I’ve been in Boot Camp for months and I’m exceptionally eager to be done. I’ve never heard anyone describe his or her Boot Camp experience as pleasurable. The military uses Boot Camp to break the will, to teach unquestioning obedience to authority, and to make young men and women into capable and ready defenders of our nation. It is definitely a learning experience, but usually not a pleasant one.

My Boot Camp has been of a different variety. I’m not in the military and am way beyond the age for them to want me. My experience has been with an orthopedic boot which I’ve been wearing for too many months. The surgery I had in December was supposed to be healed in mid-March. It’s now mid-June and I’m still in the boot most of the time, wondering if my foot will ever heal. Since I love to hike, walk, and garden, this literally frightens me to tears and sometimes robs me of sleep. Will I ever be able to hike again, take the dogs for a long walk, or mow my own lawn? I honestly don’t know. I hope so, but not knowing is way too scary.

I have asked God “Is there something you want me to learn from this experience?” I’ve learned enough lessons for a long blog and enough spiritual truths for a retreat workshop. Here are a few of the lessons I’ve learned.

If you don’t use a body part, it becomes very weak. After surgery the doctor ordered six weeks of total non-weight bearing on that foot. This meant two weeks of using crutches, followed by four weeks on a knee-scooter, and then wearing the boot for what was supposed to be another six weeks. At the end of twelve weeks, the X-rays showed that the foot had healed enough to transition out of the boot. With great joy, I went home, took off that boot and started to walk. Whoa! Hold on Nellie! My first step revealed a big problem. My leg was so weak I thought I might fall. The months of inactivity had left the ankle and calf muscles extremely weak and with a tendency to jiggle. I could barely stand. I became an immediate “wall-surfer’ to give a bit of stability as I took those first steps.

A couple of weeks passed and although I was temporarily out of the boot, I was certainly not out of pain. Why did the foot still hurt so much? The doctor ordered a CT scan to try to identify the cause of the pain. The CT scan showed what the X-ray could not detect. Deep inside my foot, the bones had not fused. I had been walking around on a broken foot. I agonized as the doctor indicated “six more weeks in the boot,” but I learned another profound lesson. Even when something appears to be healthy on the surface, if it is broken deep inside, it will continue to hurt.  Many who look healthy and even happy on the surface are broken deep inside. The emotional pain will never go away until what’s broken deep inside is dealt with and allowed to heal. That usually takes far more time than we would like.

One of the problems with wearing the boot is that it elevates just one foot, creating an effect similar to having one leg an inch shorter than the other. Walking on this boot may protect my left foot which I hope is healing, but it causes a lot of pain in my right hip. The life lesson is obvious: whether in a family, a church, or a business, when one part of the body is out of alignment, it creates pain in the other parts.

 What else have I learned in my particular Boot Camp? I’ve learned that a lack of physical exercise will increase the probability of depression. Unfortunately, chocolate doesn’t help as much as I’d hoped. Physical exercise releases feel-good endorphins. Digging in the dirt is good for the soul and an hour’s walk clears the mind and gives a brighter perspective.

I’ve learned if you don’t get exercise, you will gain weight and muscle takes less space than flab. Both truths were pretty obvious when I had to move the button the wrong direction on the waistband of my jeans. I’m guessing the extra chocolate didn’t help the waistline either.

Another painful lesson for me is that being unable to exercise can negatively affect your social life if your connection time is built around physical activity. My absolute favorite way to connect with a friend or family member is to walk and talk. I miss the daily walks with my friends at work—what a great time to connect and share our lives. I miss the Thursday evening walks with my daughter and the long walk-and-talk sessions with my sister. I miss connecting with my neighbors while walking the dogs. At times it feels terribly lonely. Yes, Boot Camp can be lonely, but I’m learning more compassion for the handicapped and a new appreciation of handicapped parking spots. After months in this boot, I understand more of what they go through. As I wait and hope this foot will heal, I’m connecting more with friends over a cup of tea or a meal together.

I’ve learned that hours spent in pity parties are wasted time and don’t make you feel better. I can use those hours of forced inactivity to learn something new and to do something productive. While I would love to be out walking and gardening during these long hours of June daylight, that’s not possible right now. Focusing on what I cannot do blinds me to what is possible and robs me of joy.

Here are a few of the ways I’ve used my “sitting hours” in the past few months.

I’ve learned to put together a web site. It’s not exactly the quality that web-site professionals build, but I was about 100% certain I couldn’t do it at all. Given enough time and a few hints from Dennis Brooke at NCWA, I did it! If you’re reading my blog, you’re on it!

I’ve had hours and hours to write. I’ve completed the editing of Experiencing Lavish Grace, an eight-chapter study of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. I believe it’s the best study I’ve ever written. Will it ever be published with my half-inch platform? Your guess is as good as mine, but it’s in God capable hands if He chooses to open that door. If He doesn’t, I am certain He will find a way to use it. His Word never returns to Him void; it will accomplish His purposes.

