 
## The Carpenter's Daughter

### Jonathan Luce
The Carpenter's Daughter

Copyright © 2017 by Jonathan Luce

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. Any Scripture references are paraphrased from the King James Version of the Bible (public domain Bible).

The true stories in this book are complemented by the introduction of four composite characters. They have a twofold purpose: the characters serve as a vehicle to communicate important life lessons, and they help to make the stories more relatable by linking the distant past to the present.

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Author's Note

#  Introduction

This is a heartwarming story about a woman of faith, who has traversed seemingly insurmountable obstacles. By doing so, she has established a heritage of courage that is not easily rivaled in modern times. Only a breath or so from death on numerous occasions, her resilience shines forth like a beacon in the darkest night. How fitting that she married a man whose last name means _light._ Facing some of the harshest battles together, they were able to triumph through unwavering devotion to God and to family.

As you delve into this story based on real life experiences, the hope is that you will find it to be one of the most compelling and inspirational narratives that you've read in a long time. Humility, elegance, devotion, and a great sense of self, aptly describe this woman of great faith. May her story touch you in such a way that you will view life's challenges with a fresh perspective.

_Faith_ , _Love,_ and _Devotion_ are the cornerstones of all that we hold dear. Experience for yourself these key elements being lived out in a marvelous and uplifting way in _The_ _Carpenter's Daughter_.

#  Chapter 1

_Funeral of granddaughter, Misty, age thirty two_ , takes place in a Revivalist church of moderate size in Allensville, West Virginia. The marquee at the front of the church says, _Holiness is the highway to heaven._ Being a church that promotes traditional values, ladies wear dresses, men are clean shaven, and women have long uncut hair that is usually drawn up. The appearance of the churchgoers directly contrasts that of the individuals they're about to meet. A clash between the _Revivalists_ and the _outsiders_ seems inevitable. At best the situation will be uncomfortable, if not unsettling for some.

Out of a gracious heart, the senior pastor agrees to host the funeral and provide a luncheon for the special guests. The funeral couldn't have been a greater example of opposites being thrust together. Perhaps divine providence had a hand in the matter?

† † †

Buzzing, humming noises reverberate throughout the church as the singers on the stage check their mics. In the mini audio booth close to the entry, the sound guy fine tunes his settings. After several minutes the singers begin rehearsing a few songs, but before long they notice several unusual characters gracing the back door of the church. A motley crew of four appears, sporting black leather jackets and bandanas. With their faces and arms emblazoned with numerous tattoos and piercings, they're not exactly typical church goers.

Caught off guard by the peculiar guests, one of the singers fumbles her mic, but manages to catch it before it crashes to the floor. Unfortunately, it still hisses and shrills on retrieval. While trying to regain her composure, she takes one more curious glance at the colorful outsiders.

Unbothered by the commotion, the crew of four surveys the situation. As they look around they happen to notice a petite, white haired woman about midway in the pews in front of them. Sitting in quiet contemplation, she somehow garners their attention. They plop down on the farthest rear pew and begin to chatter.

"Bell, do you think that's Misty's grandmother over there?"

"Probably, dude! Who else would be here this early? You really messed up, Philo!"

"Hey, I thought for sure that I had the time right. You wanted to be early anyway; now it's a couple of hours early. So what? I screwed up man. Sue me . . . !"

"Careful with the language in here, dude! These people take church real serious."

Being somewhat of a skeptic, Philo says, "Yeah, I get it! They went down to the river, got baptized, and all their sins got washed away; now they're pure and holy."

"If I were you, I would chill on the attitude. This is their place of worship. We have our rough edges, but we don't have to be idiots—do you follow me?" He glares right at Philo, and continues before he can respond. "Because we're here way before it starts, maybe we should go to a coffee shop. But first, I want to go talk to the white haired lady."

"Fine! Do your thing," Philo mumbles.

Bellamy strolls over to where the little white haired woman sits quietly in a pew. At first he hesitates before speaking, concerned that his husky voice might scare her. Apart from his massive stature and intimidating persona, he's actually a gentle soul—unless provoked. To his surprise, she makes eye contact with him at once. Unfazed by his foreboding presence, she welcomes him to sit down.

He says, "Are you Misty's grandmother?"

"Yes, I am," she replies.

"My name is Bellamy. My friends call me Bell. I just wanted to offer my condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, Bellamy." She pauses for a short while then says, "Did you know Misty very well?"

"Actually, those three people back there are . . . um, were her friends. We all hung out together. But, I would say the girl over there, Starling, with the raven colored hair, knew her the best. They were close. She's sorta my girlfriend, off and on—it's complicated."

She dismisses his awkward statement and asks, "So, did you have a tough childhood like Misty?"

"Yeah, actually I did. Misty mentioned a few of the struggles she faced growin' up, but she didn't like to dwell on that part of her life. She liked to live in the present. From my experience with her, she was quite adventurous."

"What was your childhood like, if you don't mind my asking?"

With his head bent down, he says, "It's nothin' to be proud of, but I can tell you a little somethin' about what it was like for me growin' up.

"When I was about nine or ten years old our home became a war zone. Yellin' and fightin' caused collateral damage—sometimes we got hurt when our parents fought. The more they drank and did drugs, the worse it got. Most of the time though, we were neglected—simply forgotten. My brothers and I had to scrounge for food at times. When we had food, we mostly lived on cereal, along with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"Unable to handle the toxic environment anymore, I left home when I was fourteen. Way too often my dad and I fought. But thankfully, at that point, I was big enough to defend myself, which eventually lead to him kicking me out. I guess you could call it a mutual decision for me to leave; we were both gettin' banged up really bad."

"Bell, you've had a difficult upbringing; it's not that different than Misty's though. Her dad, my son David, was a heroin addict, and her mom was an alcoholic. Like you, Misty and was neglected at times. With both parents addicted to drugs and alcohol, there had to be days when it was rather scary for Misty.

"In regards to Misty's children, she was only a teenager when she had her two boys. Having to give up both boys because she wasn't able to care for them had to be painful for her. When her life became more stable, she had two daughters, whom she loved dearly. At that time she made a valiant effort to get away from drugs and alcohol. Now and then, however, she would give into the urge. Often that choice landed her in jail, the same as what happened to her dad—so, so many times. Desperate and alone, she would call me during those down and out times. On those occasions, I consoled her and usually helped her.

"I want you to know, there's a better way! Most anyone can choose a different path that is more positive, if only they're willing to ask for help.

"I hear you," he says with a bit of shame in his voice.

"Bell, I'm getting to know you a bit. Would it be okay if I recall part of my childhood story for you, if you have the time? It might spark your interest.

"Mrs. . . .?"

"You can call me, Charlotte."

"Charlotte, I have all the time in the world; go right ahead."

#  Chapter 2

There was a moment suspended in time when the world seemed so peaceful and  
awe inspiring.

My fondest memories are of when we visited my grandparents' farm in the summers, especially the summer of '42. It was a safe haven from the hustle and bustle of big city life, and a great getaway from what seemed to be endless school studies. That particular summer there was an overwhelming reason to escape, but first, I'd like to tell you about my childhood experiences that were most cherished.

My grandparents always welcomed us with open arms into their home. They both had a tremendous love for life, and nature, and the Creator of all. The warmth that they displayed, coupled with their perseverance, was a sign of great character.

Their rustic farm nestled in a woodsy oak and pine hideaway, was right on the outskirts of San Marcos. It was a small, bustling river town right in the heart of Texas. While we were there, endless adventure and exuberance filled my days. Perhaps it wasn't the sort of excursion that some folks might desire, but it was what a true lover of nature longed for and enjoyed. Despite the fact that we lived in a big metropolis, deep down I was still a country girl. Houston was a place where the simpler pleasures of life seemed elusive. Eagerly, I longed to get away from the congested city. When Dad said, in his own endearing way, "We're goin' to the farm," a huge smile always blossomed on my face. The city wasn't my real home; the farm was home to me.

Squirrels and rabbits scurrying about, birds chirping in harmony, horses chattering in the stalls, pigs cheerfully oinking, chickens prancing and clucking, these were the types of sights and sounds that resonated on the farm. On most days at noon, one could see several heifers ambling in front of the main house, as if they owned the place—that was real, true, down to earth farm life. It was all a child could ever hope to experience.

_What could possibly go wrong in such a wonderful place_? That thought crossed my mind several times while visiting my grandparents. Maybe I was afraid of what might happen, or perhaps, it was a hopeful heart trying to make sense of life. Either way, my soul was so in tune with farm life that the memories have never faded; they seem as real as the fragrance of freshly picked sweetheart roses.

The scents of the countryside always garnered my attention. Strolling through nearby meadows in the afternoon, one couldn't help but be captivated by the alluring aroma of the golden honeysuckle blossoms. To not smell or taste them would have been a missed opportunity. Oh! how intoxicating the scent, it made me somewhat lightheaded if I drew to deep of a breath. The effect still lingers in my mind to this day. On the other hand, the bees flittering about didn't faze me at all. Being a young girl, one might think that I would run away scared, but the bees were simply a part of the whole experience. Before leaving the honeysuckle vines, I would gently pull the bell shaped stem out of the center of the honeysuckle blossom. Sweet and tantalizing it was indeed. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue as if it just happened.

† † †

One day a group of us kids came together in the middle of grandpa's cornfield. The smell was so inviting that it took all my willpower not to peel the husks right off an ear of corn and take a big juicy bite. Yet I knew better, because it wasn't quite harvest time. At that point my focus went back to why we were in the center of the cornfield in the first place. When kids gathered in a cluster out in the country, most likely they were hatching a major plan. My cousin Billy's voice was loud and clear. Before I knew what was happening, he shouted out, "Charlotte is it! Count down from ten while we play _hide_ _n_ _seek_. Say the numbers loud!" In an instant, my cousins all scattered like chickens that had somehow got out of their coop. The cornstalks popped and swayed as the kids rapidly darted about, leaving small furrows in their wake.

My voice wasn't that strong but I gave my best shout out. "Ten, nine, eight, seven . . ." There was absolutely no one in sight when the count was done. The search began along each towering row of corn. It felt like hours of searching, but perhaps only twenty or thirty minutes had passed. The kids were probably playing a trick on me, or so I thought. Completely exhausted from searching, I called out, "Ollie ollie oxen free!" What it meant I wasn't sure of, but that's what most of us said when it was safe for the kids to come out and be free. Still no response. Perhaps my voice didn't carry very far, and the kids didn't hear me. At that point, I carefully tiptoed to the outside of the cornfield. Directly on the east edge of the field was Billy, hunkered down behind several tall cornstalks. Well hidden from the other side, but not from the backside. Being petite and nimble gave me an advantage that day. Before he knew it, I had slowly crept up and tagged him. With his freckled face becoming flush, he looked more like a vibrant beet as the seconds passed. He certainly was a sight to see with bright red hair and a face to match.

Getting caught frustrated him. In his booming southern drawl, he yelled out, "All y'all out and free." The one who picks the game rarely gets caught, but he must have thought I was an easy mark. _Shows you what a little lady can do when she puts her mind to something._

The game was over and only a few minutes had passed when I heard a familiar voice calling out my name, "Charlotte! Charlotte! Get in here!" Her call out didn't sound too inviting. On my stroll back, a refreshing, bubbly spring could be seen nearby; however, something not so pleasant was percolating as well. From that point it was best to high step it to the house.

Before my senses were even clear, I was accosted. My mother bolted from the porch and started to reach out and grab my thin, weak left arm, but before applying much pressure she caught herself and withdrew her hand. She immediately began to make comments that were unfamiliar to me.

"Where've you been, Charlotte? And why were you gone so long? You have chores to do. Now get in the dinin' room and help prepare the table. Your little brother needs to be fed; I only got two hands! Since your grandma and aunt are preparin' the meal, you need to be helpin' as well."

"I was just playin' hide-n-seek in the cornfield with the cousins. Every time we come to the farm we always get to play as much as we want. Why is it different now?"

"Are you talkin' back to me young lady?" she said gruffly.

"No, no, it was only a question," I said softly, so as to not upset her.

"You've had a free ride long enough. No more takin' it easy on you. At this time, there's no reason you can't do what others do. Your legs work fine, and your arms too. From this point on you come and ask me what needs to be done, before you think about playin' here and at home."

"Yes, Mama," I replied sheepishly.

"Get on with it, Charlotte! What are you waiting' for?"

Only seconds after I started walking away, she called out to me, "Get the best _taters_ , _tomaters,_ and _cucumblers_." No matter how upset I'd been before, when I heard my mom's thick southern drawl, especially when naming fruits or veggies, it brought a complete smile to my face.

