As a young adult I did not think of myself as an atheist but I was a bit squeamish about what I thought over the top, bible thumping, rigid doctrine, church goers that were often self-righteous in their beliefs. I believed in a God Spirit without a lot of thought and assumed the Bible was as self-righteous and old- fashioned as the ‘ Church Lady’ on TV. After watching fiery, self-promoting southern preachers on TV I was definitely averse to their rhetoric and personal wealth programs and more convinced to avoid those ‘types’. I did not have church in my upbringing but sometimes went with friends. At the time was confused by the standing up and sitting down and how some people crossed themselves at certain times. I was generally more occupied with looking around at what people had to wear then hearing a message.

Therefore the moment years later, that I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit I was terrified, but there was no room for doubt of what it was. It was a very dark time in my life. I was in the midst of a painful, dangerous divorce. I had been attending a self-improvement course in Baton Rouge, La while I lived near New Orleans. It was a long drive but worth the challenge and effort to rebuild my life. Friends that cared about me, cared for my 3 boys so I could attend and I really can never repay them for that gift. As I drove home one evening, I realized how dire my situation was and that I could lose everything since I was out of money for the divorce battle. I could lose my children and our home and I would have nothing to live for. In that moment of despair I turned it all over to God and spoke, “God, I can do nothing, I will do whatever you say and accept it.” I then had an urge to take the next exit I did. Then to take a left. I did. Then I mindlessly follow a neighborhood street until I came to a dead end in a parking lot. I was in a Church parking lot! There were no cars, no people. The silence was so powerful that it felt like a blanket. I heard no traffic. There was a light fog that blocked nearby lights. And I look up. The steeple of the Church shone in silver with reflected light from above. My first thought was fear, what is happening? My next thought was that I was afraid if I stepped out of the car, I would see an angel and then I would have to tell people about it. Then I would be called crazy! But instead great peace came over me and then a loving thought, “Child, come home to me. Come home to Church.” And I did. I started back Church. Life changed. A fearless, excellent Pro Bono lawyer stepped in to help me. So many Christians helped me, without talking faith. Nothing was easy. But I trusted God. That powerful moment had brought me great peace but I did not yet seek to know God.

The journey to open my mind to the active reality of God began years later with a strange dream. I was remarried, in a new place, in a new life and the children were doing well. Life was stable and good. Out of the blue I dreamed a statement; ‘There is an 11th Commandment to Love and to Tolerate those who are different from you.’ This was not anything related to my life at all at the time, but the dream carried a feeling of great change. I resolved that this time I would not be afraid of hearing God and of following God and I accepted that change was coming. Coincidentally the next day 2 young Mormons stopped in my driveway to explain to me that it was the day of the year the prophets speak to people. Interesting! Well weren’t they surprised when I told them my dream. Even they were startled and went on their way!

We are all going somewhere. And we are greatly influenced by the stories of others. What is your story of hope and healing and miracles? Don’t be afraid to speak, if you are a witness to God’s power you have so much to share with others. Help lead the way. (Only first names with be used in post.)

A few weeks after my dream my husband was assigned to a position in Nigeria. With a job of my own, four children and three of them in college it would be complicated for me to go too. But I knew it was the right choice so we started preparing. I puzzled over my dream; tolerate what and who? People of different religions, people of different countries? Within a few weeks coincidentally I met a female rabbi at a church outing and then a short time later I met a Muslim female engineer at a work event. I stuck by her side because it was after 9/11, she wore a headscarf and I was concerned for her. We became friends. I found that will both the rabbi and the Muslim engineer we all had the same beliefs for our families, our children, our desire for peace and we each had a good sense of humor about our differences. Over the next few months I hear a talk given by an Islamic scholar visiting our church, heard from missionaries in Ghana, and visited with a repatriated ex-pat from Nigeria. I did not go out of my way for these events, they just popped up and I went. Wonderful coincidences!

