Blessed new life

When I got up this morning, I was expecting “just another day” – spending time with Roger when he got home from work, followed by my Quiet Time, and then heading off to my own job.  I did say an extra prayer for my son Nick, who was to appear in court at 8:30 this morning for a “show cause” hearing.  Nick had been a parolee for a little over a year – he originally got into trouble pretty much due to drinking alcohol and then doing stupid (and illegal) things.  Since being on parole, however, he once again fell into a pattern of alcohol and drug use, which led him right back behind thick walls and bars. 

The DOC (Department of Corrections) decided that Nick didn’t need to be taking up a bed in the overcrowded prison system, and offered him another chance to live freely on the outside.  However, in order to do so, he needed a “home plan” – a state approved place to stay, usually with a responsible family member.  Due to the previous incidents, none of us felt led by the Lord to open our homes to him.  One of the hardest things I’ve ever done was to write him a letter, with tears streaming down my face, explaining why I refused to enable him again.  In situations of that nature, the would-be parolee is sent to a “halfway house” – a DOC run facility that is somewhat of a minimum security prison.  The inmates go out and work, and I believe have a few hours of free time a day, but are locked down at night.  It sounds like a good plan, but sources say that, unfortunately many of the residents have no desire to actually change their lives. Since there is so much freedom, it’s apparently easy for them to bring drugs into the facility.  The one Nick was assigned to is in a bad neighborhood, and there are allegedly crack dealers who patrol the parking lot, anxious to make a sale.  Nick was warned by cellmates that drugs would practically be shoved in his face in such a facility.

Nevertheless, that was his fate.  However, he had two outstanding warrants that led him on a detour to the county jail before his stop at the halfway house.  One of the warrants was to be resolved this morning; the other next Wednesday.  It was assumed that he would remain in custody until then.

I got an unexpected phone call from Nick today, stating that, since the same judge would be presiding over both his court appearances, he hadn’t felt the need to keep him incarcerated at county level.  He was being transferred to the halfway house today.  What’s more – after he was released from the county jail, he would have eight hours of freedom before he had to report to the center in the city, and was there any way I could pick him up and later on drop him off?

I took off work early, but wasn’t able to get there in time to pick him up from the county jail; however his grandma was happy to do that.  I picked him up at her and PaPa’s house, and spent the rest of the evening with him.

We had a truly blessed evening of pizza, conversation, fellowship and prayer.  Nick shared things with me that made an already incredible answered prayer even more amazing.  This story really began late on the night of February 7.  Nick was free then, and I knew he was doing things he shouldn’t.  I had already lost one son basically due to alcohol abuse, and to put it bluntly, I greatly feared losing another one.  That night, I was overwhelmed with a crushing fear for Nick.  I got on my knees and prayed for him, but the fear and dread were still there.  After I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep.  I lay there and prayed for probably about an hour and a half.  Finally, I fell asleep, and when I woke up the next morning, I had peace.  A couple of hours later, Nick’s girlfriend called to tell me that he had been arrested.  I knew then that his apprehension by the law was not a coincidence – it was a direct answer to my prayer.  I was convinced that if he had not been arrested, something much, much worse would have happened.

Tonight, Nick told me what would have happened.  He and a companion were on their way to a drug pickup, and once the substance was procured, my son had planned to shoot up for the very first time.

My eyes water as I write these words.  God saved my son from that fate.  Philippians 1:6 says, “Being confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ…”  God began a good work in Nick.  He has promised to continue it, and boy, has He!  Since his most recent stay in jail, Nick has been reading the Bible and praying.  He showed me all the notes he made in his Bible, and some of the verses he had marked, including Hebrews  12:5-13.  

I dropped Nick off at his new facility tonight.  (At that late hour, there were no crack dealers in the parking lot, although we did pass a few people walking around the area…)  On the drive there, he expressed his shame in the fact that he has hurt his family so badly that no one wants to give him another chance.  He said that was a real eye-opener to him; that he had never imagined himself coming to that point.    I pray that this will be a time of refining for him.  I know God is working – otherwise, He would simply have left him where he was, to OD in the streets or whatever.  He has provided Nick with armour and a sword to get through this difficult time.  He may always wrestle with a desire for drugs and alcohol, but thanks to our Savior, he doesn’t have to give in.  I pray that he claims Jesus’ victory and comes through this trial as pure gold.   

He wants one day to tell his story himself, hoping that it will help and inspire someone else. 

