This month my husband and I will celebrate Easter and our 33^rd wedding anniversary on the same weekend. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long.

After I became a Christian, I asked God to send me the right mate. I even made out a list of the qualities I was looking for in a spouse.

I believed that God would honor my request in accordance with Genesis 2:8: “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” I expected my prayers would be answered within a few months. However, the months turned into years.

Sometimes I got discouraged as the years went by, but God would encourage me somehow. On occasion a particular co-worker mocked my faith and inaction to look for someone. I had told him I was no longer interested in the bar scene since I had become a Christian, and also wasn’t interested in joining any singles dating clubs. “What do you think God is going to do,” he sneered, “drop him in your lap?”

“I don’t know what he’s going to, but I know he’s going to do it,” I retorted.

I arrived at work in upstate New York one morning and noticed a handsome stranger meeting with my boss in his office. Shortly thereafter, they emerged. “Mary, this is Wally Hutchinson. He’s a CPA from Virginia here to do an audit for the next several months,” he informed me. “If he needs assistance locating documents, please help him.”

While Wally worked in my building, we spoke to each other frequently. Two weeks later, we went to lunch. On our second lunch date, an inner voice told me, ‘this is the man you are going to marry.’ He seemed to check every box on my prayer list I had made out seven years earlier. We began to date on a regular basis. When his audit ended, he returned to Virginia without any mention of continuing our relationship. I was saddened, confused and discouraged once again, as I was sure he was the answer to my prayers.

Three mornings later, Wally called me at work to tell me he was returning for another audit. “I knew it,” I thought. Eighteen months later we married.

As Easter approaches, I think back on the discouragement and devastation Jesus’ disciples must have felt when he was crucified, which was so much more than my own discouragement and sadness when Wally left New York. Jesus told his disciples multiple times that he would die and be raised up on the third day. But, I don’t believe they understood what he was saying for they were clearly distraught when he died.

But, oh the joy when He was resurrected and appeared to them three days later!

God speaks to us in different ways. Sometimes it’s in a still small voice, sometimes through His word, or sometimes through other means. John 10:27 says, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” I pray I always listen to his voice.

Whenever March arrives, St. Patrick’s Day pops in my head, along with pictures of shamrocks, corned beef and all things green. Did you know it’s one of the biggest drinking days of the year? I remember that oh too well in my pre-Christian days when I would join co-workers after work to indulge in beer–and lots of it. Some of it was even green! I was celebrating a holiday I knew nothing about, except that St. Patrick was referred to as the “Patron Saint of Ireland.”

Until the other day that is when I watched the documentary, “I am Patrick.” It was eye-opening. I learned that Patrick wasn’t even Irish. He was British! His father was a wealthy British Senator and also a member of the clergy.

In the 5^th Century, when Patrick was about sixteen, he was kidnapped from his home in what is now known as England (part of the Roman Empire at the time), along with others, by a band of Irish raiders/pirates. He was brought to Ireland into slavery as a shepherd. During that very difficult time, he surrendered to God entirely, and became a very devout Christian, in a country void of Christianity. One night, God showed him in a dream that he would soon be returning home.

Six years after his captivity, he escaped. He walked miles for many days and found a ship leaving for Ireland. He convinced the Captain to take him aboard. (He is the only known slave to have ever escaped captivity in the Roman Empire.)

When he eventually found his way back home, he studied to become a clergyman. Years later, he was appointed Bishop.

Once again God came to him in a dream and told Patrick he wanted him to return to Ireland to evangelize the pagan country. The church higher ups resisted his request, as hardship and even death could await him. But Patrick convinced them it was the will of God, and they allowed him to go as the first Christian missionary to Ireland.

For decades, Patrick worked tirelessly to evangelize a country who had their own ‘gods’ and who had never heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He endured many hardships along the way, including beatings and imprisonments. Some of his new converts were even slaughtered, but Patrick never gave up. He dedicated his life to God and to the people of Ireland, never returning to his home country.

God didn’t cause those raiders to kidnap Patrick, as all men are given a free will to do good or evil. But God will take what Satan means for evil, and turn it around for good, just as it says in Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works together for good.”