We arrived in Lagos on a Friday and by the next weekend we went to a local church with neighbors. Church was in a concrete building, with noisy, weak air conditioning and plastic chairs of all colors. The shades were badly tattered but it allowed filtered sun to throw slivers of moving light across the floor. Many cultures and colors were in that room, all of strong faith. It was truly a communion of God’s children. It was beautiful and so different. Nobody talked denominations. I enjoyed it and the Christian community did so much charity work we could participate in. So I took the next step and joined a lady’s bible study. I had always hesitated to join one for fear of being told what to believe, and being too religious. I was even afraid I might even have to carry a bible in a quilted cover. The study was, ‘He Speaks to Me”, by Priscilla Shearer. Well that is a pretty clear message to me and I listened. Ladies from all over the world attended the studies and no one was to speak about their denomination or to speak of our confidences outside of class. I watched women pray for little things, for big things, from needing a printer to healing. There were quiet prayers, there were mystical prayers and always thankful prayers. I was learning. I saw prayers answered. The poor served. I signed up for the next course which was, “Lord Teach Me to Pray.” I was about to get an education of faith in more ways than I could imagine

One afternoon I sat on my patio wondering if God really was directing me through all these coincidences but I did not want to have to separate science from God and somehow believe in both independently. That is inherently divisive and makes all of us forced to choose one or the other in some fashion. So I asked God a question. God can you show me you are real through science? And I added a challenge, ‘if God really wants me to follow this path a bird will come down to my patio.” Well that bird came down to the patio. Pretty convincing. I became fearful, first I asked for forgiveness for asking for a sign because I wasn’t sure you were allowed to test faith that way. Then I was worried about all the doubters and skeptics I would face. Then I remembered the story of Jonah and the Whale. I decided it would not turn out good for me if I ran away from God’s lessons. I was ready. I decided to ask God to show me He was real and show me the way. And at this point in the story, I would challenge you to ask God a question. What will grow your faith?

The lessons started immediately. The next morning I went to our gym and the trainer, Larry, walked in. He said God told him to come in, talk to me and share his deep faith. I wondered if he said that to everyone, but I also knew he did not see me enter the gym. A short time later I had an opportunity to visit the Lagos Theological Seminary. Coincidently my church back home was a ‘sister church’ to the seminary and sent out news that someone was donating dozens of valuable bibles of antiquity to the seminary and there would be a celebration at the Seminary. I wanted to go to see the bibles but the Seminary was outside our normal range of travel, so I asked the trainer, who would be a great body guard, to go with me on that Saturday. He said God told him we needed to go Friday. Not one to argue with a prophet I agreed. We walked in at the same time a man walked in, direct from his flight, with the bibles carried in a beat-up gym bag. We looked at a hand annotated John Calvin Bible, an Ethiopic bible, a Tyndale Bible, and others. I was fascinated, I didn’t know we had variations of the Bible. Now I wanted to know the history of these bibles. After our visit the bibles were whisked off for secure storage and never shown at the Saturday event. I thought that amazing God moment was for trainer Larry! He heard God correctly and I was so glad we had gone on Friday! This event drove my curiosity to learn more of who controlled religion and why. Did you know Tyndale was burned at the stake by Catholics for translating the Bible from Hebrew and Greek to English? In Europe, Martin Luther, then later John Calvin and others wanted everyone to be able to read God’s word for themselves. They revealed the errors of Catholic indulgences, Catholic abuse of power and evils of monarchies. King James authorized an English bible that allowed for slightly less Puritan interpretation of scripture. We now have newer versions that are even more refined. And I grew in my confidence that I did not need an expert to tell me what the bible says because I could read it for myself and ask God for understanding.

I just realized as I am working through my old prayer journals; I actually had another prayer answered and had missed the connection. In reviewing my prayer journal I noted that very early, before we on I prayed for a Muslim woman to help me learn. This was a note buried in my prayer journal. Months later a Muslim women, of Palestinian descent, decided to try a bible study with me to see what it was all about. She was brilliant; she had achieved an on-line degree studying alone in her room in Egypt because her father disapproved of her going to college. She had married and moved to Nigeria with her husband’s work. We worked through the bible study together. She also translated accurately some of the varied Korans I had collected- some in Pilipino, others in English and others local languages. The books were set up that one page had the Arabic language and the opposing page the native language. Someone had translated the words from Arabic to native languages with a warlike interpretation and restrictive rules not in the Koran. We were horrified. She was adamant that it not what it said. But there is no one stopping the corruption of the Koran as it is translated into many other languages. I learned it is not canonized or standardized. There are many corrupt versions and no one addressing that. I learned a great deal about the Koran. It is year 1445 in Islam. So interesting that Islam is in its medieval period, let’s hope it goes through its own Reformation soon. I loved my friend and tolerated our differences. She was funny, sweet, a loving mom and a talented artist. I also learned much from our gardener was a both a Christian and a Muslim and a gentle, giving man prone to self-depreciation who had gone through some incredibly difficult times. My neighbors and myself cared for him and his children. I continued to learn.