Why I love morning glories

God has done some incredible things in my life.  The most amazing fact, of course, is that He sent His Son to die for my sins.  That alone is more than I can fathom, and certainly more than I deserve.  He has blessed me beyond measure since I became His child.  I haven’t always been faithful to Him since He became my Savior, but He has been faithful to me the entire time.  Not only has He been there with open arms every time this prodigal daughter made her way back home, but He has provided for my needs, held me through some very difficult times, and even done a few somewhat miraculous things in my life.  During my Quiet Time this morning, I was reflecting on some of the “Wow, God” moments in my life, and I had a desire to share them.  Since this Tuesday, March 6, would have been my late husband’s 43rd birthday, the first story I chose to share was the story of his salvation, as a tribute to him. Let me back up a few years.  I met my first husband in church.  I was a new Christian at the time, and he swept me off my feet with his testimony of having been delivered by God from alcohol and drugs.  Unfortunately, just a few short weeks later, he stopped coming to church and Bible study because he was drinking and smoking marijuana again.  I was not to be daunted – I was sure that God would use me to bring him back into the fold.  To make a long story short, our relationship and subsequent marriage was a roller coaster.  Although there were good times when we both actively sought God’s will in our lives, the main thing I remember was fear and abuse. Matthew Guy McNab I was still married to him when I met Guy.  Despite having brittle diabetes, Guy was carefree and happy-go-lucky, and was pretty much the sweetest person I had ever met, although he made no bones about the fact that he didn’t share my faith.  We worked together and quickly became best friends.  I confided things in him that I had never told anyone.  He was appalled when he learned about the things I suffered in my marriage and urged me to leave.  He made me feel as though I actually had some worth.  Again, making a long story short, I did leave.  I didn’t do things God’s way, though.  I went down a path that I chose for myself, straight into Guy’s arms.  At that time, I was simply tired of the pain and fear.  I was tired of trying to please a man who could not be pleased.  I saw a way out and I took it. Besides the fact that I ended my marriage for another man and caused pain in my children’s lives, I also broke God’s commandment about not being unequally yoked (II Corinthians 6:14).  I didn’t care.  My first husband had been a Christian, and I had been miserable.  I decided I would rather be with someone who was nice, even if he wasn’t saved.  Of course, I was worried about Guy’s ultimate fate, but my reasoning was that I had all the rest of our lives to bring him around. The rest of Guy’s life was short, however.  Diabetes took its toll, and less than twelve years later, he had lost much of his eyesight (even after several eye surgeries), lost a leg, suffered from congestive heart failure, gastroparesis, chronic diarrhea, severe pain from neuropathy and end-stage renal failure, for which he underwent dialysis three times a week.  A recent blood test had showed that his liver enzymes were out of whack.  His liver might be failing.  He still wasn’t saved.  One day, in a state of depression, he turned to me with tears in his eyes, and told me that he often felt that he just couldn’t go on.  “How do YOU do it?  How do YOU cope with everything?” he asked me. My answer was brief and to the point, “My faith”. Tears ran down his face when he responded, “I wish I had your faith.  I just don’t know how to make myself believe”. I went to church regularly, and one morning shortly thereafter, we read about doubting Thomas in Sunday School.  I felt a strange urgency to pray for Guy afterward.  My prayer was something to the effect of “Lord, I know that You want people to believe simply by faith.  Yet, You showed Yourself to Thomas so that he could believe, and I’m now asking You to show Yourself to Guy so that he can believe.”  I had no doubt that God would answer this prayer.  I also somehow knew that I would not like the answer, and that God was giving me a chance to rescind my plea.  To this I replied, “Lord, I want my husband to be saved – no matter what it takes”.  A matter of days later, during dialysis, Guy suffered a pulmonary embolism.  He did not survive.  There was no comfort for me – he was not saved.  He had gone to hell.  I would never see him again.  Except that God did something amazing. One morning two or three days later, I woke up… sort of…  I’m not really sure how to describe what happened.  I don’t know if it was a dream, a vision, or simply a thought in my mind.  But I was filled with the concept of the martyr Stephen (Acts 7:54-60).  Before Stephen died, he actually saw into Heaven.  He saw Jesus.  This was what filled my mind. I then heard the words, “Seek and ye shall find”.  I was suddenly wide awake, and pondering what this could mean.  A thought occurred to me, “Lord, is it possible that Guy saw You before he died?  As he was lying there unconscious, could he have seen into Heaven and believed on You?”  I then thought about the words I had heard.  Hadn’t Guy been seeking?  He had told me that he wished he knew how to make himself believe… dare I believe that my beloved husband’s soul was with the Lord? Joy began bubbling within my heart, but I didn’t say anything to anyone.  I had my  Quiet Time, as usual; picking up where I had left off with my Scripture reading.  As I read through Matthew 7, my heart began to pound and my hands trembled when I came across the following words, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.” (verses 7&8)  I then recalled another Scripture that stated “The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.” (II Peter 3:9)  I began to think and pray about what these verses might mean.  I have to admit, up to that time, I had kind of a skewed perception of salvation.  Even though I believed with all my heart that my sins were forgiven, I sort of imagined God as a stern figure at the gates of Heaven saying “You forgot to say ‘Mother May I’ “ and shoving the unsuspecting sinner down the stairs into hell.  The Bible does teach that there are some people who think they are saved and will find out after it’s too late that they were, in fact, not.  But the mental image I had of the stern God who looks for the loopholes was inaccurate.  He wishes that every single person ever born would choose life.  Many won’t, but anyone truly seeking will not be deceived.  The Bible says that anyone who seeks WILL find.  Not might find, or will find unless they die first.  Guy was seeking.  He wanted to believe.  He had to have found. I began telling people.  Could this be true?  I expected everyone to think that I was simply trying to manufacture comfort for myself.  To my surprise, nearly everyone I told the story to (who had also been praying for his salvation) said something to the effect of, “You know, it’s the weirdest thing – as far as I knew he had never accepted Jesus, yet when I heard he had passed, I just felt such a peace, as though my prayers for him had been answered”.  I had one person challenge me to ask God for a sign, as to whether or not it had really happened.  I got on my knees and poured my heart out to God.  I told Him that I felt that His Word discouraged people asking for signs, and that if it wasn’t true, I didn’t want to know.  Yet, if He really was trying to reassure me of my husband’s eternal salvation, I would really like something concrete to cling to.  The next morning, which was the morning of the funeral, I woke up with the heavy heart of grief, yet also with hope.  I looked out my bedroom window.  Weeks earlier, I had planted morning glory all around the porch.  The vines had grown up all the pillars, but hadn’t bloomed as of yet.  That morning, when I looked outside, I saw three blooms.  I know many people won’t be convinced, but for me that was my sign.  I believe with all my heart that I will one day see Guy again in Heaven.  And I’m so grateful to God for His mercy, even after we flaunt His will and go our own way. And even though I am now remarried, morning glory still grows around my front porch.