Strolling to the backside of the rustic farmhouse and into the lush garden, I could see plump, red tomatoes glistening in the late afternoon sun. These weren't like the store bought tomatoes that were scrawny and flavorless, these were enormous beefsteak tomatoes, infused with the best flavors from exceptionally fertile soil. The aroma of those brilliant red tomatoes was unforgettable. With my senses fully saturated it made me long for a tasty bite at suppertime. After placing several luscious tomatoes in my basket along with two handfuls of small golden potatoes, and a few deep green cucumbers, I headed towards the farmhouse to begin my new chores. But right before going inside, I caught a glimpse of some honeydew melons and Black Diamond watermelons. As I bent over to smell them, their pleasant and inviting scent drew me in. Oh, how I thoroughly enjoyed farm life and all that it offered.

Nevertheless, my little world as I knew it had changed forever. What I thought was real, was no longer the case, and a not so fun reality had sunk in like a heavy anchor. Though the farm would always be a source of great delight for me, my mom had made it quite clear, from that point on I was her assistant in all things domestic. Playtime on the farm seemed plentiful, but work also had to be figured into the picture. To recall all the chores Mom had in store for me once we got home would have filled a small notebook. As long as she had her hands full with my little brothers, she wanted me to pitch in and do what she asked—when she asked—or there were consequences.

Regardless of the encounter with my mom, the farm was my refuge. A little hard work never hurt anybody. Though her actions might have seemed harsh at times, I still loved her dearly.

I came to realize that it had to be quite difficult for my mom raising three children, given her nervous condition. Adding to my mom's stress was the fact that she had to prepare my younger brother's meals from scratch. My parents simply couldn't afford store bought baby food. To make things even more challenging, there were no disposable diapers in those day; it was quite the chore to take care of children properly.

As the old saying goes, " _A woman's work is never done,"_ on the farm, or in the city for that matter. Later on, after becoming a wife and mother, I was able to sympathize with what my mother had to go through.

Though the sights and sounds of the farm were comforting and stabilizing, one unsettling day in particular haunted my thoughts. That unforgettable day took place before we went to the farm that summer. I was only eight years old at the time. It feels as if it wasn't that long ago, but almost eight decades have passed since then. Nevertheless, that day is forever stamped in my memory and should be recalled.

#  Chapter 3

The holidays were soon approaching, and already the smells and sounds of Christmas gently swirled in and out of each home. The scent of pine needles wafted through the air from freshly cut trees. Resting in open windows, pecan and pumpkin pies gave off a heavenly smell, intermingled with that of freshly baked gingersnap cookies. Throughout my neighborhood red and green streamers caressed light poles, and vibrant wreaths adorned front doors. Christmas carols could be heard playing on turntables and radios. Jubilant sounds abounded!

One eventful night, surprise and delight filled our thoughts, when carolers passed close by our house and broke into chorus. They enthusiastically sang:

" _God rest ye merry, gentlemen_

_Let nothing you dismay_

Remember, Christ, our Saviour

Was born on Christmas day

To save us all from Satan's power

When we were gone astray

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy

O tidings of comfort and joy."

The atmosphere was delightfully festive. All anyone had to do was take a deep breath, and before they knew it, Christmas would enter their lungs and their spirit. No other season could captivate the senses in quite that way.

However, that season was entirely different, with one notable day garnering all the attention. I well remember that day—it was late afternoon, close to suppertime. As I sat on the wood deck of our front screened porch, with jacks and ball in hand, it seemed eerily quiet. Suddenly, without warning, car tires screeched to a halt, music in the neighborhood abruptly stopped, and an atmosphere of tension built. It began as any other normal day, but as the events of the day unfolded a dramatic shift in mood took place. Out of nowhere, an alert came across the oak cased, upright radio from inside our house. The volume was hastily turned up to the maximum level. At first it sounded like chaos. Piercing, high pitched noises, and a deep serious male voice followed.

" _America is under attack_ _! This morning of December 7th, Japanese fighter planes bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. Many servicemen have died, and several of our ships stationed there were destroyed or severely damaged. It looks as if we are at war with Japan. The president hasn't made a formal announcement yet. Stay tuned for further alerts."_

Terrified and shaking in that moment, my heart fluttered with fear. It was traumatic to think that another country would actually want to attack America. Our peaceful home, and the holidays, would never be the same.

With our country under attack, it was no longer just about individual survival—defending our country became top priority. After hearing the startling news, I was unable to hold back the rush of thoughts in my mind: _Will God keep His hand of protection on our nation? Why did they bomb us? We didn't do anything to them. Will my family be safe?_

As a child it was difficult for me to comprehend why anyone would want to go to war. However, as time went on, we all had to learn to accept that war was a reality. It wasn't going away, and worst yet, its devastating effects were soon to be felt.

For our nation it seemed to be one of the saddest Christmases ever. As anxiety mushroomed, people feared what might happen in the coming weeks. Only days before, holiday songs resounded, but then disturbing radio alerts crackled over the airwaves and haunting sounds filled the neighborhoods. Moms and dads concerned about their sons that had come of age, began to speculate, "Will our son be shipped off to war?"

After only a few days, the thought on everyone's mind was, "What will Christmas actually be like this year?" My parents tried to make the holidays as normal as possible, given the situation. Our Christmas that year was poignant and heartrending. December 25th was not only a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, but it was also my dad's birthday—he always felt honored to share his birthday with our loving Savior.

We were fortunate that we even had gifts to exchange. Gratefully, Mom had gotten them way in advance, otherwise the times wouldn't have allowed for much. The anticipation that a child has before Christmas was all but absent in our home that season. Nevertheless, my dad did what came naturally to him. On that special morning we all gathered in the living room where my dad opened our well worn family Bible. The mood was calm and reverent, more so than any other time before. He began by reading from the Gospel of Luke, the second chapter, verses eight through eleven.

" _And there were_ . . . _shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord."_

Then he fervently read from Isaiah chapter nine verse six.

" _For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace."_

When my dad read the scriptures they came to life. Peace gently flowed throughout the room as he continued to open up from his heart. With a deep sincerity he said, "God is the God of the now, not yesterday, or tomorrow, but He is ever present and ever loving. . . ." At that moment, Mother and I shed several tears in response to his tender and timely words. Despite all the trials we had to face, that particular Christmas holds a special place in my heart, one that I will always cherish.

That season proved to be harrowing for our family, but especially for Mom, because of her frail nerves. Although uncertain challenges lay before us, Dad managed to bring life, adversity, and war, all into perspective. His words of encouragement eased the burdensome situation. He infused passion and zeal into his inspirational thoughts, so much so, that I desired to follow the Lord at quite a young age. I completely understood how much the Savior loved me, and that He gave . . . and continues to give.

Though my dad was of average height, he was a tower of strength to me. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and forearms of steel. As far as I was concerned, he could support the moon on his shoulders. Apart from his physical strength, the thing that impressed me the most about my dad was that he had a heart of gold. He genuinely cared for people, and had a deep commitment and love for his family. The close knit bond that he and I shared _would only be strengthened_ in the unsettling days to come.

#  Chapter 4

The draft began in January of '42, to the dismay of many heartbroken moms and dads.

The somewhat joyful atmosphere of Christmas all but vanished. Where peace and hope had once resided in the homes, distress and despair took their place—most everyone's emotions were pushed to the limit. Despite the difficulties we had to face, the country as a whole quickly unified around a singular goal. Even though anxiety was on the rise, _patriotism_ was at an all time high, which helped to stabilize the overall mood of the nation.

Whenever we went to the store, a tremble could be heard in the voices of different ones. Some individuals worried that the government was spreading propaganda, and that they wanted to control the resources in our country. Out of that chaotic environment black markets arose. In response, patriotic posters appeared trying to dissuade consumers from buying underground goods. Many got on board with the war effort, but there were always opportunists looking to profit off of other's misfortune.

Rationing began in the spring. Surprisingly, I enjoyed helping Mom organize food items for the ration booklets; it was a welcome diversion. We were forced into rationing many different types of goods, just about anything one could imagine. But we made due with what we had, which wasn't much. Because meat was seldom available during the war, we often substituted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in its place. To this day, I love a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The aroma alone conjures up those distant memories of wartime, and of how God's hand of mercy carried us through the most difficult of times.

To help meet the food needs of each home, the government encouraged families to start _victory gardens_. We immediately joined in by doubling the size of our garden, which was no problem for my dad since he already enjoyed gardening. He had a special gift for producing flavorful vegetables and fruits that were sought after. Rather than trading their _best_ produce with neighbors, Mom and Dad gave the _first fruits_ of their garden to their local church. Because of their generous giving during the war, the hand of Providence blessed our garden in such a way that we always had healthy meals.

Victory gardens provided vegetables and fruits for many homes. The gardens were grown on rooftops, in vacant lots, and along side yards. Wherever there was soil, sun, and water, a victory garden was bound to appear. They became a blessing for countless families, due to the shortage of meats and dairy goods.

Within only a few months, we were fully immersed in World War II. The sentiment on the home front was somber and reflective. Through my eyes as a child, it seemed as if we had been transported to a whole other world—a world full of terror, hatred, and revenge.

That was life, as we knew it. Our world had turned upside down.

The war was quite personal, and its influence undeniable. One terror filled day is forever seared in my memory.

The moment school let out, I saw children playing on swing sets, moms strolling their babies, and dogs running playfully in the park. Leisurely strolling home from school that afternoon, something grabbed my attention—actually demanded it. With absolutely no warning, a fighter plane whizzed right overhead, leaving a trail of smoke and rumbling noises in its wake. My arms and legs began shaking uncontrollably. There was no doubt in my mind that we were under attack. Scared and trembling, I hurried home as fast as my little legs would take me. In that instant it felt as if my heart might thump right out of my chest. Finally, I made it home! At once I ran over and hugged my father, tighter than ever before, not wanting to let go of him. As long as he was near, I felt secure.

Though I was grateful for my dad's presence, fearful thoughts still swirled through my mind that day. _Were we ever going to be safe again? Would we be directly attacked in Houston? Were we alone in our fight?_

Reports said that farms and rural areas were safe zones, but that large cities would be targets. That news brought _unparalleled stress_ to those families living in the inner-city— _which meant my family_.

It was a time of heightened anxiety.

Some nights were extremely scary. The instant the air raid sirens blared, no matter where we were at, be it outside or on the front porch, we hurried inside, pulled the shades, and then turned out all the lights except one light in the rear room. As long as we had the blackout shades drawn in that enclosed room, a small light could remain lit. Early on, we huddled together, in fear for our lives. My mother's fragile nerves could barely handle the intensity of the sirens screaming, planes roaring, and confusion mounting on all sides.

When we needed support the most, my father encouraged us with inspirational thoughts and Bible verses. I drew so much strength from him throughout my entire life, but especially when I was quite young. He was my rock!

In the most trying times Dad reassured us with his heartfelt words, such as: "The Lord is our strong tower, we can always run to Him for protection. He has kept us safe up to this point, and He will carry us on _no matter what we have to face_."

Although his words were comforting, the thunderous sound of the low flying planes still struck fear in my heart. I don't know if one could ever get used to that type of disruption. Nonetheless, as time went on I began to read, which helped to calm my nerves, even in the midst of the sirens sounding and the planes careening ever so close to the rooftops. With the blackout shades drawn, we were okay—we felt somewhat safe in our little cubbyhole. That chaotic time in our life was what we called _normal_. Because of the incessant noise and madness surrounding us, we longed for a safe haven. We knew it wouldn't be far off.

† † †

That summer couldn't come swiftly enough. My anticipation built, as soon as Mom and Dad began to plan a vacation to my grandparent's farm. Even so, we weren't sure we could make it, since the tires on our old Buick were extremely worn. And worse yet, it wasn't possible to get new or even used tires because of the rationing of rubber.

Shortly after school dismissed for the summer, we headed out for San Marcus at a speedy 35 mph. But as fate would have it, our worn out tires only let us go a short distance. A blowout was inevitable. Dad repaired the flat just enough so that we could hobble back home. How disappointing it was from a child's perspective to have our vacation put on hold. Promises had been made. All the daydreaming in school was about getting away, but at that point the possibility began to fade.

For me, summer vacation meant an escape from the high pitched sirens, and the onslaught of roaring planes. Since we lived in the big city of Houston, flyovers by military planes never ceased. Once the war began there wasn't any break from the difficult conditions abroad, or at home. The only possible retreat for us was to go to the family farm, leaving distress and confusion behind.

Eventually we arrived back home in one piece. In regards to our travel plans, my dad searched for the lowest cost option, since we barely had any money. He found a businessman going to San Marcus, who so kindly let us ride with him—children, luggage and all. I remember Dad saying, "Later on we'll figure out how we're gonna get home, but for now, it doesn't matter." Oh, how I loved his adventurous spirit, especially when it meant keeping a promise to his children.

On that steamy June day, we were on our way. It was wonderful to leave the sticky air of Houston, and the noisy distractions. Just over the horizon, a peaceful setting awaited us.

#  Chapter 5

For a short while Bellamy ponders all that she's said, then responds.

"Charlotte, you certainly had your share of difficulties and adventure in your childhood. If it weren't for my own troubled past, I'd have a hard time relating to what you went through. It surprises me that you've had such memorable experiences, especially since at first you seemed so unassuming to me.