We decided to take a trip to Egypt for our Easter vacation. We toured Cairo, the Cairo Museum, the Pyramids and flew over to Sharm El Sheik for the beach and scuba diving. We were wide eyed at another place in the world so different than anything we had ever seen. We enjoyed a local meal with our guide, sitting on the rug in an open aired restaurant eating from a common dish with our hands. Sharing a meal and appreciating one’s culture in the same everywhere. We respectfully waited aside during call to prayer as he knelt to pray to God. And by coincidence I spotted a sign at our hotel in Sharm El Sheik that offered a one-day visa to go with a tour to Mt. Sinai and the St. Catherine Monastery to see the place where Moses received the Ten Commandments. Well of course I signed up. I would think anyone would start to realize all these coincidences were not coincidences. I needed to pay attention. It was a long drive, through a flat desert. We passed burned out tanks in the desert. Our guide told us they were left from the 7 Day War with Israel. He said we should never stray from the road since they never removed all the landmines. We went through a military check point. Apparently, there is still an international peace-keeping force between the two countries. I looked for mountains or trees or even bushes, there were none. This made me think that seeing a mountain with water and trees would be remarkable and anyone passing through the desert would want to go there. I saw Bedouins. Just like in the Bible. They mostly stay away from all societies and have kept their traditions. The guide said they turned down public schools and prefer nomadic living. The drive into the Monastery revealed people of all kinds. White robes, Islamic full covers, Islamic head scarfs over western clothes, Eastern nuns, expat tourists, various priestly garb and our little group which needed to borrow shawls to cover heads and shoulders. This Monastery has been continuously occupied since 400 AD. Emperor Justinian I sent them gifts and paintings that are still on the walls, a bush has been alive there since 400 AD and the well still operates. Doubt as you will, but anything standing since 400 AD with ancient scripture and art is eye-opening. The remoteness of the location has protected them from Christian and Islamic turmoil. They at one time had a basket draw bridge to keep themselves save behind high towers. Their Byzantine Library is carefully guarded. We only had 15 minutes for the walk thru for security reasons. Later I read the book, “The Sisters of Sinai”, about a set of Scottish twins, wealthy and multilingual traveled to the Monastery, by camel, in 1892 and they were allowed to translate ancient Syriac manuscripts hidden away. It is puzzling why these ladies do not get more credit in religious writings, it created a new basis for gospel validation. On the ride back we drove a different way and we stopped to eat at an open market, no refrigeration and the meat cooked in front of us. The cats walked under the table and on the table. It was hot and we waved away flies. I figured that was more dangerous than the land mines on the drive in! I definitely could feel what 1892 would feel like. It brought me to a new awareness that there may be many female martyrs, prophets, disciples, reformers and scholars that have been silenced by patriarchal institutions. Another topic for the future

My daughter’s high school in Nigeria did not go through senior year. We would need to send her to boarding school. Me, a mom, that did not want my kids out of my sight, would have to let her go. We followed other ex-pats to a school in Switzerland. A beautiful school in the mountains near a ski hill. It was breathtakingly beautiful with clear air, so refreshing after crowded and hot Nigeria. I decided I needed to see her every six weeks and do a bit of touring around while I was there. My first trip back to visit her I ended up touring the Church of the Reformation in Geneva. It is an incredible teaching museum in a church with history buried beneath it. The museum excavations show underlying roman altars and before that, pagan chieftains. I learned more of the Reformation, the heroes, the millions that died fighting for the freedom of God’s word, or fighting to protect a Catholic empire. There were so many women heroes. I was fascinated and continued to learn. I visited towns still living in the aftermath of catholic destruction or in the remains of protestant destruction. It was a thousand-year history lesson. It finally dawned on me that all these changes in my life were neither coincidental or random God had a lesson plan for me. I was stepping through the development of Christianity, from a simple, childlike faith in Nigeria to the Reformation and freedom of Europe. This was both a scary and exhilarating realization. I was determined to keep learning.