I’ve taken hours to write some of my life stories—stories of times when I knew God was working on my behalf. I’ve submitted a story to the Chicken Soup editors, not knowing if it will ever find its way into a book, but there was time to write it. I am sharing my stories to encourage others who need to be reminded that God is still active in the lives of people today.

I’ve had more time for Bible Study, teaching twice a month and completing Beth Moore’s study of The Beloved Disciple. There was a ton of homework, and I had ample time to complete every lesson.

As I am now three months past my predicted healing time, I don’t know if my foot will ever heal properly. The surgery was meant to correct a situation that was causing pain in my big toe when I walked. Unfortunately, the pain is not better, but worse. It was an elective surgery that I chose because I love to walk and wanted to be able to continue. As I face the possibility that my choice may leave me with worse pain than what I had before, I deeply regret the decision to have the surgery. I certainly hope time will prove me wrong, but here is another Boot Camp lesson. You cannot undo the decisions from your past. Sometimes you have to live with the consequences of your choices. Focusing on regrets is discouraging and unproductive. That doesn’t mean God can’t redeem the situation and turn it for your good, but some choices you will live with the rest of your life. Choose wisely—too much depends upon it.

Today I was blessed to take a precious friend to buy a wig, with funds graciously supplied by her Life Group. Her chemo treatments will cause her hair to fall out soon. I understand how important it is for a girl to have hair.

My first grade photo

My most dreadful hair experience began when I was just in First Grade. My hair began to break off and left patches of baldness. I was diagnosed with a form of scalp ringworm which proved to be very stubborn. The treatment involved shaving my head and applying medications daily. I was left with just enough hair to have bangs. A purple light was used to track the progress of the ringworm. Places where the disease was active would show up as green under this purple light.

Even a 6 year old girl doesn’t want to be bald. My mother sewed little bonnets that matched my home-made dresses to cover my bald head. My first and second grade pictures look like I was dressed for a Little House on the Prairie episode. Other kids asked questions about why I always wore those funny hats and some even suggested maybe I didn’t have hair. I didn’t want them to notice; I wanted to be like the other kids—those who had hair.

Unfortunately the medications only slowed it down and for the major portion of two years I wore little bonnets to cover my lack of hair. I recall leaving the house one morning while it was still dark. My parents were driving me to the city three hours away to see a specialist who they hoped could provide a cure. It’s my first memory of seeing a sunrise and many times I asked, “Are we almost there?” Kids haven’t changed all that much, have they?

The specialist gave us a new medication which caused painful blisters all over my head, but did not bring the wished-for cure. When summer came, I was placed outside in the sun with my scalp exposed in the hope that Eastern Washington’s hot sunshine would cure this nasty fungal infection. It did not.

I was well into the second year battling this stubborn ringworm, when I went to church with my aunt. It was a Pentecostal church, and they had a team of evangelists visiting. They gave an invitation for anyone who wanted to be healed to come forward, to be anointed with oil, and prayed over for healing. I was one who definitely wanted to be healed, so I marched my little seven-year-old body to the front, fully expecting God to heal me.

After the service was over, I very confidently announced to my parents that I had been healed—not even an ounce of doubt. I knew I had been touched by God and I had been healed, but that blasted purple light told a different story. I begged my mother to not use the medication as I was so confident that I had been healed. Surprisingly, my mother stopped putting the medication on my head. I’m sure that would be considered child-abuse today, but she honored the pure faith of a little girl.

The purple light was not encouraging. Instead of shrinking, the ringworm began to spread until my father angrily asked her, “Are you going to let that ringworm eat her whole head?” It had been two weeks since I had announced my healing. My mother’s faith was being tested too. At that point Mom replied, “I guess if God can’t heal it, I will.”

The very next day, the purple light showed no active ringworm—none. It was totally gone, healed completely. As I look back on that experience, I realize it gave me compassion for any woman who loses her hair. I know what it’s like to be bald. More important than that, it gave me my first real experience with a powerful God who can heal what the specialists and the medications can’t touch.

The Accidental Blessing

The dictionary defines accident as “1. An unintentional and unfortunate happening. 2. Something that happens unexpectedly. 3. Chance, fortune.”

I have a different definition for a certain accident in my life and my definition is “an unexpected blessing from God.”  Let me explain.

Before we  married we talked about having kids—that’s a good thing to discuss before you get married. From the time I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to be a mom when I grew up, and hopefully to at least 3 or 4 children. My fiance was in agreement; we both wanted children.

After marriage, we quickly added two precious little girls to our family, but I wanted more. Unfortunately there was a problem. Because Robert and I had different types of blood, we had known there was a chance of an Rh incompatibility. Kathy was born with severe jaundice, an obvious sign that the Rh antibodies in my blood stream had poisoned her. There was a strong possibility that she would need a total blood exchange. If her titer readings reached 20, they would need to exchange her blood for healthier blood. For several days it hovered at 19. I went home from the hospital after her birth with devastatingly empty arms. She needed careful watching and that required her to stay in the hospital for a week.

