Keep Your Eyes Where You Want To Go

I love this picture because you can clearly see how the rider's head is turned and because of the position his head, you know his eyes are focused on his goal.

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. - Hebrews 12:1-2 NKJV

Anyone who has read anything about riding motorcycles has seen the instruction, "Look through the curve." This is not a casual glance out of the corner of your eye, this a full turn your head and look directly at where you want to go. When I was going through my rider introduction/safety course, looking through the curve was emphasized HEAVILY. I remember one instructor standing by a curve on the training course calling my name as I went through. He would slap his chest and yell, "Look here! Look here!" causing me to turn my head further than I ever thought necessary. He was training me to look through the curve.

When I got my motorcycle endorsement, I was riding a very small bike: A Yamaha Virago 250. I called it my "moped on steroids". Small bikes are very forgiving when it comes to forgetting proper riding technique. One time, I was turning into a gravel driveway from a paved road when I felt my 250 begin to go into a slide. I merely applied brakes and put my foot down, thus saving myself from a wipe out. That was doable because the bike only weighed 300 lbs.

As I graduated to a larger bike, a Sportster 883, (which is still a fairly small bike) I found it less forgiving. Not only did my Sportster weigh in at nearly 600 lbs, it went a lot faster and I tended to go further with it. I began having to recall techniques I learned in training that I hadn't practiced on the smaller bike. I wiped out a couple times when my head wasn't fully in the game. Fortunately, my pride was the main casualty in those incidents and I chalked them up to lessons learned. However, when I graduated to a truly large bike, a Honda Goldwing, which weighs in at over 900 lbs and has an 1800cc engine (same as a Toyota Corolla), it was time to step up to my "A" game.

The incident that drove home the concept of keeping my eyes where I want to go happened last summer as I was riding through the Selway wilderness along US 12 on my way to our (CMA) state rally. I was still getting familiar with my Goldwing but felt like I was getting along quite well when I came upon a banked curve. This curve was no different than the dozens I had just been through, but along this one, there were motorists pulled off to the side of the road. As I entered the curve, some movement caught my attention and I took my eyes off my intended path for just a half second. Next thing I knew, I was entering the gravel along the shoulder getting ready to do an Evel Knievel off the embankment. With a lightning fast prayer and an equally quick recall of my training, I rolled back the throttle and applied some light "trail" braking to correct my speed for the gravel I was in. I turned my head and focused my eyes back to where they needed to be. This required a concentrated force of will because, when in a tight situation, the tendency it to focus on the approaching hazard. By the grace of God, I recovered and continued my trip. Since that incident, I have been religious about making sure my head is properly turned and my eyes are focused on the path I want to take. Whether I'm making a routine turn from one street to another or I'm on the highway with any degree of curve, it's head turned, eyes focused. This requires physical effort and mental discipline. 

This is a lesson not only for me as a rider, but as a believer. When I look at the world around me, I tend to gravitate toward what I'm looking at. I get moody or I'll flat out stray if my mind drifts too much toward the world. If my goal is to be a Christ follower, my eyes need to be on Him, not the distractions around me. And just as on a motorcycle, this practice requires a disciplined mind trained to ignore the periphery. If I look at the world, that is where my path will lead and just like riding on the highway, if my eyes aren't on my goal, disaster awaits. 

I found a great article that talks about this very subject. I love the writer's admonition to "keep your mind out of the gutter." The article strictly addresses motorcycle riding but I don't think it takes a lot of imagination to see how this applies to much more.

Get Your Mind Out of the Gutter

Until next time, keep the rubber side down and the chrome side up.

The Wallula Gap

The Wallula Gap as viewed from the north.

Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons, and all deeps: Fire, and hail; snow, and vapours; stormy wind fulfilling his word: Mountains, and all hills; fruitful trees, and all cedars: Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things, and flying fowl: Kings of the earth, and all people; princes, and all judges of the earth: Both young men, and maidens; old men, and children: Let them praise the name of the Lord: for his name alone is excellent; his glory is above the earth and heaven. - Psalm 148:7-13 KJV Emphasis, mine.