"By the way, I still enjoy a good PB&J sandwich, but with grilled bananas, similar to how Elvis liked his."

They both chuckle for a few seconds, shortly though, the conversation takes on a more serious tone.

"Bell, that was only a tiny instance of what's happened in my life. When I was quite young my life hung in the balance between this world and eternity. Perhaps later we could talk about it. But for now, it appears that your friends are trying to get your attention; they keep glancing this way."

"Yeah, your right! I should go see what they want. Thank you for tellin' me the story about your remarkable childhood."

"Bell, just one last thought. We each conveyed a part of our stories, you about how your home was a war zone, and I recalled about my experiences during World War II.

"Here's an important question for you: _Is the enemy outside worse than the enemy within?_ "

After looking puzzled for a few seconds, he says, "I'm not sure!"

"It depends! Like President FDR said, 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.' We can allow what's inside to trouble us much more than what's outside. It's all a matter of perspective. Our greatest enemy can be ourselves, if we're not careful.

"We need to seek the One who can right all our wrongs. Bell, I want you to know that God loves you, and He is always there for you, no matter what struggles you might face. Please give Him a chance, if you haven't already."

"Charlotte, I'll consider what you've said. Thank you again, for your story."

With a bit of enthusiasm in his step, he strides over to where his friends are seated. As soon as he approaches them, Philo speaks right up.

"Man, what took you so long?"

"You wouldn't believe the stories that lady can recall, they're incredible. But the strange thing is, she knew exactly what I was thinkin', she saw right through me." He turns to Starling and says, "Star you gotta go talk to her; it'll blow your mind."

"No problem, Bell! I'll chat with her for a few minutes," she says nonchalantly, as she rises and steps in her direction.

Philo gestures to Melba and Bellamy, "Hey, you guys wanna go get some drinks and a bite to eat?"

Melba agrees, but Bellamy hesitates.

"I gotta do some thinkin'."

As they get ready to leave he says, "Wait—I've changed my mind—I'll go too. I don't think Star realizes how long she might be over there. It's best if I get her a drink and a snack; she'll be glad I did."

† † †

Starling approaches the white haired woman who is seated. As soon as they introduce themselves, she offers her sympathies over the loss of her granddaughter.

"Thank you, Starling! You have such a pretty name. Were you close to Misty?"

"Yes, I'd say we were close. Now and then we'd meet up to—to play pool and stuff."

"Starling, how has life been treating you?"

"It's been okay," after hesitating for a few seconds she says, "to be truthful, not that great. The twisted road that I've traveled has been a tough one. I've had to go through some _fiery_ struggles, especially with my family. They didn't really care about me—that's why I searched for love elsewhere at about thirteen years old. That path led me to being used and abused as a teenager. Some of it was my own fault, and some of it wasn't. Much too often though, I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Your granddaughter Misty had similar struggles."

"Oh yes, I know! She called me several times, mostly late at night, when she was in trouble. My husband and I prayed for her all the time." At that point a hint of pain could be detected in her voice.

After a brief pause, Starling relates how completely different she feels she is from Misty's grandmother.

"Charlotte, you probably had a wonderful childhood and a normal family. In regards to me though, I've got so many _scars_. I don't mean to judge you, but you might not be able to identify with the type of difficulties I've had to endure."

"Hmm . . . so you say!"

She lets Starling's words swirl in the air for a few seconds, then gently tilts her head to one side, and gazes directly at her.

"Perhaps you're right, Starling. We all have our own path that we must travel, yet we each experience varying degrees of turmoil in our lives. What I've been through may be nothing like what you've had to deal with, but we can learn from one another. I don't judge you for your multiple piercings, your myriad of tattoos, or how you present yourself. We all are beautiful in some way, that's what I see. Trying to understand one another is the most important thing we can do, to try to bridge the gap between us.

"Many years ago I had long, gorgeous, dark hair like yours, but in an instant everything changed. Can I tell you about what happened to me as a young girl?"

"Sure, why not! My friends have left me, probably to go get drinks or somethin'." She reflects momentarily, _this won't be too eventful, but I'll try to be polite and listen._

Starling's internal musing was certainly out of character for her. Perhaps the funeral setting was having an effect on her, or that the petite white haired woman was Misty's grandmother, either way, a fondness had begun to develop for this woman, whom she hardly knew.

† † †

"As a teenager my dad and I would sit on the front porch swing and recall the events that greatly affected me as a young child. Our little talks helped to keep my story fresh and alive in my mind. . . ."

#  Chapter 6

During the winter of 1937 time stood still. Every hope, every joy, every desire came to an abrupt stop, not only for me, but also for my family. At only four years of age, my life hung in the balance between either death or possible lifelong pain and disfigurement. One particular day would forever change my life.

That chilly morning a light frost had clung to the cold, hard ground. But that wasn't enough to hinder a small child from wanting to play with her good friend. Because Martha was only a year older than me, we were able to develop a friendship right away. She came to our door and called on me.

"Can Charlotte come out and play?" she asked my mom.

"I guess, Martha. But you both need to make sure and stay warm."

We both tried to think of something to do outside, yet it was too cold to have much fun. She suggested we go over to her house for a little while. It sounded like a great idea because she had a variety of dolls and toys.

Her mom welcomed me right in. While Martha went to her room to get a few toys, I went over to the living room heater to warm up a bit. It was one of those free standing, floor heaters that used natural gas. From the kitchen, I heard her mom yell out for her rambunctious two year old son.

"Jimmy, where have you gone, you little rascal. Get back in here, so I can watch you."

I continued warming myself by the heater, but before I knew what happened, Jimmy had crawled behind the heater and bumped it into my backside. First it caught my wool coat on fire and then my long dark hair. Martha's mother ran into the room as soon as she heard me screaming.

"Charlotte! Dear Charlotte! What has happened? Oh, my lord!"

I was engulfed in flames. My face was barely visible to her mom. She cried out for her daughter in the other room, "Martha! Martha!"

Her mom hurriedly got a bucket of water, and threw it on me to put out the flames. The damage was done. Some of my burnt skin began to fall off. My body reeked of burning flesh, and my overall skin color quickly changed to black and purple. My long beautiful hair was completely gone. The pain was excruciating. Consumed by shock and horror, my frail, little body fell limp to the floor.

As soon as all the flames on me were put out, she quickly turned to her daughter and said, "Martha, get Charlotte's dad as fast as you can."

She ran as swiftly as she could, and banged on the door to our house. The instant my dad answered, he could see the distress on her face.

"What's going on, Martha?"

After a few gasps, she caught her breath and said, "Charlotte is burned bad! Please come!"

My dad rushed to my side. As I looked up at him, there was great pain in his eyes. It hurt him terribly to see his little girl burned beyond recognition. He quickly wrapped me in a blanket that Martha's mom gave him.

Faintly, I could hear him trying to console me, but being in extreme shock the words began to fall off.

"Charlotte! Baby! It's gonna be okay! Daddy's here! We're gonna get you to a clinic as fast as . . ."

Painful minutes kept ticking away, with no relief in sight. I felt myself going in and out of consciousness, barely able to hold my singed head up. Mom got into the backseat of the car, while Dad handed my burnt, fragile body to her. She gently brushed my cheeks with her hand, all the while her body shook uncontrollably. Out of the corner of my right eye I could see big tears trickling from Mom's chin, and flowing onto the blanket that covered me. I can't imagine the agony they must have felt at that point. Only a loving parent could know what that was like.

Dad was normally a slow, methodical driver, but that day he drove as fast as was safe for me. It only took a short while before we arrived at the clinic. One of the doctors examined me in their urgent care room. However, the news got worse by the minute. As the doctor reluctantly approached my mom and dad, he began to stumble on several of his words.

"I'm—I'm—sorry to tell you, we can't treat your daughter; the burns are too severe. She may not make it if you don't get her to Metropolitan Hospital as soon as possible."

Mom and Dad's faces sunk in disbelief at the news they had just received. Difficult questions swirled in their minds: _Was time running out? Will we be able to save our precious little girl?_ They had to act immediately. Gently, my dad lifted me off the hospital bed, then with a purposeful stride carried me to our car.

We were on the road again, but Mom's nerves seemed more frazzled than ever. She carefully laid me onto the seat at that point, to lessen the shaking. The ride was longer, and became more intensely painful by the minute. They'd rushed me to the clinic first because it was close to the house, but unfortunately, they had to hurriedly get me to the major hospital that was across town.

My dad turned at one point and looked back at my mom and asked, "Hazel, is she gonna make it? Are we gonna get her there in time?"

She could hardly speak, but somehow she squeaked out a few words.

"Henry, I don't know! She's—breathin', but—but just barely."

Mom began to sob again; no matter how much she tried, she couldn't hold back the tears. It was possibly the very last time that she would get to hold me. That thought caused her great agony. Dad, on the other hand, was a pillar of strength through it all; he was calm and focused. Safely arriving at the hospital, he carefully lifted me out of the back seat, and rushed me to the emergency room.

With the utmost urgency he called out to the first nurse he saw.

"Please! Please! Help my daughter; she's been terribly burned."

At that point, my dad could do no more. I could see the anguish on his face. He'd always been my protector, but in that moment he couldn't help me, nor was he able to console me.

Without delay several nurses gathered around, and then cautiously placed me onto a gurney. Though in shock, I could still feel my body releasing from Dad's strong arms and settling onto the rolling bed. Fading in and out of consciousness, I could hear wheels rumbling and footsteps pattering about as they hastily moved me into the emergency room. Right away they summoned a doctor who had experience with burn patients.

The dreadful ordeal had only begun. Because my body was so badly charred, it put the nurses at a great disadvantage. They had difficulty finding a vein through which they could administer fluids and morphine to me. Somehow they were able to access one vein in my arm—one tiny area not burned. Immediately, they put in an IV to supply me with life giving fluids and medication.

After closely examining me, the attending doctor wasn't able to give much hope for my recovery. When first meeting with my parents, a heightened concern filled his voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Milligan, your daughter has sustained the worst possible burns. The third degree burns go deep into the tissue of her arms, legs, and back. We're not sure that she'll be able to make it. The next thirty six hours are critical, and beyond that we have to take it day by day, if she can . . ." An abrupt silence followed. Seeing that my mom, on the verge of a breakdown, was in no condition to receive that kind of news, he pulled my dad to the side, and spoke with him alone.

"Do you fully understand what I'm saying, Mr. Milligan?"

"Yes, Dr. Williams, I understand. But isn't there more you can do?"

"I'm truly sorry; there isn't much we can do. Your daughter is one of the worst burn cases we've had in this hospital in a long time. At this point, all we can do is wait."

The hopeless words began to sink in. Dad was disheartened, but not broken. Being a man of faith, he refused to give up. Rarely did he ever cry, yet that one particular time he couldn't help the moisture from welling up in his eyes.

After a short pause, he wiped away the tears, then composed himself for my mom's sake. With her right on the edge of collapsing, he went over to comfort her.

With tear soaked eyes, and her nerves frayed, my mom was almost to the point of being inconsolable. But my dad always had a way with words.

"Hazel, look at me!" he said to her, while gently caressing her face with his hands. "The Lord isn't going to abandon us now. We've put our trust in Him for years, and this situation is no different. This is the time to have faith and not doubt. Charlotte's life isn't over until He says so. The doctor gave us his report, but God has a different report. We need to choose the Lord's report, not man's. Hazel, can you hold on with me for just a little while?"

She nodded her head in agreement. Being in a semi state of shock made it difficult for her to get any words out.

The coming hours and days tested my parent's faith and resolve. The beautiful life we all had shared suddenly took wings and flew away. One thing was certain though. _Prayer_ became of utmost importance in our lives. It was the best line of defense when one's life is suspended right on the edge of eternity.

#  Chapter 7

In light of my critical condition, my parents immediately called on our family, friends, and the pastoral staff at the church we attended, to pray earnestly for me. Prayer for some might be seen as a last resort, but for my parents and especially for my dad, _prayer always came first_. I'm more than grateful for those who reached out to God on my behalf, for in the most trying of times the Lord tenderly consoled me. His peace was ever present.

† † †

My sad and dire condition didn't escape my little ears. Doctors and nurses whispered such things as, "Oh, what a shame to lose such a young girl!"; " _If_ she survives she may not be able to walk, or use her hands normally." At various times I overheard different one's comments. They may have thought I was unconscious because of the morphine, but I heard—my little ears heard the discouraging words. Regardless, my Dad had taught me to never give up and to always believe in Jesus. He said I could pray to the Lord at any time, especially if I was hurt. During those devastating days, I prayed in my own sincere, childish way. Without a doubt, I knew God heard my prayers!