So when you celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, think about St. Patrick and all he sacrificed, in obedience to the one who sacrificed for all.

Recently, two Christian friends died suddenly under different circumstances during a three-week period. As I thought of our friends, I imagined them coming out of their earthly bodies to depart for their heavenly homes.

Some of this imagery came from a book I read a few months ago called “Imagine Heaven” by John Burke. A New York Times bestseller with over a million copies sold, it describes over 100 near death experiences (NDEs). Those who had the NDEs died from various causes and were deceased for a very short period of time.

When some died they recounted hovering over their bodies and remained there before they returned, while others saw a light and went through a tunnel. Some even described going to heaven and encountering Jesus, only to be told it wasn’t their time. And some sat with Jesus while watching portions of their lives replayed as if watching a movie.

While I never had an NDE, years ago my husband and I met two individuals who did. One was a furniture store salesman. We chatted with the salesman, George, for a while before he and my husband discussed how they had lived in Roanoke, Virginia years earlier.

George proceeded to tell us how he had been shot during a robbery in Roanoke. He described how he came out of his body in the operating room and hovered over it, watching the surgeon, Dr. Shelton, work on him. He even remembered some of the surgeon’s negative comments about his poor prognosis. At some point, he went back into his body.

Dr. Shelton came to see George in the recovery room.
“Let me tell you what I did,” Dr. Shelton said.

“You don’t have to,” George replied. “I saw the whole thing.”

Dr. Shelton was amazed when George described what he had done during his surgery, and the statements he made about George’s small chance of survival.

“It made a believer out of me,” George said casually.

Several years later we were having repairs done to our cable television and chatting with the technician, Jeff. During the conversation, Jeff told us his story. He had been playing in a high school football game when he was hit with a deadly blow by his opponent.

“The next thing I know I’m hovering over my body watching a medic perform CPR,” he said. “Then I woke up.”

1 Thessalonians 4:13 says, “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”

Though we grieve with the families of our two friends, the one hope we have is that we will see them again. And the next time it will be for all eternity.

While in the grocery store checkout line some months ago, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. We conversed briefly across the aisle while checking out. Before leaving, we continued our conversation away from the cash registers.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, knowing she was recovering from a near fatal case of Covid a year earlier with fatigue and significant hair loss.

“This is a wig,” she informed me as she stroked the blonde hair that resembled her real golden locks. She told me that her hair still hadn’t fully grown back in. I was surprised that she was still dealing with such a traumatic side effect.

“Why don’t we pray about your hair?” I asked. I put my arm on her shoulder as we bowed our heads, oblivious to the activity around us.

I don’t remember my exact words except that I asked God to restore her hair. We hugged, said our goodbyes, and left the store as if what we had just done was an ordinary occurrence.

This incident reminded me of another situation a year earlier while out of town. I had given a copy of my memoir, “The Road to Mercy,” to a waitress. At the restaurant a few days later, she told me she had read my book.

“Your story gave me hope,” she said. “I feel like I need to tell you mine.”

She told me that when she was a child her mother sold her for sex to supply her drug habit. She had kept that secret for years and had only recently told her father.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as I wiped away my tears. I wrapped my arms around her and began to pray quietly. We had a brief conversation about her current life. She thanked me for the prayer, and quickly got back to her duties. I was grateful my transformation from an early life of pain had given her hope.

These two are just a sampling of the encounters I’ve had. One time I even prayed with a nurse in the pre-op room before my operation. I had briefly shared some of my testimony with her, and she asked me to pray for her.

Throughout the bible, God encourages us to pray. In I Thessalonians, God says to “…pray continually.” And James 5:13 says, “Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray.” It doesn’t have to be limited to praying in church, or at home. We can pray at work or in our cars. We can pray by ourselves or we can pray with others. We can pray out loud or we can pray silently as God can hear our thoughts. God wants to hear from us any time, day or night. He never sleeps, and He’s always open for “business.”

God will give us divine appointments. We just need to act on them. And just one little encounter could possibly change someone’s life.

As I prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, I wonder how many are aware that the Bible traces his lineage from Joseph all the way back to Abraham, encompassing over 2,000 years.

Of particular note is Jesus’ ancestor Rahab.