All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. - John 1:3 KJV

I first encountered the Wallula Gap when I was a 9 year old riding with my brother in law in his chip truck delivering wood chips to a paper mill in Wallula, WA. The Wallula Gap is located along the Columbia River where it turns north from forming the border between Oregon and Washington. It is a relatively "narrow" gap that was formed at the east end of the Horse Haven Hills of southern Washington. At the end of the last ice age, the Horse Haven Hills held back the flood waters from the receding glaciers with the Wallula Gap being the only channel by which they could pass along the Columbia River to the Pacific Ocean. This link, https://iafi.org/wallula-gap/ offers a short but very informative description of the area and sights to visit.

For riding, the Wallula Gap can be approached from the west via Hwy 730 in Umatilla, OR. To approach from the east, ride west out of Walla Walla, WA approximately 30 miles to the junction of US 12 and Hwy 730. The ride itself is fairly straight and can be accomplished in about 15 minutes. However, it is 15 minutes of Heaven. The views of the Columbia River, basalt cliffs and spires will amaze your passenger. I say your passenger because, presumably, the driver will be paying attention to the road and keeping the rubber side down. There is fairly constant truck traffic along the route, therefore, heads up riding is a must. As the link above says, there are ample opportunities to pull off the highway so both driver and passenger can soak up the scenery. There is even a short hiking trail up the hill to a couple of basalt towers known as the Two Sisters.

From the first time I saw the Wallula Gap to this day, the stark hills and basalt formations have inspired awe in me. I always thought of it as a ride through destination but in researching the area for this blog post, I have discovered it is a destination in and of itself. I can promise you I WILL be making it the destination of a ride in the near future.

Until next time, happy and safe riding.

Blessings.

Riding In the Rain

But as for you, exercise self-control in everything, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry. - 2 Timothy 4:5 CSB

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up as you are already doing. 

- 1 Thessalonians 5:11 CSB

It is mid-May and by this time of year, one usually expects the weather to be getting better and scheduled rides to go off without a hitch. However, the spring of '22 has been a very wet and sometimes snowy season for the Pacific Northwest. This represents a conundrum for bikers: on the one hand, a cool wet spring gives hope for a relatively mild summer. Farmers get the rain they need for their crops and hay. A good snow pack in the mountains means plenty of moisture and fewer early season fires. However, a wet spring means cancelled rides unless your Road Captain is like our Road Captain, Ron. Ron is hardcore. If you tell him showers are forecast for the upcoming ride, he'll say, "Showers are fine. Wind and thunderstorms, that may be a game changer." Now, I feel it is my duty as chapter president to support whatever ride Ron says he'll lead. This past Saturday's ride was no exception. If Ron was going through with it, then I was going to go with him even if we were the only two. Angela said she wasn't going with us if it looked like rain but seeing my determination to support a scheduled ride, she decided to come along. So, with showers in a very accurate forecast, we took off for a picnic being put on by the Spokane chapter. The showers started as soon as the ride started and continued until we were about 20 miles from our destination. Throughout the entire ride and even into the next day after we were home, safe and dry, I questioned my judgment for going on this ride and allowing Angela to come with me. In talking to friends at church the next day, I said, "I hope someone was blessed by me being there."

CMA kicks off the riding season each spring with a conference called Seasons Of Refreshing or, SOR for short. SOR is a vital time where we gather and are encouraged by state and regional leadership. We are reminded what we are in ministry for. This year, our outgoing regional evangelist, Tom, was reminding us that sometimes in ministry, things get tough. Often, you have to be willing to endure hardship in order to reach the people you are trying to minister to. If you back out at the first sign of difficulty, you will not have much of a ministry. Those in ministry do well to remember, "It's not supposed to be easy." This message pricked my heart a bit because, I've often said, "I am a fair weather rider." Now, Tom wasn't necessarily talking about riding in inclement weather, but sometimes, "It's not supposed to be easy" has application to being willing to ride in less than perfect conditions. Later, during the conference, our incoming evangelist, Doug, told us about riding with Tom to National and as soon as they took off, encountering a snow storm but they soldiered on. I knew my policy of being a fair weather rider was going to have to come to an end.