Barely surviving seven days of intensive care, I had reached a critical point. A sense of foreboding permeated the air that day. When Mom and Dad were called into an _unexpected_ meeting with my doctor, their concern deepened. They wondered, _will there be more disheartening news_? At that time, it became imperative for Dr. Williams to give his latest prognosis. The type of news he had to deliver to my parents deeply troubled him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Milligan, if Charlotte doesn't get better in the next day or two, _it's not likely she'll survive_. Her vital signs haven't improved, and have actually gotten worse. I'm sure you're hoping that she'll somehow recover, but you need to be prepared for a different outcome." His distressing words pierced Mom and Dad's hearts.

It crushed my parents to know that the life of their four year old daughter lay suspended between earth and eternity—hanging on by only a tiny strand of hope. That news wasn't what my parents wanted to hear. The doctor was supposed to say, "Because she's made it this far, the chances are good that she will make it all the way." But that's not the news they received that anxiety filled day.

While Dad continued working, Mom stayed with me day and night. As soon as my dad got off work, he would come up to the hospital and stay close by my side, until almost midnight. Though I was in extreme pain, it still comforted me to know that _Daddy was near_. Before the accident, he had told me that he would always protect me, and would always be there for me—I believed him!

The accident and my ongoing crisis had thoroughly exhausted my mom. The night after receiving the doctor's latest prognosis, she decided to go home and rest a while. She also wanted to spend time with my little brother, whom she had barely seen in days. Grandma Lester had watched him most of the time. However, that particular day Mom desperately needed relief. Being there in the hospital room, night after night, became grueling for her. Grandma graciously took her place that Saturday evening.

Grandma Lester was a woman with a tender heart towards anyone in need. As a devout Christian, she didn't just say she was a follower of Christ, she lived it by example. Anyone in her neighborhood that had a need, or that was an invalid, she would routinely provide care for them, whether that meant going to the grocery store, or doing repairs on their house. She was tireless in helping others.

Thankfully, she stayed with me that evening until the early morning. That night, unlike any other, had an unusual presence about it. For the first time since being admitted to the hospital, I was able to sleep through most of the night. Before leaving, Grandma kissed me on the forehead, and whispered gently, "Charlotte, the Lord has his hand on your life. You're gonna be fine."

Dad picked up Grandma at the hospital, and knew right away that something had transpired in the night. Her appearance seemed most unusual, as if she were _bathed in light_. Yet the entire ride home she remained relatively quiet.

On that Sunday morning a few people had gathered in our home to pray for my recovery. Grandma, though normally reserved, passionately described to my mom, dad, and the others present, about an unusual visitation that happened in the early hours of the morning in my hospital room.

"Last evenin', while tryin' to rest, an unusual aura began to fill the room—right at midnight. The atmosphere became thick with the presence of God, like I've never experienced before. _Instantly_ , an angel appeared at the foot of Charlotte's bed, to watch over her. Charlotte's guardian angel stayed there till four in the mornin'. As quickly as he'd appeared that's how swiftly he vanished.

"My heart almost leapt from my chest! For I know the very presence of our holy God filled that hospital room. I trembled for over an hour, in awe of what had occurred. A tinglin' sensation went from the crown of my head all the way to my toes. When in prayer, I've had experiences with God before, but nothin' like that. My senses were alive as never before. I don't know how it was possible, but I smelled what seemed to be the aroma of heaven. The darkness, along with the dank hospital smell, faded within seconds. A fresh breath from above, joined by a heavenly glow, flooded the room. I'll never forget that moment of divine intervention, as the angel diligently watched over Charlotte. If he hadn't appeared, most likely death would've taken her. God so wonderfully put a shield of protection around Charlotte last night—this I know!

"Once the angel left, encouragin' thoughts filled my mind: _Don't worry, it's not her time. There are many wonderful things that will be accomplished in Charlotte's life. She will be a light in this dark world. Until it's time for her to go home, it will not be so._

"The Lord protected our little Charlotte. His timin' is flawless! In this world we'll experience heartache and pain, but God remains faithful through it all. When Christ had to endure great agony in the Garden, an angel came and strengthened Him. That's precisely what the Lord did last night. He sent an angel to strengthen Charlotte, so that she could make it through her life's journey.

"The book of Psalms encourages us with these words, ' _He knows our frame_ . . . _even before we are born.'_ Also, He knows our risin' up and our fallin' down. Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

As everyone gathered around Grandma Lester, they shared hugs and an abundance of joyful tears. It became apparent that the presence of Jesus had graced our home that day. The Lord's unmistakable hand of mercy had moved in my life in such a special way. To not leave even the slightest doubt, He swiftly confirmed the angelic visit, and the life saving miracle He performed on my behalf.

Dad went to church that Sunday morning with a fresh outlook, for only minutes before he'd received assurance that God's hand of mercy had protected his little girl.

Being the Sunday school superintendent, my dad had to be at church every week to oversee all the classes. Going about his usual rounds he happened upon one of the dear elderly ladies of the church, known for her dedication to prayer.

She stopped him and asked, "How is Charlotte doin'?"

He replied, "We're believin' that she's gonna fully recover!"

"Well, I've been prayin' for her all along. But durin' the early hours of this mornin', I felt compelled to pray for your precious little girl. I prayed from midnight until four this mornin', at which time, peace began to flood my soul. A still small voice whispered to me: 'It's not her time yet! I have much for Charlotte to do, and many lives for her to touch.'"

With utmost confidence, my dad knew Grandma Lester had an authentic angelic encounter. God clearly and precisely confirmed His visitation. The dear elderly woman had no way of knowing what had happened the night before, except that the visitation was divinely inspired. In that moment my dad did his best to hold back tears from welling up in his eyes. He sensed that something greater was at work, for God's plan far surpassed what the doctor had said, or what anyone else might have said. During that harrowing time, my dad's trust in the Lord never wavered.

In the coming days my family faced tremendous obstacles, but they held firmly to their faith, and to one another. Though I made it through a critical stage, the greatest challenge lay before me.

#  Chapter 8

The nights when I could fall asleep were a blessing. Despite those brief times of relief, excruciating treatment loomed ahead for me. Up to that point, the nurses did their best to keep me alive; moving forward though, I needed more focused care. However, the nurses weren't adequately trained for burn victim therapy. Being a general hospital in the Depression era, resources were meager. In addition, most of the country didn't have medical insurance yet. It was a difficult time for anyone with burn injuries such as mine.

Since the details of my recovery are quite gory and terribly painful, it's best if I keep this part of my story brief. Each day presented its own challenges, especially when the nurses removed scabs and blackened skin from my body with small tweezers. With the form of treatment they used, their primary concern was to guard against excessive bleeding. They couldn't begin to think about working on my charred hands and feet, for my toes were meshed together, and my fingers as well. The nurses did their best to prevent infection, but at times it proved to be difficult, given that a large portion of my body had sustained burns. The type of torture I had to endure was cruel, but necessary. I can't imagine anyone wishing that kind of pain on even their worst enemy.

The grace that could only come from above, helped me to get through the lingering nightmare. I truly felt everyone's prayers. At my lowest point though, what helped me most was to have my dad close by my side. I remember telling the nurses one day, "Please, please, get my daddy. The pain is too much for me to take. If only he were here, maybe I could handle it." Despite my tears and anguish, the nurses pressed on with their tedious and burdensome treatment.

When Dad came up to the hospital, it always warmed my heart. His kind words helped me tremendously—they gave me hope. On one occasion he said to me, "Charlotte, I know you can make it; the Lord has His hand on you. I want you to keep your head up, sweetheart. Together, we need to trust and believe that He's gonna work everything out." Oh, those comforting words. How special my dad was to me. With him near, it felt as though the Lord was right by my side, holding my hand.

Nevertheless, the days, weeks, and months of treatment weren't providing the results my family had anticipated. I didn't have use of my hands, and the thought of being able to walk again became more discouraging as each day passed. The nurses in the hospital were overworked and undertrained; the lack of care wasn't their fault. Truly a sad situation for my family, but most definitely for me.

All a child thinks about is running, playing, and doing the fun things that children do. Such wasn't the case for me. All I wanted, was to get out of the hospital and be with my family, if that were possible.

It's incredible though, how a few words spoken in earnest can change one's fate.

† † †

Mom and Dad had an _intense_ conversation late one night. It was in regards to my therapy, or rather the lack of it. My situation required an extreme course of action, which needed to come soon, otherwise I might be permanently disabled.

#  Chapter 9

"Henry, you can't be serious!"

"Hazel, I have to do it for our precious little girl. Charlotte desperately needs us. If we leave her in the hospital, she might not be able to walk again, or be able to use her hands like other children. Don't you want the best for her?"

"Yes! But you could be arrested for trying to take her out of the hospital without their consent."

"If I go and ask them to release her, they won't let me bring her home because of her critical condition. Yet if we don't do somethin' right away, our daughter could be crippled for the rest of her life. We have to come up with a solution. Anyway, we can't afford to leave her in the hospital one more week. She's been in the hospital for three months, which is costin' us a fortune. If you look at the recent bills, it's gonna take us y e a r s to pay them what we already owe!"

She couldn't help but release a mild groan. "Henry, you're right! We're gonna go broke if we can't get her out of the hospital as soon as possible. This will be the best thing for Charlotte. There's no way I can cook, clean, and watch over our baby boy, and provide therapy for her as well. When you get off work, you'll have to give her the help she needs."

"Then it's settled, Hazel! I'll find a way to bring Charlotte home tomorrow night."

Before he took his next breath, he let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the burdensome weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Bringing me home, is what Dad had wanted to do at an earlier date, but he wasn't sure Mom would agree to such a bold move.

Anxiety gripped my parents as they prepared to do the unthinkable. Troublesome thoughts whirled in their minds: _Is our decision the best one? What if Charlotte dies in our care? Perhaps charges from the state could be brought against us for negligence. If infection sets in anywhere on her body, the outcome could be devastating._

Despite their uneasiness and heightened concern, the plan had already been set in motion. The next step was only a breath away. There was no turning back at that point, too much was at stake.

#  Chapter 10

The moment of truth had come.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, Hazel! I've got what's necessary."

"Henry, please be careful! Try not to injure Charlotte—she's gone through so much already—promise me you'll do that."

"Don't worry, Hazel! _She means the world to me_. I'd never do anything to hurt our precious daughter; I'll be very careful!"

From that second on, silence permeated their bedroom. Mom and Dad's emotions had reached an all time high. What they were about to attempt was extremely risky, and possibly life threatening for me, therefore it gave them a great deal of angst.

My parents hoped that the intervention would bring about a significant change in my recovery. But they had little certainty that they could provide better care than the hospital. The decision they were about to carry out presented more questions than answers.

That night, my dad quietly left the house. As he started the car and slowly put it in gear, thoughts swept through his mind: _Will this work? What if someone sees me taking our daughter? Am I using the best method to get Charlotte out of the hospital?_

Only seconds before reaching his destination, a tense atmosphere filled the car. The front windshield fogged up from Dad's strained breathing. He did his best to shake off the tension. As smoothly as he could he downshifted to first gear, then eased into the parking lot of the hospital. His attempt to rescue me required perfect timing. Minutes began ticking away. Before leaving the car he said a quick prayer: "Dear Lord, if ever I needed your help, it's right now. This is for Charlotte's good. Please be with me and protect my little girl. In Jesus name I pray. Amen!"

He took a deep, strenuous breath and proceeded with the plan.

Late that night the front exterior of the hospital appeared to be still, as well as the side entrance. Though tension was building, my dad calmly grabbed the carpet roll out of his car trunk and casually strolled over to the side door, as if he were a carpenter working the night shift. He stood outside for a short while to make sure no one was coming down the corridor. Within seconds he slipped inside, being careful not to bump the door with the carpet. The less sound he made, the better.

The tension kept building as he approached the next corridor, the one that would lead to my room. Normally, he was steady as a rock, but under the intense pressure his right hand began to shake, yet he held tightly onto the rolled up carpet. While pausing for a few seconds to calm himself, several thoughts crossed his mind: _This is difficult, almost crazy._ _What am I doing here?_ As soon as he took one more deep breath his hand finally stilled. Despite having reservations, he pressed on.

While striding down the lengthy hallway, a _buzzing_ , _popping_ noise sounded right above his head. Startled, he quickly gathered himself, and hastened his steps toward my room. When he looked back a custodian had just turned the corner—he must have spotted the overhead light bulb that had blown out. There was a slight chance that he caught a glimpse of my dad entering the room. Because the nurses rounds were in thirty minutes, he needed to get in and out quickly, but safely, without being detected.

Approaching my bed, he stood there for a second. That particular night was somewhat restful for me, but I sensed that someone had entered the room. My dad gently touched my shoulder to get my attention.

"Charlotte! Charlotte, I've come to take you home," he said softly.

His tender voice sent chills down my spine. Finally, someone had come to rescue me. Another day in the hospital was about all I could handle. Because my body was weary from the long hospital stay, I couldn't wait to be at home with my family. Oh, to be in my own bed once again.

I looked right into his eyes and said, "Daddy, have you really come to get me?"

"Yes, sweetheart!" At that instant my heart began to flutter, for those were the kindest words I'd ever heard.