In the Old Testament book of “Joshua,” God shows Joshua the land he promised to the Israelites, including Jericho. Joshua sends two spies to Jericho to look over the land. They end up lodging at Rahab the harlot’s house. When word gets back to the King of Jericho that two Israeli spies are lodging at Rahab’s, he sends men to Rahab requesting she turn over the spies. She tells the King’s men that the Israelites have already left, but she’s actually hidden them. The King’s men take off in hot pursuit of the spies.

Rahab then turns to the Israelites and tells them she has heard of their God who dried up the Red Sea for them to cross over and escape Pharoah’s army who had them cornered, among other great feats. She continues in Joshua 2:11-12: “…for the Lord your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below. Now then, please swear to me by the Lord that you will show kindness to my family, because I have shown kindness to you….” The Israelites agree to spare her life and the life of her family if she doesn’t tell anyone about them and what they were doing. They instruct her to tie a scarlet rope outside her window, so that when they return to take the land, they will see the rope and all within will be spared. And so it happened just as they promised.

Rahab, the former harlot, now a believer in the God of the Israelites, ends up marrying one of the Israelites named Salmon. They have a son named Boaz, a main character in the Old Testament book of “Ruth.” Boaz marries Ruth and they have a son named Obed, who had a son named Jesse. Jesse becomes the father of King David, the notable biblical character who God describes as a man after his own heart.

Because Rahab heard and believed that the Israelites’ God was the one true God, had the courage to spare the lives of the spies and follow their orders, she is transformed from Rahab the harlot to Rahab, the great-great-grandmother of King David. She became a hero for saving the Israeli spies, a “superstar” that helped shape the course of Israeli history. Her lineage, courage, faith and actions are mentioned in the New Testament three times.

Like Rahab, once we turn to Christ, God forgets our past. How much more should we do the same for ourselves and others.

Luke 19:10 says, “For the son of man came to seek and to save that which was lost.” We too are to be like Christ, seeking and saving those who are lost, so that God can rewrite their story. I’m so glad he rewrote mine.

The housing market over the last couple of years is one to be remembered. Similar in many ways to what we have experienced before. The pandemic and other factors contributed to the shortage of available houses on the market, causing the crisis.

Homes are listing for thousands of dollars above what they would have been listed for just a few years earlier. In many cases, sellers are receiving offers tens of thousands above the asking price. All in a matter of a few hours or a few days.

Desperate buyers are resorting to various measures to have their offers accepted. Some potential buyers are writing letters to the sellers explaining why they would be the perfect owners for their dream home. Sellers who normally would receive several offers during opening weekend are now receiving dozens. Some of the offers include waiving the inspection where any potential defects would normally be spotted and requested to be repaired. Others are offering the sellers the ability to stay in the home free for months after closing. Bidders offering the “extras” in their offers are winning over the highest bidders.

In some cases, potential buyers are lining up in their cars around the block for the latest mid-price range house placed on the market waiting for the doors to open. Buyers are trying to find sellers before houses are listed.

I remember when we bought our first home thirty-two years ago. It had been on the market for a year without any offers. The day we went to look at it, the realtor never showed up. It was a lovely home that was move-in ready. I couldn’t understand why it hadn’t sold earlier, especially since it was in the mid-price range. Perhaps because it was a tri-level ranch, which wasn’t in vogue at the time. We purchased the home directly from the owner with no realtor’s fee. Happy seller, happy buyer. We lived in that home for twenty-five years.

When we went looking for our second home in a highly sought-after neighborhood, we were interested in one that had also been on the market for a year. The owner had even lowered the price multiple times. Once again, I couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t sold. Perhaps it was the sunken living room. We made an offer the first day, have lived in it for the past seven years, and have no intentions of moving again.

Each time we looked for a home, I prayed that God would guide us to the home where He wanted us to live. I believe He put us exactly where He wanted us each time.

Acts 17:26 says: “From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live.”

If we ask, God will guide us to where He wants us to live. Housing crisis or not.