Please don't think I'm saying I have to throw caution to the wind and endanger mine or Angela's life. Remember, Ron said, "...wind and thunderstorms may be a game changer." But riding only when the sun is shining is going to limit what I'm going to do if I'm going to lead in a ministry such as CMA. This applies both literally and allegorically. 

So, I guess I'm no longer questioning my judgment. I did what I needed to do which was step outside of my comfort zone. By the way, the organizer of the picnic was blessed by Ron, Angela and me being there. 

Late edit: This blog post came together unusually fast. The scriptures that came to mind were more applicable than I imagined they could be. The meme I found to go with this post couldn't have been more perfect. All I was trying to do was reflect on a ride and make sense of it. It is turning out this ride and the recounting of it has given me more food for thought (and prayer) than I thought possible.

Blessings.

Testimony, Part 6 - Camp Malibu

Young Life leaders, Troy, Idaho, 1980-81. Brad is the one wearing glasses.

“Truly I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life  and will not come under judgment but has passed from death to life. - John 5:24 CSB

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, and see, the new has come!  - 2 Corinthians 5:17 CSB

I arrived in Troy Idaho shortly before my birthday in 1980. Troy was a small town and I quickly found out that I fit in better in a small town environment than in Southern California suburbia. 

I was enrolled as a junior at the start of school. Now, there were three main cliques at Troy High School: The jocks, the farmers and the party animals. I didn't live on a farm and I certainly wasn't athletic, so guess which group I wanted to identify with? That didn't go too well, but there was another group, a group that was too big and too open to be considered a clique yet, I found acceptance with them. The group was Young Life.

Young Life is an evangelistic student ministry founded in 1941 by a Presbyterian minister who had a burden for reaching teenagers with the gospel of Jesus Christ. Young Life runs "clubs" in high schools across the nation. While I was in Troy, the Young Life club was very active holding weekly meetings at in the homes of volunteer parents around the community. Meetings were conducted by a staff of leaders who were Washington State University students. A typical meeting would have a time of singing and skits, then announcements and a devotional. Afterward, students hung around interacting with each other and the leaders or host parents. Nearly EVERY student at Troy High School ended up attending at least one Young Life meeting. Often, Young Life would set up meetings after football games as an alternative to the "keggers" that often happend after those games. I attended Young Life meetings because there was nothing else for me to do. I wanted to party but didn't know where to find one. I soon became a regular at Young Life because I was accepted for who I was. That first fall with Young Life, I was invited to attend a weekend camp. It was a huge weekend long Young Life meeting with hours of skits and singing. Of course there were the speakers. They would deliver a message then encourage campers to get by themselves to ponder what was said. I honestly do not recall what was said but I do remember seriously pondering my relationship with God. While this camp was cool, the camp everyone talked about was Camp Malibu. Camp Malibu is located in the inlets north of Vancouver, British Columbia. Very high end camping. Every time I went to a Young Life meeting, I either heard about Malibu or was asked if I was going. I thought it would be nice but I knew I'd never be able to afford going. 

Young Life wasn't about just the camps, it was also about the leaders who hung out with the kids. One leader, Brad, developed a friendship with me. He would drive to Troy on his weekends to take me hiking or rock climbing. As we spent time together, our conversations often turned to spiritual matters. I shared my beliefs with Brad looking for him to validate them but he wouldn't. He always listened to me, he never cut me off or told me I was wrong. He'd simply say, "No, I don't agree."  Even though he didn't support much of  what I said, I knew he was still accepting of me as a person.