Pressed for time, he hurriedly said, "This isn't gonna be easy. The hospital doesn't want me to take you, but your mom and I feel that you'll do much better at home. I'm gonna roll you up in this carpet that I brought. You'll have to be as quiet as a mouse. Okay!"

"I'll try, Daddy. But the burns hurt so much."

"Charlotte, please do the best you can; that's all I'm askin'." After only a few seconds he whispered in a low, reverent tone, _"If our Lord is in this, it will work out fine."_

After carefully wrapping me in several sheets, he laid the carpet on the bed, and gently moved me onto it and rolled it around me. For all intents and purposes it looked like any other roll of carpet, with the exception of the bottoms of my small feet barely visible; though one would have to strain to see them.

The anticipated moment had come! Yet time was fleeting.

As soon as my dad neared the door, he glanced up and down the hallway to see if anyone was around. He could see the custodian climbing down from a ladder, after having replaced the burnt out light bulb. To make sure no one was in sight, Dad took one last peek out the door. Sweat beads began to form on his forehead, not from it being warm, but from the pressure and uncertainty of what he was about to do.

He came over to my bed, drew real close to me, and said, "The hallway is clear, this might be our only chance. Remember, Charlotte—quiet as a mouse."

With special care my dad lifted me off the bed, and moved towards the door once again. After another quick peek, we were on our way. His work shoes made a louder than usual clomping sound, as each footfall met the floor. Having to lug the carpet with me inside, made it a bit awkward for him. We both hoped no one would hear us. The last thing I wanted was to be confined to a hospital room again, for the joys of life seemed completely absent within those gloomy walls.

Thankfully, we reached the end of the last corridor. I'm not sure how he did it, but my dad managed to hold the carpet with me in it with one arm, hold the door open with the other, and somehow did it all without attracting any interest, or making much of a sound. He had large forearms of steel from doing heavy carpentry and floor laying work. That day his strength proved to be invaluable.

With a brisk stride he headed to our car. Once there he laid the carpet onto the backseat, and gently unrolled me out of it. That not only lessened the pain, but it also allowed me to catch a glimpse of my dad's face. His countenance appeared different. Only minutes before he'd been anxious and unsure, but then his eyes glimmered with hope.

I couldn't help myself; I had to ask him once again.

"Daddy, are we really going home?"

"Yes, baby! We're going home."

At that second moisture filled his eyes, and his throat began to tighten. The significance of my question touched my dad, leaving him speechless. He couldn't hold back the tears that soon lighted onto the steering wheel. I'd never seen my dad quite that emotional before.

That night, hope was reborn.

#  Chapter 11

Before pulling into the driveway, Dad turned off the car headlights, trying his best not disturb anyone. Midnight had already passed. Opening the door, he gently lifted me from the backseat of the car, and then eased his way up the wooden steps to our house. The slight jostling hurt somewhat, but it couldn't compare to the joy that I felt inside.

Finally, I was home!

Mom quietly greeted us, so as to not wake my little brother. Within minutes Dad took me to my room, and carefully tucked me into bed. He stayed in my room that night, and many nights thereafter— _to watch over me, to pray for me, to give me hope._

Being able to come home in the month of March was an incredible birthday gift. It was early spring with all sorts of flowers blooming. On any given day monarch butterflies could be seen flittering onto pink begonias, and onto violet morning glories along our side yard. The air at home was refreshing, unlike the dank smell of the hospital room. Beauty surrounded me, but soon I knew that _beauty would be mingled with pain_. The second day home, reality sunk in. Dad gave me a break the first day, but that was it. We needed to get to work right away if I was to improve.

However, we received an unexpected visitor my first day home. The instant my mom saw a rather dignified man approaching our front porch, anxiety gripped her. Well dressed in a dark suit, with a charcoal fedora hat, he appeared confident and professional. As he continued to knock on the door, Mom asked Dad to go see who it was. They both expected an encounter within several days, but the confrontation at hand, left them no time to figure out what they would even say. They wondered— _is he a detective, FBI agent, or some other official?_

"Is anyone home?" he called out, and knocked again, and again.

Though somewhat apprehensive at first, Dad opened the door and welcomed him in.

All the while Mom stayed right at the edge of the kitchen, in a crouched position, wanting to hear everything that was said. The thought of an intense encounter put her nerves on edge. Peeking around the corner now and then, allowed her to catch a glimpse of the two of them.

"Dr. Williams, this is a surprise to see you today," my dad said in a stressed tone.

Before saying a word, he glanced around the home to assess its cleanliness. "Well, I'm not sure what you were expecting, but you've taken my patient out of the hospital without my consent. Her medical care was under my supervision, and as a physician I take that responsibility quite seriously. She might be your daughter, however, you're not equipped to give her proper treatment."

"I understand that Dr. Williams, but she was hardly makin' any progress in the hospital. Your nurses are good with general care, yet they weren't helpin' Charlotte to use her hands, and certainly weren't helpin' her to walk again. I'm gonna give her therapy at home. _She_ _will_ _recover_ —with God's help."

"Mr. Milligan, let me be candid. I appreciate your faith, and your concern for your daughter, but there are other things at stake here. Have you thought about infection? Are you prepared for the consequences of your actions?"

"Yes! We've carefully thought this through," he said confidently.

"Please come with me."

My dad led the doctor to my room, and within seconds surprise covered his face.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Milligan! You're taking the right precautions. The mosquito net fully covering the bed, is exactly what needs to happen if she is to be protected from infection. Regardless, you know where I stand on this issue. My recommendation is for her to return to the hospital."

At that instant, I looked up at the doctor with concern in my eyes, and said, "Please don't take me back to the hospital. I want to be with my mommy and daddy and little brother."

At that point Dr. Williams turned to me and said, "Give me a minute, Charlotte; I'll talk with you shortly."

He motioned to my Dad to step out of the room, so that they could speak more directly.

As they stepped away, tears welled up in my eyes. I began to pray as earnestly as I knew how: _Please God, don't let him take me away_. _Please, dear Lord!_

My dad immediately spoke up once they were in the living room.

"Dr. Williams, we can't take her back to the hospital. My wife and I can hardly pay the medical bills at this point. It's gonna take us _years_ to pay the hospital all that we already owe them."

"I understand, Mr. Milligan. I figured that was part of your motivation for taking her out of the hospital. Despite my reservations this setup will work, but you must keep her isolated from others, especially from anyone that's sick. Disease of any kind could be life threatening for her. All feeding utensils, as well as clothing and toys must be sterilized with hot water and soap. Don't leave anything to chance!"

My dad nodded in agreement, and straightaway they returned to my room.

The doctor stepped towards my bed and said, "Charlotte, I didn't come here to take you. I'm here to make sure you're properly cared for, and it seems that you are. Don't worry! I'll check on you regularly, right here in your home. Just rest for now."

Peace flooded my heart the moment he said those words. I didn't have to go back to the hospital—I was home for good. All I could say was, _Thank you Lord!_ over and over.

The doctor spoke to my dad once again in the living room.

"Taking Charlotte out of the hospital caused quite a ruckus, I want you to know. The night nurse contacted me, after speaking with the custodian on duty. She asked him if he saw anything on the late night shift. Her inquiry only provided a _light_ amount of information, however, it was enough to draw a conclusion as to what happened. To determine our next step, we had a meeting at the hospital early this morning.

"Before last night, the thought had crossed my mind that you might try to take her home. Her medical bills have been building up, and thus far we haven't seen the progress for Charlotte that we'd hoped we would see. I'm not being sympathetic toward what you did. You simply acted in a way that you felt was in the best interest of your family. It remains to be seen, if it's in Charlotte's best interest.

"Ever so often I will come by to check on her, to make sure that she's in good health. Keep her from infection!"

As Dad walked with him to the front door, he thanked Dr. Williams for his past care, and his genuine concern for me.

For three months it seemed as though I'd been transported to another realm—A distant, dark, and often disturbingly painful place. I made a promise to myself that whatever it would take to avoid going back to the hospital, I was willing to do it, no matter how agonizing. Soon enough, I would discover exactly what that commitment entailed. Yet it was necessary if I wanted to have any chance for a full recovery.

#  Chapter 12

That night after Mom fed me supper, she carefully put fresh pajamas on me. At that time, she said something to me that I didn't quite understand, but soon enough I would know what she meant.

"Charlotte, you know your Daddy loves you, right?

"Yes, Mama! Of course he loves me."

"Well, no matter what happens in the next weeks or months, don't forget that. Don't forget that we both love you very much, and we're only doin' what's best for you. Do you understand?"

"Sure! I know you both love me."

Mom didn't say another word.

† † †

I heard my dad coming through the front door. All day I had longed to see him. Since my mom had already prepared dinner for him, it would only be a short while before we could spend time together. After about thirty minutes I could hear Mom clanking dishes in the sink.

Dad cleaned up a bit and came right to my room. He smiled at me briefly and said, "How are you doin', Charlotte?"

"I'm doin' better now that you're home. It's so good to see you, Daddy."

"Me too, baby," he said hesitantly, knowing full well what was about to happen. The last thing he wanted to do was cause his little girl pain, but at that point it was certain.

"Charlotte, we need to start your therapy."

"Daddy, can't we just talk for a little bit first?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart! We have to start."

He began with my right pinky finger, ever so slowly trying to move it and separate it from the others. I cried—and cried—and cried. The tears simply wouldn't stop. _Why was he inflicting so much pain on me?_ I didn't understand. Soon though, Mama's words came back to me, "He loves you . . . he's doing what's best for you." It caused him a great deal of anguish to see his little girl suffer, nonetheless, he continued with the therapy.

He worked with me for almost an hour, trying to get a tiny bit of movement from my fingers. That was only the first day. After a short break, he started on my left hand. Therapy would go on for weeks and months. It would be a long, grueling process.

Before we got very far into the physical therapy, my parents called our church leaders and friends who they knew would pray fervently for me. They asked them to come over to our house, and surround me—they covered me with prayer. That day it was as if the Lord had put a force field of protection around my bed. Something I'd never felt before saturated the air. Waves of healing gently streamed through my room that unforgettable day. I knew that a miraculous, yet invisible, work had begun.

Good news followed shortly thereafter. In the first month, I was able to move my fingers somewhat. When Dr. Williams visited our home for the second time, he was truly pleased with the progress I'd made.

Within a few months, I could grasp a cup, which was no small miracle. Within six months, through my Dad's help, I was able to regain full use of my hands and feet. The most difficult task was getting my legs to work. They were scarred and fragile. Nonetheless, each day a little ray of hope shone on our home from heaven above. My dad's commitment was a key part of my recovery, but abundant grace from the hand of God played the most important role. As the therapy went on night after night, a deep assurance from the Lord filled my heart.

The most exciting day of all came when Doctor Williams visited our home for the very last time. My parents greeted him as usual, then invited him into our living room and offered him a seat on the sofa. After a few minutes of small talk, they began discussing my condition.

"Mr. Milligan, I can see that you've made significant progress with Charlotte, regarding her hands and feet. I personally don't know of any other parent that could do what you've done. I commend you for your dedication to Charlotte's therapy. Regardless, she has a long ways to go, I hope you know that."

As I sat in a chair on the far side of the living room, I intently listened to all they had to say. The next few words that my dad uttered caught Dr. Williams off guard, and fully captured his attention.

"Charlotte, please walk over to Dr. Williams."

I got up, slowly walked over to where he sat, put my hand on his shoulder, and then spoke directly to him.

"Dr. Williams, I'm so glad that you came to see me today. It's been a long time since you've been here. I can walk now! See how well I can use my legs,"— _I moved them up and down as if marching_ —"it's because of my daddy's help and prayer. All I've ever wanted was to be like other kids—to be able to walk, and to play, and to enjoy life. Jesus heard my prayer."

At that instant, I could see the birth of tears in Dr. Williams's eyes. After hesitating briefly, he let the tears flow. Though dignified, he wasn't so separated from his emotions that he couldn't fully experience what had transpired right in front of him.

"Charlotte, I can't believe it! This is a miracle! I had no idea that you've made this much progress. I'm so happy for you, and for your parents. This truly is a miracle! Everyone at the hospital will certainly be glad to hear the news."

The doctor left that day with a satisfied smile, and a renewed faith in the Creator of life. My miracle was an answer to my parent's prayers, and an answer to the many prayers that dear ones prayed on my behalf.

† † †

Three years later, the Lord confirmed yet again His miraculous touch on my life.

One day while working in the fabric department of a store, my grandmother had an unusual encounter. As she stood behind the checkout stand, a woman reached over and handed her Christian tracts. The woman asked if she was a Christian, and my grandmother said she was. Without hesitating, Grandma Lester began to tell her how God had performed miracles in the life of her granddaughter who had been burned in an accident.

The woman asked, "Is Charlotte your granddaughter?"

"Yes, she is! How did you know her name?"