When I returned to the obstetrician for follow-up, he minced no words as he cautioned me against having any additional children. “You’ve got two healthy babies, you should quit while you’re ahead. This Rh incompatibility gets worse with each baby you have. Another pregnancy could end with blindness, cerebral palsy, mental retardation, or even a still birth. I strongly advise against having more children.”

We took the doctor’s words seriously. Who wouldn’t? We determined to be content with our two girls. However, in spite of our intentions, six years later I found myself pregnant again. Most would say it was an accident, and to us the pregnancy was unexpected and definitely not something we had planned. But God was not taken by surprise, and He had a precious miracle in the making.

My initial visit to the obstetrician was not met with great enthusiasm. In fact, he was a bit grim. He explained that it would be necessary to do extra blood work to monitor the Rh antibodies in my blood. If they reached a dangerous level, he would deliver the baby early. They would probably need to do an amniocentesis to check on the health of the baby while still in my womb.

My excitement over the pregnancy was tempered with a horrible sense of fear. I had already fallen in love with the child I was carrying. How would I handle it if I lost the baby or if this little one was born with severe handicaps? I was in a small church that had seen two babies born in the previous eighteen months with severe mental and physical handicaps. I knew both of the mothers well, and I knew the grief they had experienced. At times my fears were overwhelming.

One day a close friend invited me to go to the park with her. She was volunteering at a mental health facility and was taking one of the residents for an outing. It was a little boy with Down’s syndrome. By the end of the day, I was a basket case. All the fears and all the worries about my baby climaxed that afternoon. I came home a tearful mess. After a good cry, I prayed, “Lord, I give you control over this pregnancy. Give me the strength to be a good mother to this child no matter what problems it may have.” When I released my baby’s future totally to God, a strange sense of peace came over me. I knew with God’s help, I could handle whatever challenges came.

When I was about six months pregnant, the doctor began the blood work to check the level of my Rh antibodies. To his great surprise and to my great delight, there were none—zero Rh antibodies. At seven months I was tested again with the same incredible results. At eight months, still no trace of Rh antibodies in my blood.

Very early one March morning, I went into labor. It was the day of the NCAA championship and my husband teasingly told me, “Let’s get this done quickly so I can watch the game.” I was blessed with short labors, and at 10:03 a.m., my precious baby boy came into the world, without any trace of Rh incompatibility. He was perfectly healthy and I was deliriously happy. Over, and over, and over, I praised God for giving me a healthy son.

That day I gave my son to God. I promised God I would do everything in my power to raise my baby to love and honor Him. Just hours after his birth, as I held this precious gift in my arms, I dedicated my son to the Lord.

The doctor had no explanation as to what happened to remove the Rh antibodies from my blood. He thought perhaps Kathy’s condition had been caused by an ABO incompatibility instead of the Rh factor.

I have quite a different explanation. I believe God wanted us to have this child and He knew how to remove Rh antibodies from my blood. My son was never an accident in God’s eyes. He was planned all along and this “accident” has truly been a tremendous blessing.

You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. John 8:32

What an incredible joy it is to witness Biblical truth setting people free!

I was just 21, when for some reason which I couldn’t fathom, two church leaders felt led of God to ask if I would consider leading a Bible Study class for young married women. I had been comfortable serving in the three-year olds, and their request surprised me. I was barely an adult myself and had no idea what would be involved in teaching women. I knew so little, how could I possibly teach anyone else? Three-year olds I could handle, but the thought of teaching adults was downright intimidating.

After prayerfully considering their request, I astonished myself by agreeing to teach the class. I immersed myself in the study of the Scriptures, prayed fervently, and prepared lesson plans. Each week I walked into class with fear and trembling, but God blessed my efforts with His power. Lives were being changed! God had opened a surprise door to a rewarding ministry that could only be a gift of His grace.

If you haven’t guessed, I absolutely love to teach truths from God’s word and nothing thrills me more than seeing lives change when truth penetrates. The years of teaching and writing lesson plans prepared me for yet another surprising ministry when God opened the way for me to write three Bible study books.

Finding Contentment is a study based on the book of Philippians and the Apostle Paul’s remarkable secret of contentment. You will discover true joy does not depend upon circumstances, but on an intimate relationship with the Lord.

Loving Like Jesus is a study that guides you to accept God’s unconditional, all-encompassing love for you. Grasping the depth of His love empowers you to share it with others—even those in your life who make loving a challenge.

Transformed by God’s Word will guide you to allow God’s Spirit, working through His Word to renew your mind, build the attitudes of Christ into your thinking, and transform your life.

The story of how I became a published author was 100 percent God-orchestrated; there is no other possible explanation. It was never a childhood aspiration; I didn’t enjoy writing letters, I didn’t journal, and my grades in English comp were less than stellar. It had never occurred to me that I could write or that I would enjoy doing it. However, it seems that God had a plan and purpose that He hadn’t yet revealed to me.