According to some studies, fear of public speaking is man’s number one fear, second only to death. I can relate. I have always been an introvert, and terrified of public speaking. The only time I spoke standing in front of a group of people was in the ninth grade when I gave a book report. I stammered, trembled, and sweated throughout my speech and vowed to never speak publicly again. Somehow I would find a way of escape.

Since then, I’ve been thrown into the limelight several times to share my testimony. In 2001 I was interviewed for The 700 Club Christian television program. Their film crew came to our home. I was still nervous even though I was in my own surroundings and would be sitting during the interview. When the episode aired, I was relieved that I appeared calm. The episode was a success, and they requested a second interview the following year.

Ten years later I was asked to speak at a Christian women’s luncheon. For the event I would have to stand in front of an audience of approximately 80 women. Still terrified, the ministry’s founder accommodated me and scheduled one of their volunteers, who previously had her own tv talk show, to help me. She would  interview me in front of the audience much like when I was on The 700 Club. I had found my way of escape. Despite my nerves, the audience laughed several times and gave me a standing ovation. Two years later, they asked me to return.

Several years ago, I wrote my memoir, “The Road to Mercy.” I knew this was going to present a future problem. Public speaking. I self-published anyway, believing somehow I would find a way around it.

Recently I was asked to speak to a small group about my book. For this event, we would be sitting in a circle when I spoke. Still I was apprehensive. When I expressed my fear to the group’s host, she also offered to interview me during the event. “I need to put on my big girl pants,” I told her. “I would like to do it by myself.”

I expressed my fear to my husband and two of my friends who gave me words of advice. The day before the event I recalled some of their words. I’m going to go into the meeting with faith instead of fear, be myself, and have fun!

And so I did. My audience laughed at times, while a few wiped away tears during others. They applauded at the end. Afterwards, I felt I had accomplished a major feat. And much to my amazement, I had fun!

2 Corinthians 12:9 says: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

I’ve yet to stand in front of an audience since the ninth grade. But when I do, I hope to put that same formulaic advice into practice and have fun.

Eight years ago I fell in love all over again, but not with my husband of twenty-three years. This was a new kind of love I found after we adopted our first dog.

It was a life changing event that was my husband’s idea after I retired. I resisted his suggestion. I didn’t want the extra work, nor did I want to get up early to take out a dog. I didn’t dislike dogs. But working long hours for many years, I just didn’t have the time for them. Over the years I’ve rescued many lost dogs I found on the side of the road, running in the street, or running around our neighborhood and reunited them with their owners. I thought it rather odd when their owners talked baby talk to them as if they were their human children.

After weeks of discussion, resistance, and prayer, I agreed to my husband’s request. We ended up adopting a three-year-old shih tzu and named her Fergie. I don’t remember how long it took me to fall in love with her, but I did. I treated her as if she was my own little baby. Every day I brushed her hair and fashioned it in bows I made for her. She even let me brush her teeth. We took her everywhere and let her sleep with us. She was the sweetest, gentlest, most chilled out dog we ever met. She slept late, rarely barked, and was no trouble at all.

I willingly got up early each summer morning to take her out before it got too hot since she hated the heat. It didn’t take me long before I was talking baby talk to her. I never had any human children, but I would have done anything for Fergie, as if she was my human child. After she was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer, we went to great lengths to save her life. Now she’s no longer with us and it’s still hard for me to talk about her without crying.

I’ve read stories of those who have visited heaven and returned. Some of them tell of seeing their pets while in heaven. I certainly hope that’s true.

Three weeks ago we adopted a nine-year-old shih tzu named Prissy. She was scared at first, not knowing why she is with us, but she’s settling in just fine. Soon she will realize that she is in her forever home.

When we accept God’s son, Jesus Christ, he adopts us, just like we adopted Fergie and Prissy. And God has prepared a forever home for us too, in heaven.

John 14:2 says, “In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you may also be where I am.”

I look forward to seeing my precious Fergie once again someday. Until then, we have a new love in our lives. All ten pounds of her.

It’s almost Christmas. “Gingle Bells,” “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” and many other popular Christmas songs are being played in the background of every store. “It’s a Wonderful Life” will soon be on tv. But don’t worry, if you miss it the first time, it will be shown again and again.

