money to that fake orphanage, but keep wondering how long before I finally get it?

I know I still am a work in progress. I didn’t need a scammer to remind me!

Just Need to Love

My friend’s dad is dying. He has just days now. I am sad for many reasons, but most of all, I am sad for my friend. She doesn’t know how to ask for help. She has been caring for her father for sixteen months, but in the last two,  he has not been able to be left alone. I admire her. She has strength beyond measure, but she is truly awful at knowing herself and her limits.

She doesn’t want my help. I’ve tried. I text and call, and she doesn’t return them. I’ve stopped in to drop off some food, and she acts as though now she owes me something in return. She doesn’t want other people around or offering words of love and encouragement. She shoves away those that could help ease the burden. Until.   Until she comes to the end of herself and she has nothing left to give.

Yesterday, she finally called me. She went too far on her own, and could not go on.

Of course I went to her house. She was fine by the time I got there. She was feeding her dad his breakfast. He is now not able to find enough breath to talk. He is so weak and frail, that just lifting a cup to his lips takes more effort than he has.

My friend is scurrying around the house, cleaning , because more company is coming.  Her brother and his wife are now there. One of her dad’s cousins and his wife from out of town are coming. She wants to have food available, but she can’t think about what to serve.

Ah, finally! Something I can do. I head to the grocery store and bring back food. I lay it out, and my friend is appreciative. Far too appreciative. She doesn’t understand that I have wanted to be by her side for many weeks. I shoved my way in there several times, but mostly she just assured me that she’s fine.

The hospital bed has arrived. So has a man from church who reads scriptures and sings to him. The cousins arrive.  It’s a madhouse of family, and I feel like now I am under foot.

I came home at the end of the day, and now of course, she doesn’t answer my text to hear how her dad did in his new hospital bed.

So I wait. I pray. I wonder how I can be of  help and support to my dear friend. I feel angry that she pushes me away when I know she needs me most.

I don’t understand, but then, I have not walked in her shoes.

Then, I remember. I don’t have to understand. I just need to love.

Prayer ADHD

Lately I have been unable to focus for any length of time in prayer. I make the effort, and then the distractions come. From the cell phone to the husband to the dog to my own rattled thoughts; staying my mind on Him alone has become almost an impossible feat.

I want to be in prayer. I want to dig deeper and learn the secret things Papa is longing to share with me. Yet, here I am—another failed prayer time.

I want my thoughts to slow down. I want to use my flexible hours for His purposes. Willing myself to to forge through the distractions, here I sit. Hoping this time, my focus stays where I want it. In Him, alone.

It isn’t about desire. It isn’t about faith. It is simply about willing myself to stay in His presence. It is about tuning out the distractions, and letting nothing else enter in.

Thank you, Lord for helping me to turn down the noise in my mind so that my thoughts can become Your thoughts. Help my ways to become Your ways.

Just To Say I Did It

It amazes me how, even after over six decades of experiences, I am still learning new things about myself.

I thought I had trained well for our hike on the Appalachian Trail. We really wanted to feel the true experience. Even though we didn’t intend to camp out, we still carried with us the necessary items in our backpacks, just in case.  Having what we needed if we were forced to spend the night along the trail, there was still great comfort in knowing our hotel room was graciously waiting for us.

We found a shuttle driver who drove us twelve miles away from Harper’s Ferry, and the goal was to walk back to our car.

We didn’t know the trail wasn’t really a trail.

It was a pile of rocks to navigate. For twelve brutal miles.

Our shuttle driver told us that the steep ascent  from the Blackburn Trail Center would be the hardest part of the trip.

He lied.

It was a way to jump right into our experience, though—that is for sure. It seemed like it took forever to climb up, but once we were on the summit, the view was amazing. Only fifteen minutes into our trek, and we thought we had just completed the biggest challenge of our day. I am literally laughing out loud right now.

I did well until after about six hours. Then it wasn’t fun any more.

The rocks in the path had sharp edges, were of various sizes, and unstable. My size 9.5 hiking boots were far bigger than the spaces between them. No amount of motor planning skills properly prepared me for this constant (and rather grueling) trek through the rocks.  After about the twentieth time of twisting my ankle from guessing wrong about where to place my next step I decided this wasn’t at all what I thought it would be.

My traveling companion was moving more quickly than I was by this point. On level ground, our gait was about even, but with all of this motor planning needed with each step, I found myself lagging behind and then trying to hurry to catch up. Of course, the extra effort over the grueling rocks took its toll after awhile.

The other factor was the constant climbing and then the ensuing descent. Words can barely describe the feeling of the immense pressure on the tips of my toes as they jammed into the top of my boots with the incredibly steep downward path.  All of this was, mind you, still navigating over many rocks. Just when we thought we would have a reprieve, it lasted, at the most fifteen yards or so.  There were times we just stopped and wondered how anyone in their right mind would call this a trail. To me, it seemed more like a mountain exploded in front of us, and we had to walk across it.