There could not have been a more drastic change to our life style and surroundings. After 3 years of living in the tropical world of crowded, free, lush and green and somewhat dangerous Nigeria, we were headed to Abu Dhabi for the next assignment. It would be a desert environment with luxury living in a highly regulated, Muslim country. How would we adapt to this next life? What do we wear? What will be able to do? How hot is it really? We would not be in a compound and would have to find housing and cars. Thankfully the school was good and our daughter could move back to live with us. I knew I would go from an actively Christian community to a place where Christianity was not visible. What was I to do? God had more to teach me and this was the next step in understanding and practicing Christianity

We arrived and spent 3 months living in a hotel till the house was ready. I went with Melissa by cab to school every day. I watched the cab driver turn his rear-view mirror so he could stare directly at her. I blocked his view and found a cab driver we could trust. The school was an oasis for expat kids, with sports and caring teachers from all kinds of backgrounds. Lots of parent involvement for special events. Our hotel was near the ocean and the Corniche beach promenade. I was excited and went out for a walk in my thin sandals. I burned and blistered my feet through the sandals before I could get back to the hotel. We found a lovely villa within walking distance to the school and had expat neighbors from all over. I found that the UAE would rather you be Christian than nothing and marks all your paperwork accordingly. So I checked Christian. At least Christians could drink alcohol legally! Just as in Nigeria, the huge disparity between the wealthy and the poor did not seem to bother nationals, though the UAE had the Red Crescent that was like the Red Cross. The UAE left a large section of Abu Dhabi available to host many different Christian churches in one spot. I started going to a large international church and found a bible study held quietly in someone’s home. I heard the miraculous recovery and marathon race achievement of a woman left barely alive after the 2003 terrorist attacks on expat compounds in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Every step in saving her had been a miracle. I hope she finally wrote the book of her journey! She stayed in the Middle East because she felt she had work to do for the Lord. We prayed in great detail for many great needs. We following the daily/weekly emails of a Christian-Chinese medical specialist who had a premature infant born at less than 26 weeks. We prayed for specific blood levels, oxygen levels, God- lead nurses and doctors, no mistakes in medicine or care and all kinds of detail. And that child survived, with no permanent damage and released in a few months. I enjoyed walking by churches of so many different faiths. I had a dream that I should go to the St. George Eastern Orthodox Church on October 23rd . I didn’t believe my dream. I was new, it was in a different language, how would I know what to do? So I didn’t go. But the date did not go away. God changes us one small step at a time. God changes the world one person at a time. If he did not give up on me, he will not give up on you. I happened to go to the British Anglican Church with a friend the day they were ordaining the first female bishop for the middle- eastern conference. There was pomp and circumstance. There were many officials. It was spectacular! I went home and learned more. I happened to be touring the Zayed Mosque when dignitaries from the eastern orthodox churches meet with the UAE Islamic leaders. I went home and looked that up! Another first! We went to London on our Easter break and we were waved in, with palms, by the congregation of St Peter’s to join the service. It was lovely and we followed the crowd to nearby pubs for the Sunday early dinner and beer. So this is how early Christians worshiped! We toured Westminster Abbey and we happened to be there when they allowed a small group to see the secret coronation room. It is where every King and Queen went before their coronation to kneel on the marble step and lay the crown on the altar before God. I followed them in and knelt there, on the same slap that has been worn into an indendation by royalty. Where royalty has bowed since Edward the Confessor commissioned the church. I read and learned more about how Christianity struggled into a truthful existence with the sacrifice and courage of many and the power plays of leaders. God works all things together for His good. A summer back in the states, another year rolled around and it was October in the UAE again. This time I would do better.

It would be October 23rd again this third year in Abu Dhabi. I found out that October 23rd is the Day of the Celebration of St James in the Eastern Greek St George Orthodox Church. I talked a friend into going with me. We would need to wear saris and cover our heads so we went shopping. A week ahead of time I went into the church office to ask permission to attend. I was led into the Patriarch’s office. I was sweating. I was so surprised! He was kind and overjoyed I wanted to learn about his faith. And then the lecture started! We went back to the history of the Chism between the Eastern and Western churches that was more about power and land than about God. Their language was misinterpreted to say they did not believe in the Trinity and therefore the church was cast out from Rome. But he assured me they did believe in the Trinity and they were a holy church. More history followed. And the history of Kerala, Indian which had Jewish and Christian settlements at the time of St James. And still do. The Feast of St James dates back to one of the earliest written liturgies and was written by St James, the brother of Jesus. It was given at one of the earliest Byzantine church services, which existed before all Roman churches. The liturgy is written and acted out to tell of the life and sacrifice of Jesus and the tearing of the veil for all times. He assured us we would be welcome and he would give the sermon in both English and Malayam. Now I was really sweating! What would his congregation think of us?