And then there’s the oh so many parties with an overabundance of food and drink, to be followed by weeks of dieting. After all, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. At least for some. But, not for others.

Growing up, I was one of those ‘others.’ My family was too poor to provide much in the way of gifts. Some of what we received was donated by our local church. But then for years, my aunt would travel three hours to our home in upstate New York bearing gifts of pajamas, toys and candy. Those were the Merry Christmases. But then she stopped visiting when I was about twelve. The Christmas gifts we received were once again those donated by our local church.

In my early twenties, I was longing to be married. At Christmas it seemed everyone either had a spouse, or a special someone to celebrate the holidays with and to spoil them with Christmas gifts. Afterward, they would brag about all the gifts they received. This made the holidays more difficult.

When I was twenty-six, and still single, I experienced my saddest Christmas ever. It was the first Christmas without my younger brother who died nine months earlier unexpectedly from a viral infection that attacked his heart. But we decided to celebrate Christmas in spite of that loss. I had had my family over that day for dinner and to exchange gifts. But once they left, I was back to being sad on Christmas. I knew it wasn’t just because of my brother’s death, or because there were only a few gifts underneath the tree, but because the emptiness inside seemed overwhelming. Something was missing.

That evening as I lay in bed, I remembered a conversation I recently had with a friend who had just become a Christian. I pondered what she told me about the real meaning of Christmas. It was something I was taught while attending religious elementary school. She reminded me that God gave His greatest gift to every one of us two thousand years ago with the birth of his Son. Right then and there I gave my life to Christ, the one who gave his life for me. It was the absolute turning point in my life, and it hasn’t been the same since.

Christmas holds new meaning for me. Not because I’ve been married for thirty-one years and no longer spend it alone. Or because I know I’ll see my brother again someday when I go to Heaven. But because I’ve received the greatest gift of all.

Luke 2:10-11 says, “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”

No monetary gift can top that.

Every Thanksgiving across this nation there are annual traditional foot races, commonly referred to as “turkey trots.” I’m sure you’re familiar with them or may have even participated in one.

Many years ago, my twin, Chrissy, who was an avid runner and participated in many races for several years, asked me to join her in the annual turkey trot in Upstate New York. This race was a tradition in the area since 1916 and is now one of the largest races in the United States. It features both a 5k (3.1 miles) and a 10k race. My sister was registered for the 5K.

I was a Christian for a little less than a year at the time. As someone who still smoked a pack and a half of cigarettes per day for the previous seven years, and who had never jogged, let alone run a race, balked at the idea. Besides, Thanksgiving was only five days away! My sister was persistent however and I finally relented with only three days to prepare.

For the next three days I arose early, donned my warmest attire, and braved the frigid morning temperatures. I barely completed a mile the first day, huffing and puffing along the way. By the third day, I pushed myself and made it a half mile further, still quite short of the 3.1 miles.

Race day arrived, and I very nervous. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to finish the race and would be humiliated. Why did I let Chrissy talk me into this?

When they yelled “Go!” we took off, but I paced myself. I couldn’t keep up with my sister, and it seemed everyone was passing me by. I was confident I could finish the first mile as I had done so the previous three days. Each step of my snail-paced jog grew harder and harder and so did my breathing. By the end of the second mile my sister was long gone and most everyone had passed me. My smoking habit (which I gave up a few years after that race) had clearly made the effort more difficult. I prayed I would be able to finish.

I thought for sure I had reached the limit of my ability during the last mile, but somehow got a second wind. My pace grew slower and slower, but I was determined to make it over the finish line. Chrissy and bystanders were cheering me on. “You’re almost there!” someone shouted. “You can do this!” yelled another. I could see my goal a short distance away. With sheer exhaustion, I crossed the finished line. In last place! But I was so happy. I was grinning from cheek to cheek. I had completed what to me was a monumental task. To someone else I may have looked like a loser, but to me I won. My aspirations were never of winning, only finishing.

That 5K race reminds me a lot of a Christian’s journey. Sometimes the road is rough, and we may be tempted to give up the faith, but if we persevere, God will see us through. And with the help of our friends by our side to encourage us and cheer us on, we can make it.

Hebrews 12:1 says, “Let us run with perseverance, the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”