While life in Troy wasn't without its issues, there was something there I had not experienced in years: Stability. I knew I was safe even if things weren't always peaceful. Remember, I come from a family of hot heads. I think the sense of stability came, in large part, from the predictability at home. Every morning, all us kids got up for school and found breakfast ready on the table. After school, we came home and supper was soon ready. We all sat around the table to eat, then it was someone's turn to do the dishes, a responsibility that was shared equally and consistently. I didn't fully appreciate it at the time but subconsciously, it made me feel at home.

During this time, I began going to church on Sundays again. There was a Lutheran church a block up the street from where I was living that rang its bell at the start of Sunday worship. I decided to check it out. I didn't have to accept everything they taught and I could attend if and when I wanted. I figured I could handle this church stuff if they weren't fanatical like the big hair evangelists or the Southern Baptists.

As the summer of '81 approached, the push to attend Camp Malibu was on. I was wanting to go but I had no hope of doing so until one of the host parents approached me about paying my way in return for doing yard work over the rest of the summer. Of course, I was all over that idea. My way was paid and I was off to Malibu!

It seemed like ages, but it was finally time to leave for Malibu. The leaders carpooled us to Pullman where we boarded charter buses headed for Vancouver BC. We traveled all night from one corner of Washington to the opposite corner in Bellingham. I don't think I slept a wink that night. I was too excited about going to camp and to be traveling outside of the US for the first time.

We crossed the Canadian border at dawn and rode through Vancouver to meet the ferry we'd take to Malibu. Being Malibu is accessible only by boat, an eight hour ferry ride was the only way up there. Having been up all night, I figured that would be a good time for me to catch up on some sleep. After the ferry began heading up the inlet to Malibu, I found a place to lay down but sleep did not come easy. When I finally fell asleep, it felt like I was out for hours yet, when I awoke, I discovered I had been asleep for about a half an hour.

Finally, after the longest eight hours of my life, we caught sight of Malibu. Malibu is situated on a point that protrudes across the mouth of a small inlet creating a narrow passage for the tide flows. These tidal flows create rushing rapids in the narrows at low tide and deep currents with eddies and whirlpools at high tide, shifting every six hours or so. The ferry docked a little ways past camp so we had to walk along a boardwalk to get to camp. We were told our luggage would be taken to our cabins so I took my camera and hat and began walking toward camp. The scenery was heavenly with mountains rising out of the water. Tidal pools full of anemones and little crabs dotted the way along the boardwalk. Just as I got to the main camp, a counselor came up to me and asked if I wanted to learn how to water ski. I said, "Sure, as soon as I can get my trunks from my luggage..." He said, "No time for that!" Next thing I knew, I was in the water, in my street clothes with my stuff sitting on the dock while I learned how to water ski. 

That first afternoon set tone for the entire week. I'd been to camps before but never one like Malibu. The scenery, the activities, the skits, the laughter... But most of all, the Spirit. From the main speaker, who was a hoot to listen to, to the one on one time with individual counselors, the gospel was shared with every camper. It was one of these one on one sessions I was listening in on where the counselor was explaining to another camper how Christ's death on the cross at one point in time paid for all sin ever committed and all sin ever to be committed. Suddenly, it was as if light came on. As though the Holy Spirit flipped a switch and the gospel I had been hearing over and over since I sat in that Sunday school ten years earlier, wondering what they were talking about, suddenly made sense. "So that's what they meant by Jesus dying for my sin and me letting Him into my heart!" "That's how I deal with my sin!" I already understood I was not saved by my own merits. Receiving God's free gift of salvation was a no-brainer for me. I knew I had to accept His gift, which I did eagerly. I had finally passed from death unto life; I was a new creation in Christ. 

Finding this new life in Christ was not the completion of a journey. In fact, it was just the opposite: The journey had just begun. Of course, there is more... much more. Again my testimony is not just me coming to Christ, it's about Him being with me every step of the way. 

I'm going to take a break from recounting my testimony and write about, well, riding. After all, this blog is called, Another Rider's Perspective. But rest assured, I will pick up where I have left off. 

Until next time, blessings.