We went to church I think on Saturday since Sunday was a work day. I felt a lot like I was in a Muslim place of worship. The women were on one side, the men on the other. We sat on mats with our shoes off. Incense was used during the service. I mused that this may have been the way Mohammad went to services with his Christian mother! The story was long and the symbolism was exactly the way scripture explained the sacrifice of Jesus’s life for us and our sins. The words were ancient. I looked around and wondered if people knew how ancient and pure this way. People were looking down, looking at their feet, gazing off into the distance even for the Malayam part. Just like Eastern Christians. I never did find a good English translation of what was said, but I read more about the separation of God’s children. I would suspect that the churches in Kerala, which were also fought over and forced to change due to different colonial powers, might have original practices and scripture buried in their history.

And just as quickly as we had gone overseas, we were back home. I had spent a great deal of time while overseas reading the Bible through the lens of scientific descriptions. What I found was fascinating and I put these clues in my book, “ Intelligent Science Science Points to God”. I worked on getting the book to print and was so excited to share the good news that science points to God and He is more real than we can imagine. With this new enthusiasm I talked to ministers and shared the book with Christian speakers. Silence. Family squirmed with the discussions. And I was quickly moved from the heights of faith to testing in a desert of no support. My mother viciously denounced Christianity as a meat-eating pagan practice (She was vegan), my sister who was an alcoholic called and lashed out in anger over many things, I had family problems. Most people already had their versions of faith. And I was spending lots of money on self-publishing. I became weak spirited, angry, hurt, depressed and definitely not Christ like. The difficulties continued, one of the visits to my mother she did not let me in for some reason, it was raining, it was cold. I no longer wanted to eat or do anything. Decades of sadness flooded my thinking. My Christian friends cared for me and uplifted me when I could not. I realized this was indeed spiritual warfare to keep me from faith. And soon after an opportunity came up.

Someone had to unexpectantly cancel their spot in our Church’s trip to Israel. It was an instructional trip and you needed to do several months of work to prepare to go. However I signed up and rushed to catch up with the class. We attended a short course, lead by Jack Beck out of the Jerusalem University. It was a course to walk the geographical steps of the Bible according to studies identifying ancient sites based on biblical descriptions and archeology. It was wonderful. He has written several books. We stood on the Mount of Olives and listened to what Jesus would have said there. When he said, ‘faith can move mountains’, he was probably referring to the fact that we were looking at a mountain cut in half by Herod so he could build his palace there and look down on Jerusalem. Herod had faith in himself. We should have just as much and more faith in God. We climbed mountains. We still went to Bethlehem though recent killings had raised tensions everywhere. We saw the cave of Pan. We stood at ancient altars and early churches. We stayed at a Kibbutz and ate wonderful food. We visited the Church of the Sepulture, now managed by the Muslims because the various Christian sects fought over it for so long. The Armenians have a quarter of their own, which has survived the genocide of the Armenian people. We saw lots of different sects and outfits for the Jews. They don’t seem to intermingle at all. We saw and learned so much discovered with modern science. But as I stood at the Western wall and watched Jews and Christians praying at it, and the Muslims attending the mosque above, under guard, I realized something. Jesus is not there. God is not there. He does not live in that rock or that temple or that mosque. He lives in us, if we ask Him.

With my lessons learned I returned to my life and listening and following Jesus. I was in a valley for a long time after my sister died of alcohol and pain pill overdose. Because the death scene foul play was suspected. My father had asked me one day before he died unexpectedly, to take care of my sister. I failed. She died under horrible circumstances. My mother’s grief and anger overwhelmed her and her behavior became more and more erratic and difficult. She described over and over the description of my sister’s death. She was anger at me. I did what I could. She was blessed to have a Christian woman across the street that feed her and checked on her. Another Christian woman, a retired nurse, also checked on her frequently. They were so kind and so giving with such a difficult person. They were truly examples of Christ’s love. I was often angry as my mother took out credit card after credit card and I was trying to keep her in her home and out of debt. I had no legal rights. A few years later she died, but she had left me a happy message on my phone the night before. However having to decide to turn off the machines in the hospital and decide on drug levels during her dying hours was a shock. I did not leave my faith behind and prayed a great deal. I am sure she sent me a sign sometime later that she was forgiven and with God, and that is a treasure to me. I keep my prayer journals and go back occasionally and marvel at what has come to pass.

I know that each person has a journey of their own to seek God. We are all special and worth saving in His eyes. I pray that you are willing to take your own journey to find God.