"Mrs. Lester, I want you to know that I was one of the nurses who worked with your granddaughter, when she was so severely burned. Daily, I had to get small tweezers and strip her back of the bloody scabs that had formed. That kind of experience is difficult to forget. Because your granddaughter was in such extreme pain, I struggled with going to her room each day. When I gave her treatment, she begged for me to get her dad. I'll never forget what she said each time, 'If you'll just get my daddy, he can pray for the hurt to go away. Please, please get my daddy.' Hearing those words over and over again caused me to lay awake many nights.

"It was heartbreaking to hear her call out for her dad. However, at the same time it became quite clear the importance of prayer to her family. I'd never thought much about prayer before meeting your granddaughter.

"There was something quite unusual about Charlotte. When she made it through the seven most critical days, I knew then that the Lord's hand of protection was upon her life, even though I wasn't a Christian. That awe-inspiring morning when you left Charlotte's room after her angelic visit, the atmosphere around her became full of life—the looming cloud of death was no longer present. In the following days, she started improving, which allowed us to begin her intensive treatment.

"Before long, it was marvelous to hear Dr. Williams report that she could move her fingers and toes again. A year later when I discovered that Charlotte could walk again, tears of joy filled my eyes. Having been her nurse, I wanted the best for her. I began to realize that God truly was working in her life and had a special purpose for her. At that point, it was impossible for me to deny the miracle that Charlotte had experienced.

"Thankfully, because I was your granddaughter's nurse, my spiritual eyes were opened. For years my sister had asked me to attend church with her, but every time I refused. When I finally decided to go to church with her, I felt something move deep in my soul. Not only did I give my heart completely to God, but also I soon felt a calling to become a missionary. My life changed dramatically. I am eternally grateful that I was Charlotte's nurse."

The moment she finished speaking, they hugged one another as if they were long-lost sisters. Standing with arms raised, they gave thanks to God for the awesome miracle that they both had been witness to. Something far beyond themselves had transpired.

† † †

Despite all the incredible things that happened in my life up to that point, one question lingered in my mind for years to come.

#  Chapter 13

As Misty's grandmother finishes her story, Starling tears up and reaches over to give her a warm hug. She holds on to her tightly for a while, as if she had known her for years. Once Starling gathers herself, she responds in a most unusual way.

"Charlotte, I had no idea that you've been through so much. The struggles that I've dealt with, don't even come close to what you've had to endure. _I'm sorry for judgin' you_. I want you to know, it's hard for me to admit when I'm wrong—I'm so stubborn.

"Starling, that's okay! We each need to be a little more accepting of one another. My accident was only a small part of the struggles I've encountered. God has been with me through my entire life; He's never forsaken me. Regardless of the many trials on my journey, I've had a wonderful life filled with joy. There are children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren to love—my life is full and satisfying.

"No matter what you've been through, Starling, the Lord wants the best for your life. You can always make a fresh start. If you ask Him for help, He can smooth over those hurtful scars that you carry deep inside. My scars will always be with me, but yours can fade—far, far away."

They both pause and reflect for a short while.

"Thank you, Charlotte, for your kind words. I'll give a great deal of thought to all that you've said. Later today, I _definitely_ want to hear more of your story _._ "

Out of the corner of her eye, Starling notices that her friends have returned. Without uttering another word, she stands and starts to turn away. Right before leaving, she tries her best to give Misty's grandmother a tender smile, despite all her piercings.

As she approaches her friends, with Melba seated in the middle, she leans over and grabs Melba's broad shoulders so that she can speak directly to her. Bellamy and Philo immediately lean away from her to either side, preparing themselves for a negative response. Melba being only an inch shy of six feet tall and being tougher than most guys, an adverse reaction was certainly possible, but Starling knew her well enough that she could get away with grabbing her at that point.

Still grasping her shoulders, Starling looks right into her eyes and says, "Mel, you've got to meet this woman! She understood my deepest, darkest thoughts; she read my mind as if it was an open letter. What she's been through is nothin' short of miraculous. You should go talk to her!"

Melba nods okay, as if it's no big deal. But wonders why the guys are still leaning away from her. After only a few seconds she strolls towards the white haired woman and introduces herself.

"Hello! You're Misty's grandmother, right?"

"Yes! Would you like to have a seat?"

"Sure! My name's Melba, but you can call me Mel," she says in a deep guttural tone.

"Nice to meet you, Mel. If you want, you can call me Charlotte."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Charlotte. Your granddaughter Misty was so young."

"I agree, she certainly was."

They both sit quietly for a short time as she carefully observes Melba.

"If you don't mind my saying—you're one tough looking gal."

"Yeah, I get that a lot; my look helps to keep people at arms length. It gets under my skin when someone wants to get _too_ close, in a relationship or otherwise. That's why I like my friends so much. They respect my space, and understand when it's okay to be close or not—they know me quite well."

Her large frame, closely cropped reddish orange hair, huge arms, and deep voice, didn't deter Misty's grandmother from wanting to get to know more about her.

"Mel, were you and Misty good friends?"

"I'm not sure you'd call us close friends, but I had her back. One thing I do know about her was that she was always searchin' for love. It's sad that she's gone. She hardly had a chance to live, or to find the love that she really wanted."

"Mel, I guess some people will search their entire life for love, and never find it. Have you had a chance to experience true love?"

" _Huh!"_ she blurts out, _"It's difficult to find love!_ " After a brief pause she calms herself and says, "Despite what most people think, there's a heart inside of me that feels. To find someone who truly loves me _—the real me_ —that's my greatest desire."

Somewhat surprised by her passionate response, Misty's grandmother replies in a gentle, yet confident tone, "Mel, I know exactly what you mean."

"You do? I find that hard to believe! You're such a beautiful, classy woman—we're such _opposites_!"

"On the outside we may appear radically different, Mel, but on the inside we long for the same things. Can I tell you about a special love?"

"Certainly! You've got my full attention, Charlotte."

#  Chapter 14

After graduating high school, my best friend and I became inseparable. We shopped, people watched, carhopped, double dated, you name it, we did it together. Billysue and I were adventure seekers in a carefree kind of way.

Most Sunday afternoons, myself and a bunch of my girlfriends would all load into an old Plymouth, and we'd zip along the winding back roads of Texas. It wasn't unusual to catch a glimpse of brilliant bluebonnets and fiery Mexican sombrero flowers along the sides of the highway. While driving on the open road, at times we'd find ourselves surrounded by rivers of bright yellow and violet wildflowers that streamed towards the horizon. Only the Creator could clothe the fields with such splendor.

One particular Sunday, we traversed many of the sparkling creeks and vibrant rivers around San Marcus and Austin. We even dared to speed down the Devil's Backbone, a roller coaster strip of highway in the hill country. But we ended up pushing the car to its limits. The car began to fuss and fume, shortly it spit out smelly clouds of smoke from the radiator. Fortunately, the driver had a gallon of water in the trunk, just for such occasions. In no time at all, we scooted back onto the highway and were on our way again.

Though our days were fun filled and adventuresome, there was something missing.

† † †

One afternoon while over at Billysue's house, a picture on her dresser grabbed my attention. Because the photograph was of a young man, I couldn't help but comment.

"He's quite handsome, and has such piercing eyes. Who is he?"

"That's my cousin Don. But you don't wanna date him; he's a wild one. Charlotte, I'm forewarnin' you, girl; steer clear of him. Even though he's my cousin, and I want the best for him, his reputation precedes him—he's not one to bring home to Mama and Daddy."

I continued to stare at the photo, mesmerized by the intensity of his eyes. His kind smile and cool demeanor didn't quite match my best friend's portrayal of him. The thought crossed my mind, _I wonder if I'll get to meet him soon?_

In the coming year, I happened to stumble into a highly desirable job. Well, it was my dad who found the position for me—but it was actually the bank vice president who almost stumbled, when he encountered my dad working on the bank flooring one day.

My dad mentioned to the bank vice president that I had successfully completed a work study program in my senior year of high school; he also mentioned that I was bright and a quick learner. Right away, I went in for the interview.

Not having high expectations, it was a pleasant surprise when they said they were impressed with me. After only a short while in that trial position, the vice president said it was unnecessary for me to go to banking school. Because of my high skill level, he said they would provide on the job training. Before long, they promoted me to supervisor over twenty people, which made my parents quite proud. I moved up quickly through the different departments. Ultimately, I became the supervisor over accounting and foreign exchanges—one of the higher positions for a woman in the banking industry at that time.

While fully immersed in my career, I had received no less than two marriage proposals. However, I wasn't overly thrilled with either fellow. My life was great and all, yet there were lingering questions in my mind. I still wondered what had become of Billysue's cousin. One day we had a revealing chat about him.

"Billysue, have you seen your cousin Don recently? You haven't mentioned anything about him for a long time."

"I meant to say somethin', Charlotte, but it kept slippin' my mind. He enlisted in the army several years ago, which I might've mentioned at one time. My family hasn't seen him for quite a while, but there's a rumor goin' around that he's different. He might've had a life changin' experience overseas. Maybe he will come around soon."

"It would be great to meet him; who knows what might happen." We both chuckled, then shook our heads, as if nothing much would come of it; just a silly thought.

The surprise was on me! The following Sunday a handsome young man strolled through the back doors of our home church in Luling, Texas. His auburn colored hair, and bright smile caught my attention right away. As well, his being tall and in tip top shape didn't hurt his cause either. As fate would have it, as soon as he tried to enter the church, we bumped into each other. He wasn't at all shy about introducing himself—he exuded confidence.

"Hi, my name is Don. That's a lovely yellow dress you're wearin'."

"Thank you! My name is Charlotte."

With a suave smile, he said, "A beautiful name to go with a beautiful dress."

If I wasn't already blushing, that certainly did it for me.

"Don, the service is about to start, I should go sit down. Maybe we'll see each other later," I said sweetly. At that point, I'm sure he noticed the twinkle in my eyes.

Romantic sparks started flying all over the place. Something special encircled both of us—love perhaps. Because the church service had only begun, we needed to play it cool for the time being. Regardless, we never stopped gazing at one another throughout the entire service. I sat up front as usual, and he sat about midway. My neck began to get a crick in it from turning around so often, but I couldn't help myself. He glanced at me as often as I did at him. Don't ask me what the sermon was about that day, I couldn't tell you.

We dated right away, to the chagrin of my mother. But it didn't matter, for I had an assurance deep inside that he was the right one for me.

Don had definitely changed—he wasn't the same man—not the one with the notorious reputation. He'd become a Christian while serving our country in the Korean war. He was the true love that I'd been searching for my whole life. Thank the Lord that I didn't go with either of the previous marriage proposals. Those relationships would've been disasters, based on unflattering details that I later discovered.

#  Chapter 15

Romance blossomed! It wasn't long before we began to contemplate marriage. However, something deeply personal began to gnaw at my insides. After many nights of soul searching, it became apparent that I needed to tell the love of my life about my dark past—that as a young child a majority of my body had sustained burns in an accident. There was no getting around it; he would find out soon enough. Somehow I needed to find the courage to tell him.

Anxious thoughts crowded my mind: _Perhaps he will reject me, or not see me as a whole person_. _Will he still think I'm beautiful once he sees my scars?_

The doctor's words spoken to my dad, when I was only a child, continued to antagonize me as well: _"Charlotte won't be able to have children because of her severe burns."_ His words were incredibly discouraging. That day I wasn't supposed to hear what the doctor had said to my dad, at least not at that point. Perhaps they thought I was sleeping, or had passed out because of the morphine. The doctor had spoken quietly, but I still understood what he'd said. For a long time that awareness became a heavy burden that I carried. Most little girls dream of having their own family someday—that's why they cradle dolls, and enjoy being around babies—I was no different.

Would this man, the one I truly loved, understand my deepest emotions?

Others had proposed to me and garnered my attention, but the closeness I shared with Don far exceeded that of the other relationships. He had my whole heart and nothing less. My fear was that I would lose him, once he knew the truth. Despite my ongoing inner conflict, I arranged a date with Don for the sole purpose of revealing my secret to him.

One brisk autumn night we set out on our date, but it would be like no other date I'd experienced before. Dinner conversation was subdued and awkward. Immediately after dinner we walked back through the dimly lit parking lot, and sat quietly inside Don's Buick for a while. The _silent_ _tension_ became too much for him to handle.

Apprehensively he asked, "Charlotte, what's going on? You seem withdrawn tonight. Is there something that I should know about? Did I do or say the wrong thing?"

The expression on his face concerned me even more. Uneasy thoughts began to clutter my mind: _Will he accept me despite my traumatic past? Is this the best time to tell him?_ After second guessing myself briefly, I'd had enough! I encouraged myself to speak up— _Charlotte, get it out in the open; you can do this!_

The words came slowly, but finally they rolled off my tongue, "I have a dark secret to tell you—it keeps tugging at my heart. You deserve to know, before we go any further in our relationship. First though, I need to ask you a question. Don, would you consider marrying a woman who might not be able to have children?" The question lingered in the air for a while. Then he finally responded, in the best way he knew how.