Testimony, Part 5 - The Great Escape

Our home at 907 Arcadia Ave, where I spent my early childhood in California.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn  the world, but to save the world through him. Anyone who believes in him is not condemned, but anyone who does not believe is already condemned, because he has not believed in the name  of the one and only Son of God. This is the judgment: The light  has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than the light because their deeds were evil. - John 3:17-19 CSB

To say the summer of '79 was full of debauchery would be an understatement. I'll spare you the details but suffice it to say that summer is not something I am proud of. Oh, I thought I was having fun. I thought I was finally on the cusp of taking a stand for myself. The truth was, I was on the road to certain destruction. Yet, through the things that should have led to my demise, God orchestrated what I would later discover was a great escape. In the midst of sin and excess, God saw to it the bottom fell out of my living situation in Oregon. Things had gotten so out of hand, my sister had to concede that I would be better off moving back with Mom. Arrangements were made and I was flown down to California. In a bit, I'll explain why leaving Oregon was such an escape.

Back in California, at last! It felt good to finally be back in my hometown reconnecting to the life I once knew. Looking up old friends and revisiting old haunts was good for the soul. But I was a changed person. The past couple years left me with a lot of emotional baggage. In all my angst, paranoia and confusion I was not able to tell if someone was trying to be sincere or trying to mock me. I was determined not to let anyone push me around but more often than not, I was a pushover. Unfortunately, I had not lost my penchant for partying. Fortunately, my neurotic behavior made me an outcast so access to alcohol and drugs was greatly reduced. Add to all of this, typical teenage rebellion, and before long, the relationship between my mom and me was getting pretty rocky.

In order to cut the tension at home, Mom encouraged me to get out and get involved in various extra curricular activities. The activities helped a little but they frequently did little more than get me out of the house for a few hours. I still had to go home at night. To get to activities, I usually had to walk or ride the transit bus. I did a lot of walking by myself. While I walked,  I began to ponder my relationship with God. Spiritually, by this time, I was thouroughly immersed in New Age philosophies. I wanted to believe God did not judge anyone; He merely allowed us to be reincarnated over and over until we learned whatever we were supposed to, then, from there...??? Even though I knew this idea was based on nothing more than my own invention, this was still more palatable than the idea of standing condemned before a holy God. Yet, nagging questions never left my mind: "How do I know I'm right? What if I'm wrong?" I rememberd seeing a quote from Mark Twain that read, "Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in."  Somehow, that notion clicked with me. I knew Heaven was not gained by having your good outweighing your bad. If it was, I knew I was in deep trouble. 

Finally, after less than a year with my mom, tension reached a breaking point. Both of us knew I wasn't going to be able to stay with her any longer. This realization came as a relief because I hated the school I was going to and did not want to return for my junior year. Arrangements were made with my other sister and I was flown up to live with her and her family in Idaho.

Now, here's why I'm calling this chapter The Great Escape: Little did I know at the time, a new drug was gaining popularity in the Irrigon/Boardman area. The drug was methamphetamine. Had I remained where I was, living the life I was, I am almost certain I would have gotten hooked on it within the following year. A number of classmates, including a friend of mine, who was considered a good kid, he didn't even hang out with the stoners, he got hooked and dropped out of school. He was dead by his mid twenties. I can now see God's sovereign hand allowing everything around me to crumble so I would be sent away from the coming disaster. However, getting away from the drugs was only half the story. You see, whereas meth was arriving in one town, I ended up being moved to another town where something else had taken hold: Young Life.

Testimony, Part 4 - The Move

Eighth grade portrait, 1977.

In May of '75, my sister and her boyfriend were married and my nephew was adopted. My new brother-in-law found a job at a food processing plant in Boardman, about 40 miles to the west, and plans were made to move away from Pendleton. A new mobile home was purchased and moved to a trailer park in Boardman. By the end of August, we were moved and I was being enrolled in a new school. 