Every fifteen to twenty minutes, we should expect to see a white rectangular blaze, painted on a tree to inform us that we actually were still on the AT. There were multiple times that I would ask my companion if she had recently seen a blaze. Neither of us could look up long enough to notice the blazes. Every time we took our eyes off of our feet, we would trip on yet another huge rock. It truly is a miracle that I did not actually sprain an ankle, because I sure had plenty of opportunity. We didn’t have the luxury of enjoying the scenery, with our eyes glued to planning the next carefully placed step.

Only about seven others passed us on the trail. All of them were through-hikers. That means they started in either Georgia or Maine and planned to walk the entire length of the AT. We should have wondered why we never saw another day-hiker the entire time. I think I know why!

We didn’t see much animal life – a toad, an inchworm, a beautiful dragonfly, and a feral cat stuck in a tree, plus a ton of squirrels scampering around was about it. We did see plenty of droppings, so we knew some critters were around, enjoying the prolific berries along the way.

But what we did have were the mosquitoes. I stopped and resprayed my concoction of citronella, lemongrass and another deet-free bug repellant far more times than recommended, but it did not stop the most torturous part of the trip. That shrill buzz of the mosquito in my ear is the one thing that removes all of my ability to stay in control of my emotions. That, along with being overheated with sweat dripping from everywhere, pushed me over my limit. It was here that I came to the end of my strength. I started cussing at the mosquitoes. My friend laughed, and in shock of seeing me in such a weakened, out of character state, promptly gave me my trail name. She called me “Mosquito” the rest of the trip.

When we finally came to what we thought was the end of our hike, I was out of water, and more than ready to say I had no desire for a second day of this, as we had originally planned.

The directions to my car were unclear. We followed what we thought were the right signs to the visitor’s parking lot. But to get there, (although only .4 of a mile, according to the sign), was the steepest ascent of our entire journey. It seemed like it was almost 90 degrees straight up. The dirt path turned to steep steps. We put our heads down, climbing each one, thinking we were almost there. About three-fourths of the way up was a bench. I literally collapsed onto it, and tore off my backpack that now weighed at least a thousand pounds, I’m sure. I don’t ever recall my heart rate being that high, and I was light-headed, ready to pass out.  My friend picked a handful of raspberries from one of the many bushes around us, and as I gobbled them up, I could feel my heart going back to a more normal rhythm. I glanced at the next set of straight up steps, and thoughts of a hot shower and good meal propelled me forward.

As we cleared the top, I had this major “uh-oh” feeling. I knew we had taken the wrong path. Instead of getting back to my car, we had instead moved into the upper levels of the town of Harper’s Ferry. My phone told me we were now 3.5 miles from my car. I wanted to cry, but then I saw the blessings. No rocks.  I can do this!

We walked back down the hill—on a real sidewalk, and saw a bistro. We had a choice. We could rush to try to maybe find the last bus that would shuttle us to the visitor lot, or eat. We decided to eat.

Entering this rather fancy bistro, we thought we were far too grubby and disgusting to actually be there, but the waitress assured us it was fine. I found the ladies room (up another very steep staircase) and washed off the first layer of grime and bug spray. I also was quite grateful for a real toilet once again. I had never before wished that I had man-parts until this afternoon when I needed to pee in the woods for the third time.

I had no idea how we would actually do the remaining miles back to the car, but I figured that something other than the Cliff bars and meat sticks I had eaten for lunch seven long hours ago needed to be consumed in order to figure it out.

My friend was too tired to order, so I suggested she get their specialty of Mac and Cheese. She kept saying it tasted bad, and evidently it was because she ended up in the restroom for the remainder of the evening.  We didn’t get the chance to celebrate with the wine I had brought along.

As we were getting ready to leave the bistro, we told the waitress about how we missed the last shuttle to get to our car, and she offered to have her son drive us.

It was quite the blessing to throw our packs into the car and not on our backs again. I am not sure I actually could have put that blasted thing on again anyway.

We paid the kid $20.00 and he was stunned, asking, “Are you sure?” Frankly, I would have given him more. It was worth that for every inch of the way back to my car.

Our hotel was just a mile away, and a hot shower washed away the rest of the evidence of our nine-hour day.

Until I tried to walk, that is.

Still a bit sore, but the next morning we managed to drive the 443 miles back, stopping every so often to move our noodle-legs. With each stop, it took a few seconds for my brain to get my legs to actually remember how to walk.

Deciding to take another hike at our local park the next day, we hiked six miles without a hitch. I wondered why I traveled 886 miles round trip, when we had this glorious hiking path just a half-hour from my house.

But with all this said, I would do it again, just to say I did it.