"If we're talkin' about you, Charlotte, I don't quite understand. You look so healthy and beautiful. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with you. But if I knew for sure that you couldn't have children, my love for you wouldn't diminish."

The weight of what he'd said, only seconds before, began to sink in for both of us. Was he willing to make that big of a commitment—to not have children of his own? I could tell he wanted to say more about our relationship, but he seemed rather uneasy when talking about his past.

"I will love all of you and nothing less, regardless of what you've been through.

"Charlotte, I'm not sure how to say this—but—there are things in my past—that I'm not proud of. I would prefer not to talk about that part of my life. From my point of view, I feel it's better to focus on the great relationship we have, rather than dwelling on the past." He took a pensive breath and continued. "It's not necessary for me to know what deep, dark thing has happened in your life, unless you absolutely feel the need to tell me."

At that point he wasn't sure what had happened to me. Still that didn't change the fact that he loved me with all his heart, and had no reservations about marrying me.

His initial words meant so much to me, and made it a bit easier to recall my experience.

† † †

"At only four years of age I was in a traumatic accident that almost took my life. A neighbor boy bumped an open floor heater into me, which caught my hair and clothes on fire. The flames engulfed every part of me except my chest and stomach. Over sixty percent of my body had third degree burns. My dad rushed me to the hospital, where I stayed for several months in recovery. Because they weren't making much progress, my dad secretly brought me home one night. He provided me therapy for about a year. While still at the hospital the doctor had told my dad that I might not be able to walk, nor have full use of my hands, nor be able to have children. I'm not sure if I can have children because of the deep scars on my back. Every time you've seen me, I've worn long sleeve blouses and slightly longer dresses—now you know why."

† † †

As relief filled my senses, several thoughts came to my mind: _At last, the man I dearly love knows all about my tragic accident. He's the one I hope to marry someday_. At that point though, it was up to him to make a decision, an extremely difficult one.

At that instant we fixed our gaze on each other. His deep blue eyes were mysterious, and intense, but yet caring. Mesmerized for a moment, a crazy thought crossed my mind: _This could be the father of my children._ Yet, I didn't even know if it were possible for me to have a family of my own, apart from adopting. Though uncertainty remained, his supportive words gave me all the assurance I would ever need.

"Charlotte, since we bumped into each other at the back door of that small church, you've captivated my attention. I love the person that you've become, so positive and lighthearted, despite all that you've had to endure.

"When I rise in the morning my thoughts gravitate towards you. When the evening comes to an end, my thoughts are still focused on you. My hope and dream is for the day when we can be together. I love you with all my heart and soul. Every breath I draw in has your name on it. I don't want to know what life would be like without you."

He reached into the deepest sanctuary of my heart, by drawing out my sincerest desire to be loved for all that I was. He treated me as a whole person, not as someone who had been damaged. He definitely was the man I wanted to share the rest of my life with. He knew all about my scars, but loved me still.

_My beloved is mine, and I am his_.

#  Chapter 16

"Charlotte, what an incredible journey you've had. Was it embarrassin' the first time he saw your scars?"

"Yes, but only initially!

"Many nights I lay awake concerned about our fast approaching honeymoon. _Excited_ and _terrified_ , certainly captures what I was feeling that special day. Because he truly loved me, he looked beyond the _veil_ and saw the real me _._ His loving reassurance helped to ease my concerns.

"Slowly but surely, we learned to support each other in what mattered most. At times relationships can be an uphill battle. Regardless, it's wonderful to have someone to walk hand in hand with, and together be able to share the joys, sorrows, and difficulties in life.

"My husband and I are opposites. We're like _fire_ and _ice_ —he fires me up and I cool him down." They both chuckle for a second.

"Marriage isn't about finding the right one, it's about being the right one. Selfishness is usually what tears couples apart. That's why it's so important to respect your mate. If there isn't respect, love will fade like the setting sun. When a man continues to berate a woman, and then turns around and says, "I love you," something isn't quite right. If he truly respected her, he wouldn't do that to her; his actions would come from a heart of love. Sure, there are times when things are said in the heat of the moment that shouldn't be said, but that's when forgiveness comes in. We all make mistakes, that's for certain.

"But like Aretha Franklin's song, 'We need a little r e s p e c t.' Just a little bit—just a little bit goes a long ways."

Mel glances at her with a full face smile and nods, as if to say, _Yes, indeed!_

"Charlotte, what were the first couple of years like after you got married!"

"Oh my, we were all over the place, from central Texas to Michigan, and then up to Canada. At the time, I wasn't quite sure what we were getting ourselves into, but it was all a grand adventure. Poignant experiences woven together with humorous ones, helped to create a beautiful tapestry of our life. I can't help but recall those memories, they had such a profound effect on me."

#  Chapter 17

Our early days together were unpredictable, exhilarating, and at times challenging. After being married only three months, Don decided to attend Bible college to work towards a ministerial degree. At first he worked as a night guard for a packing company, but several months later we accepted positions at an orphanage.

Thirty boys were in our care. The youngest boys shared a spacious room, while the older boys bunked in tightly packed rooms, with only one bathroom for them all. Fifteen girls were in a separate small wing of the orphanage, and had their own restroom. Several children can be a handful, but to care for that many was scary at times. Regardless, it was right where we were meant to be—we felt connected.

One memorable day, I had to prepare the meals for all forty five children, which was a daunting task. Because the regular cook wasn't able to be there, they asked me to fill in. She had taught me the basics of food preparation, in case they needed my help. Once they saw my capabilities, they asked me to continue cooking. Maybe, I shouldn't have done such a great job.

The kitchen, as well as the cafeteria, was where I spent a great deal of my time. It was no longer a pinch of salt and pepper, it was a half cup of salt and a quarter cup of pepper. The measurements were hard to manage at first. A normal meal for a small family would involve boiling four large potatoes to make mashed potatoes, but with forty five children and several adults, we had to use fifty large potatoes; that's a whole lotta peelin'.

While working at the orphanage, we saw the highs and lows of the human condition. We tried to give as much love as possible to the children, through kind words or gestures. Those small acts of kindness made a real difference in their lives. _Undeniable grace_ from above helped us each step of the way, for it was no easy task.

Many of the children had been abused or neglected, and for some the parents had abandoned them, leaving the children homeless. Seeing them smile for possibly the first time, made a lasting impact on us; the little victories made the struggle all worth it. But some of the children had to be in counseling for a year or more because of all that they'd gone through. Nonetheless, we were confident that we'd positively influenced their lives.

Usually the younger boys couldn't stay with the older ones, but the orphanage director made an exception for three close knit brothers. He couldn't bring himself to break them apart. I will never forget those boys. The youngest one's teeth were rotting out because of malnutrition and neglect. He was a pitiful sight. Despite his initial appearance, through good nutrition, he was able to have a brand new smile a year later. His transformation became a highlight of our sojourn at the orphanage. Though the work was emotionally and physically taxing, it was gratifying.

† † †

Before Don attended Bible school, and before we took the positions at the orphanage, there were several large hurdles that we had to overcome.

When Don and I announced our engagement, my mom didn't support us much at all. It

hurt not having her assistance in planning the wedding; that was my big day and I wanted

her involved. Several months before we were to be married, we upped the wedding date,

which threw my mother into an emotional tailspin. In light of that news, she threatened to

not come to our wedding. Somehow my dad convinced her to attend—through much

pleading and groveling, I'm certain. He swallowed his pride, and abased himself for his little girl, all from a genuine heart of love. If Mom didn't attend our wedding, Dad knew that later on it would cause regret, not only for her, but also for us. Oh, how I loved him! _If ever a father loved truly, purely, and with all his heart, it was my dad._

† † †

My parents rarely saw eye to eye on finances, or much else for that matter. They did agree on the church they attended, and agreed that they would put God first in their lives. Mom wasn't too thrilled with my getting married, and in a way felt that I was abandoning her. Because my mom didn't have a driver's license, she depended on me to take her everywhere she wanted to go. But at that point, _my husband_ took first place in my life.

Newly married with few resources, we needed help to purchase a mobile home; however, asking my mom for assistance was out of the question. We knew exactly where she stood in regards to our relationship.

Thankfully though, my dad co signed for a small trailer home for us, albeit secretly. That wonderful gesture certainly would've gotten him into hot water with my mom. As far as I know, she never found out what he did. Once we purchased the trailer home, we were able to move it onto a lot by the Bible college. That one simple move began our adventurous life together.

† † †

After two and a half years, Don accepted a position with a church in Chatham, Ontario, Canada. At first I questioned his decision, and said to him, "Are you sure about moving so far north? Do you realize how cold this is going to be for the children and me?" Despite my misgivings we forged ahead as a team and started our travel plans. At that time, he truly felt that Canada was the right place for us to be.

He first went to Detroit to meet with a man named Rev. Wells, who was offering the low paying position in Canada. Shortly after arriving in Chatham, Don found a job working in a grocery store. Anything supplementing our income was certainly a blessing, for we were almost penniless. As for me, I left the Bible college and headed home to San Marcus to work at a local bank for three weeks. That short term job allowed me to save enough money for thick winter clothes for my two children, Dovey and David.

On the day we left my parent's home, we boarded the train to St. Louis, Missouri. The trip lasted about a day and a half. We had a tight cabin, with a narrow bench for me to lay on. Once we arrived, I loaded the diaper bag over my right shoulder, and pulled our luggage with my right hand, and held David in my left arm, and tried to keep Dovey close by my side— _we could've easily been separated._ It was overwhelming being all alone at that massive train station. I wasn't sure how to make it to the right gate. At that instant Dovey began crying and wouldn't stop, which heightened my anxiety even more.

All I could do was pray. "Dear God, please help me; I don't know where to go or what to do; please show me the way." Trains continued rumbling by with loud clattering noises. The sound of whistles blowing, brakes screeching, and train engines bellowing, was almost too much for me to handle. As well, it became difficult for Dovey to cope with all the noise and confusion without crying. With two children in tow, along with a diaper bag and luggage, I desperately needed help as soon as possible.

With tears welling up in my eyes, I cried out again, "Dear Lord, please help me . . ." Before I finished my prayer a man dressed in khakis walked up to me and said, "Ma'am I can see that you have your hands full, would you like some help?"

"Yes, please! Thank you! We need to catch the train to Detroit; I'm not sure what gate we're supposed to be at." With my being fully exhausted and frustration rapidly setting in, his timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Right away he lifted Dovey into his arms, and immediately she stopped crying. He then carried the piece of luggage for me and said, "Come with me, I'll show you where you need to go." With him leading us through the chaotic maze, we made our way over to the train that was bound for Detroit. I glanced at him for a second; a genuine kindness emanated from his countenance. The next thing he did surprised me.

He said, "Let me help you onto the train."

With David in my arms and the diaper bag on my shoulder, he led us along the narrow corridor to the tiny metal lined sleeper cabin we were to stay in. He gently set Dovey on the worn, gray vinyl bench, and then placed our luggage on the marred linoleum floor. While placing David on the seat, I turned to thank him, but he'd vanished. Quickly, I peered up and down the aisle of the rail car; he was nowhere in sight.

The only conclusion I could come to, was that God had sent an angel to help us. He heard my sincere prayer. I couldn't wait to see Don and tell him about our angelic visitor. That special day the Lord's arm of protection embraced our daughter. There didn't seem to be any other explanation— _Dovey had been held by an angel!_

#  Chapter 18

For us, life wasn't merely one dramatic episode after another. There were times that we laughed until our stomachs hurt, due to our children's antics. They do the craziest things sometimes, but it makes for unforgettable memories.

One summer day, my youngest son happened to find a stray kitten. Steve was about six years old at the time, and like any child that age, he wanted to keep the cuddly kitten. However, only a few years back, our house was overrun with eight kittens. We ended up giving them all away because they were too difficult to wrangle. For me, I didn't want one more cat in the house, no matter how cute. I simply told him, "Steve, get that filthy cat out of this house right now! I don't want a dirty cat messing up our beautiful home."

Steve reasoned in his childish way that if the kitten was clean, he would be able to keep it. With the kitten in hand, he darted to the restroom to clean it in the toilet. To make sure it was completely clean, he flushed the toilet.

Before long I heard high pitched, squealing sounds coming from the restroom. Something was amiss. I hurried to the restroom, and to my shock, I saw a wet kitten poking its head up out of the toilet. It'd been stuck in the toilet for a while. Somehow it jerked its leg loose, and came running out of that restroom lickety split, right past me. The kitten flew out the front door, never to grace our doorstep again. Myself and the children laughed for quite a while. It certainly was an unusual way to give a kitten a bath.

† † †

I'm reminded of another unusual story that took place in early autumn. On that radiant Sunday morning, we made our way to church with our three children. Johnny was a toddler, Dovey was five years old, and David was three years old. Also, I was pregnant at the time with our fourth child, Joel.