At the time, since I was still in grade school, I had to enroll at the school in Irrigon, 11 miles east of Boardman. It was the elementary school for the district. The Jr/Sr high school was in Boardman. The custodial staff at both schools served as bus drivers. Every morning, the bus drivers/custodians would pick up students in their respective communities, drop them off at the school they attended, then with the rest of the students, took off, meeting at the halfway point between the communities to stop and swap drivers. Nowadays, as a school bus driver, I have to chuckle at this approach.

As we settled in a new community, I was glad to get away from Pendleton. There were too many bad memories in that town. Boardman was a fresh start. We had a new house, good income, and we welcomed the birth of my niece. 

As we were beginning to behave more like a "normal" family, my sister and I had time to discuss spiritual matters in more depth. Although I knew of God, I was a rebel at heart. I resented the notion of God having standards and holding me to them. I would frame these standards as old fashioned and fanatical. My sister, who came of age in the 60s, was heavily influenced by New Age philosophies, astrology and eastern mysticism. These philosophies were more palatable to me than fanatical devotion to traditional religion or the Bible. They allowed me to keep what I liked about God but didn't require me to live like a prude. I was all about having fun. And who had more fun than my brother-in-law's family? They were always laughing and drinking whenever they got together. They more they drank, the more they laughed. Sadly, all the good times were not to last long.

We lived in Boardman a little less than two years. In the spring of '77, we moved the mobile home onto acrage we purchased in Irrigon. Soon after, we welcomed the birth of my youngest nephew. Life was seeming to settle; my brother-in-law was now a supervisor at the food processing plant and we had the ideal little family farm.

As you may have noticed, I have not been using names in my testimony. This is because, in light of the conflicts I have been referring to, and which I am about to delve into more, I felt it appropriate not to name those personally involved. I have done my best to spare the details of these conflicts as they don't need to be relived; they happened, that's all that needs to be said. I realize this decision not to name names may make for some awkward reading, it certainly makes for awkward writing. For that, I apologize and ask that you bear with me.

One exception I am making to not divulging names, is in the case of Chuck, the classmate I alluded to in the "Darkness" chapter. He invited me to his church, where, I again heard the gospel. There was nothing outstanding about him; He was a normal kid, very friendly and popular amongst students and teachers alike. But by him simply being there and being faithful to God, he was used mightily in my life. I'll explain more in a bit.

As you might have guessed, while the party atmosphere of family get togethers seemed fun on the surface, below, cracks were forming which would be the undoing of our ideal family situation. As I've said, both my sister and brother in law had hot tempers. The emotional instability and stresses stemming from the alcohol abuse began to manifest themselves in physical violence. After one particularly violent episode, I was left quite shaken. By today's standards, I would have been diagnosed with PTSD. Of course, I was expected to continue attending school as though nothing had happened. I did so for the most part in the early part of the day, but everyday, after lunch, during PE, the gloom of the episode would come over me and I would act out at the merest provocation. I knew my mood swings were the result of the episode at home, but what could I do about it? After one particularly bad meltdown, I looked up and saw Chuck. I KNEW Chuck was trustworthy. I HAD to speak to him about why I was freaking out. I took him aside at the end of class and explained to him what was going on and how I was unable to shake what was troubling me. He listened and with a tone of compassion, said, "My family and I will pray for you." That afternoon was the last time I was to freak out over that event. EVER.

Alcohol abuse is seldom left unaccompanied by drug abuse. As I entered high school, drugs would become very prominent in our household and in my life. Whereas, during the eighth grade, despite the turmoil at home, I was doing fairly well as a student. However, by my freshman year, I was on the lookout for any opportunity to get high with friends or family. My grades reflected this. Things continued to deteriorate at home as the violence continued and within hours of the end of my freshman year, my sister decided to leave my brother-in-law. My sister, nephews, niece and I ended up moving into a rental about 10 miles from the property in Irrigon. Thus, began the most debaucherous summer of my life.

I will get more into the "Summer of '79" in my next installment. Don't worry: I have no desire to go into detail. But despite the debauchery, God's sovereignty was well established in my life.

Until next time, Blessings.

Testimony, Part 3 - Darkness

Willy's Overland Pickup, similar to my brother-in-law's.

"God is too good to be unkind and He is too wise to be mistaken. And when we cannot trace His hand, we must trust His heart."

--Charles Spurgeon

I am worn out from sobbing. All night I flood my bed with weeping, drenching it with my tears. Psalm 6:6 NLT

"1974" left off with homesickness settling in on me as my sister left her husband and moved my nephew and me from a house in the country to a run down apartment complex known as Sergeant City. It was named Sergeant City because it served as NCO housing for personnel stationed at Pendleton Field during WWII. But by 1974, the complex had become low income housing. 

Interesting sidenote: The 17th Bombardment Group, who participated in the Doolittle Raids over Tokyo in 1942 were among the units who were stationed in Pendleton.

Whatever benefit was to be had by leaving my brother in law was short-lived because, not only was I longing to be reunited with my mother, life in that small tenement apartment soon became very crowded. A friend of my sister left her husband (an abusive situation) and with her two kids, moved in with us. It's ironic, but getting away from an abusive situation may liberate those involved from the abuse but the emotional price is still hell to pay. With two stressed out mothers and four stressed out kids packed in one tiny apartmemt, there was little peace to be found. The closing months of 1974 are, without a doubt, the darkest period of my life. To this day, when I read Psalm 6:6, my mind goes back to the time in that small apartment when I, longing for peace and stability, cried myself to sleep almost nightly. 

One bright spot in all of this, was my new teacher. The move to a different part of town meant enrolling in a different school. This, I have realized, was a work of God. My new teacher, who was aware of what I was going through, had an uncanny ability to engage her whole class, including me, in whatever she was teaching. Looking back, I speculate, had I remained in the first class I was in, I would have fallen behind and not fared so well.

Before October ended, my sister met and began dating a new boyfriend. He seemed nice enough. He was fun loving and had quite the sense of humor; laughing and yukking it up with his friends and cousins who always came around to visit. During Christmas break, we traveled over the mountains in his '49 Willy's Overland pickup which had no heater and holes in the floorboards, to his aunt and uncle's house. Fond memories! 😖

Whenever this new boyfriend's family got together, all the grownups gathered, visited, laughed... and drank. I'm not being critical; goodness knows, every family has its issues. This family accepted my sister, nephew and me instantly. I eventually grew to love them as my own because, in many respects, they were a more tight knit family than I had ever known. This helped me adjust to not being able to live with my mother. (Another work of God.)

Early 1975 found my sister's friend and her kids having moved to their own apartment. Not long after, a small house across the way opened up and we moved into it. My sister's divorce from her first husband was finalized and she became engaged to her boyfriend. Together, they began working on the process of him adopting my nephew. All of this was well and good but there were issues. My new brother in law, it turned out, had a hot temper. My sister's wasn't exactly cool either. Add to the mix a two year old and me with my foibles, and... well, more conflict.

We definitely weren't a church going family by this time, but there was a girl in my class who invited me to her church. About all I recall with this church is being introduced to memorizing scripture. Not much else happened with that but this is just another example of  God sill keeping good tabs on me. This wouldn't be the last time a classmate inviting me to church had an impact on my life. My next installment will reveal how God used another classmate, who invited me to church, in a HUGE way.

In closing this chapter, it seems as though I am writing an autobiography instead of a testimony. Yet, God was very was active in my life. Like in the book of Esther, the Name of God is never mentioned, yet, His divine intervention is woven all through Esther's story. In looking back at my darkness, I've often wondered, "Why did God allow me to be separated from my mother?" "Why did He allow me to be placed in the midst of all that turmoil?" I have no answers to those questions, yet, in retrospect, I can now see how His divine intervention still surrounded me. Just writing about this era of life for my blog has caused me to see examples of His hand guiding me in ways I had not realized until now. What can I say? My testimony is not just how I came to Christ but it is how God has ALWAYS been with me.

Blessings.