We were always excited to attend the _First Church of the Redeemed_. On the sermon board right outside the front of the church it said:

Sunday's Sermon

### THE NAKED TRUTH

HOW TO BE FREE, FREE INDEED

Every service had exuberant music and singing, accompanied by animated sermons. However, that particular Sunday something out of the ordinary took place. It all began with an innocent child, doing what comes naturally.

As soon as we entered the church, several people greeted us and began kissing all over our children. It was a friendly church with several amusing characters. We took our seats and entered into singing hymns; before long they sang a special song. The song not only had roused the audience, but also had inspired one small child.

Before anyone had realized it, a toddler had begun crawling underneath the pews, heading directly towards the front of the church. In his wake a little shoe could be seen here, a sock over there, and before long a pair of shorts came off, along with the remainder of his clothes. Toddler clothes were strewn along, around, and under the pews. Two of the notable ladies in the church could barely contain themselves.

"Sis. Betsy, don't look at me or I'm gonna lose it. Do you see what I see? That child underneath the pews is buck naked, and he's headin' straight towards the pulpit."

"Sis. Ethel, my, my, my, what we gonna do? Somebody's got to let his mama know before he makes it down front. He's as naked as a jaybird. This is about to get out of hand!"

They tried their best to hold back, by taking deep breaths. Nonetheless, the urge to laugh was so great that not only Betsy and Ethel, but also a handful of others burst out laughing, unable to contain it any longer. People were doubling over with laughter, and even shedding a few hilarious tears. It looked as though revival had swept over the whole congregation.

As I glanced around to see whose child was causing all the commotion, it dawned on me that it was my child, Johnny. He was in his birthday suit, posing right in front of the church. At that instant the minister's face turned bright red; he became speechless, which was a rarity. It certainly was a _brief_ sermon that day.

#  Chapter 19

After a few seconds, Melba wipes the grin off her face. For a moment she reflects about what Misty's grandmother had said earlier in her story. One simple thought _pops_ into her mind.

"The doctor was wrong!" Melba says exuberantly.

"Most definitely! Even though the doctor said I wouldn't be able to have children, the Great Physician had different plans."

After pausing to take in her last words, Melba inquires further.

"You sure had your hands full. Did you have five children in all?"

"Yes! We certainly have been blessed! Steve came about seven years after Joel; his late arrival was a wonderful surprise. Just imagine the expression on the doctor's face, if he could've seen all the children that Don and I've had, not to mention the fourteen grandchildren and seventeen great grandchildren."

"Charlotte, you've had what seems to be a wonderful life. Apart from your accident, you probably had a normal childhood with parents who loved you. In contrast to your youth, my growing up years were all tough. My mother truly hated me; her disappointment was never hidden. What she really wanted was a pretty, prim and proper girl like you—no offense meant."

Misty's grandmother smiles sweetly, unfazed by the comment.

"I was never good enough for her. So, what did I do? I gravitated towards anything rugged, whether that was sports, huntin', or motorcycles. My choice to be different drove a deep wedge between my mom and me; she simply couldn't accept it. On the other hand though, my dad and I were able to do things together. At least he cared enough to make time for me, but she never made an effort."

As an uncomfortable silence falls between them, she looks directly at her and says, "Mel, let me tell you about my _wonderful_ childhood."

† † †

"My mom was two different people. We weren't sure which one we would get some days. She was notably sweet to individuals who were hurting, and would regularly give them encouraging cards to lift their spirits. Yet at times a switch would go off in her mind and she would become someone I didn't recognize. There were periods when she wouldn't speak to my dad or to us children for a whole week. The atmosphere in our home during those prolonged times was tense and unnerving.

"After years of reflection, it became apparent that there were issues that caused her to have such drastic mood changes. I don't know the battles that went on in her mind over the years, only God knows.

"My mom and I had our share of falling-outs. One memorable occasion was when I was around eleven years old. Early one afternoon, my mom locked me out of the house due to a misunderstanding. At first it caught me off guard, but I tried to stay positive even though it was a tense situation. After being outside for a long while, I decided it was best to go to a neighbor's house to use the restroom. But as dusk neared, right before my dad got home, she finally agreed to let me back in. I made sure to be quiet; it wouldn't have been much fun if I was shut out again.

"Dinner couldn't come quickly enough; I'd never been quite that hungry before."

† † †

At that point, Melba begins to sense the strength of character that Misty's grandmother possesses. She is kind, tenacious, and free of resentment.

"Charlotte, while you were young it seems that you had to face quite a few challenges. But somehow you've been able to maintain such a positive attitude."

"Yes, you're right on both counts. It's not what happens to us that matters, it's how we respond to what happens to us, that determines whether we're happy or not! Despite the difficult periods in my childhood, later on as an adult with young children of my own, I was able to get a bit closer to my mom. Eventually, we were able to work through some of our differences. More importantly though, I learned to let go of bitterness, which in turn helped me to be able to forgive; but it wouldn't have happened apart from God's grace."

In a short time of quiet contemplation, they glance at each other. It dawns on both of them that they might actually be kindred spirits, while still being quite different.

Misty's grandmother continues, "Mel, if we're not careful, _one note of bitterness can become a chorus of hate_. We shouldn't let a relationship control us to the point that we become miserable. It's never too late to find common ground with your mom. You should try to reach out to her; you never know, she might respond in a favorable way.

"Charlotte, thank you for those encouragin' words. I'll try my best to open up to my mom, but it's been so long since we've actually had a real conversation. Even though mending my relationship with her is important to me, that's not my biggest issue right now. My real concern is that I've struggled to find a special guy in my life—someone who gets me. I want to experience true love. People sometimes judge me and think that I can't care deeply about someone. They're wrong! _I have a whole lotta love to give_ ," she says in a deep fervent tone.

The second they gaze at each other, full smiles appear on both of their faces—her imposing figure being the reason. Her play on words helped to lighten the mood.

"Mel, it might sound odd, but the answer you've been looking for may be right in front of you. You mentioned how close you are with your friends. How good of a friend are you with the other fellow over there?"

"Oh Philo! We're good buddies, we do lots of stuff together. I've never really looked at him that way though. But now that you mention it, we do enjoy hangin' out together. We've gone to the lake a few times, which is my absolute favorite thing to do. I guess spendin' time at the lake brings back fond memories for me. That's where my dad would take me when I was a child—it was our special time together. I tend to feel a bit closer to Philo when we're there. _Maybe_ it could develop into more than a friendship."

"Mel, if you open yourself to the possibility, you never know what might happen."

"You're right! Thanks so much for this heart to heart talk. You're like the mother I never really had. _If only_ I could talk to her like we just did. Charlotte, you're quite a woman." Pausing for a few seconds she then says, "I probably should get back to my friends. Maybe I can get Philo to come over. It'd be great if you could steer him in the right direction, if you know what I mean?"

They give each other a friendly parting smile. She knew full well what Mel was implying. Regardless, all that truly mattered at that point was if he had similar feelings.

#  Chapter 20

As Mel strides over to where her friends are seated, immediately they notice a difference in her appearance. A sense of hope had begun to rise in her—something she hadn't experienced in quite a long time. Though encouraged by her conversation with Misty's grandmother, she decides for the time being to keep her comments brief.

"Hey guys! I've got to tell you, that little lady had my number; she dialed right in to what I was feelin'." After a slight pause she says, "Philo, you should go talk with her. A conversation with her might open your eyes a bit."

At first he gives her a slight sneer, as if to say, _there's not much she can say that will have an effect on me._ Shortly, he remarks, "Mel, I don't understand the big fuss you guys are makin' over this white haired grandma. Okay! She's had a tough life at times—haven't we all? If I speak with her, it will be only out of sheer curiosity. How on earth has she affected you guys this much? It doesn't quite make sense to me."

After standing in front of his friends for a short while, and despite his initial reluctance, he begins to take steps in her direction.

Being six feet two inches tall, slender, with a muscular physique, Philo isn't quite as tall or intimidating as Bellamy. Nonetheless, Philo's steely disposition makes it difficult to approach him. Yet in the upcoming encounter he has to initiate the conversation, which further highlights his awkwardness in meeting people for the first time.

"Excuse me!" he says stiffly to Misty's grandmother. "My name is—Philo. I'm—I'm—sorry about Misty."

"I appreciate your sentiments, Philo. It's good to meet you. Just to let you know, your friend Mel speaks highly of your friendship."

"Yeah, we're good friends, I guess you could say."

"Well, it's always reassuring to know you have a _true friend_ who understands where you're coming from."

"I suppose," he halfheartedly remarks.

She proceeds to ask what she feels is an ordinary question, "Philo, what influenced you most when you were younger?"

"Why do you ask?" he says sharply.

His tense body language and brusque answers give her the sense that he might not actually want to speak with her, and that his friends might have coaxed him into approaching her. Most people open up to her right away because of her calm demeanor and willingness to listen, but Philo seemed resistant. His standoffish behavior prompts her to take a more direct approach.

After a short pause she candidly responds, "Philo, I may be wrong, but it seems that you have a chip on your shoulder. Someone has caused you to be _tough_ on others, and perhaps _tough_ on yourself as well. Who has caused you to be so guarded?"

"No one, really; this is who I am!"

"Can you at least tell me a little something about yourself. I'm a good sounding board."

"Fine, if that's what you want!" he says with a hint of sarcasm.

"My family life was quite normal compared to that of my friends—at least at first it was. We vacationed together, we went to baseball and football games, we enjoyed water sports; we did it all. But that wasn't enough for my dad, he let himself become a druggie!

"He blamed all of his problems on a motorcycle accident that crushed his Knee. During his recovery period, he became addicted to painkillers, yet it didn't satisfy his desire. Before long, he'd moved on to harder drugs. _He got hooked!_ That was the beginning of the end for our tight knit family." Stopping abruptly, he then stares at the floor, as if the answers he was searching for could be found beneath him.

They both sit in quiet reflection for almost a minute. The atmosphere between them had become increasingly tense at that point.

She gently says, "Philo, what happened to your dad, if you don't mind my asking?"

"No, I don't care.

"At one time my dad had a great job as a carpenter. Actually, my younger brother and I helped him to build our own beautiful home. But that didn't matter. Before long our house went into foreclosure, because no one would hire a guy that was a drug addict. To feed his habit, he resorted to a life of crime. I can honestly say, he was a horrible dad that didn't care for my brother, sister, me, or my mom. If he'd cared, he would've checked himself into rehab, which would've at least given him a chance to salvage his life, and possibly his marriage and family. Where's he at today? After eight years in prison, and another two years to go, he's gettin' what he deserves for being such a lousy dad."

If the tension in the air wasn't already thick enough, it had now taken on a heaviness that caused them both to strain a bit when taking their next breath.

Philo rarely showed any emotion, but recalling his troubling teen years brought painful feelings to the surface that had long been hidden. Even his close friends didn't know the full extent of how his dad's actions had affected him. When conversations with his friends touched on conflicts with their fathers, quite often he would change the subject or create a diversion. Yet when speaking with Misty's grandmother, for some unexplainable reason, he allowed himself to open up like he'd never done before.

Given the tension in the air, it was best to tread lightly with what she might say next to Philo. His steely nature didn't happen overnight. Many years of pain and disappointment had molded him into the man that was before her. While contemplating what to say, she thought, _if only I could reach him with a positive message._

She carefully begins again. "Philo, thank you for letting me know what your past was like. That must have been difficult for you to recall those painful memories."

Subtly, he nods his head, but doesn't make direct eye contact with her. In a slumped position with his elbows resting on his knees, he fixes his gaze on the floor tiles beneath him, in an attempt to find solace, yet again.

† † †

"I want you to know, Philo, that I'm here today because my husband and I wanted to give Misty a proper funeral. Making it to this place at eighty three years of age was quite a chore, especially since I've had a hip replacement, which makes the ten hours of airports and flights terribly exhausting. To add to that, I'm presently battling cancer once again; _but_ _I was not going to miss my granddaughter's funeral_."

He chimes in, "Who does that?" while shaking his head in astonishment.

"I did it, because I loved my granddaughter with all my heart and soul. If it were possible to trade places with her, I would've in a heartbeat. She needed another chance; her life was cut terribly short, like her father's."

"Philo, my granddaughter had a similar experience with her dad as you did. Her early years were incredibly difficult. Her mom was an alcoholic and her dad, my son David, struggled with a heroin addiction."

Lifting his head, he responds to her.

"Misty only told me a few things about her family life. She was similar to me in regards to how little she would disclose about her past."

He continues, but with an anxiousness in his voice.

"What gets me the most, is my dad's carelessness. I can't understand why my dad didn't make an effort to go to rehab, or at least try to stay involved in my life. To me, it seems like he was only concerned about himself, and about getting drugs."

" _I understand what you're experiencing,_ " she says with a gentle sincerity.

Raising his voice slightly, he says, "No disrespect, but how could you possibly understand the disappointment that I feel!"

It becomes eerily quiet, like the calm before a raging storm. After a few seconds she breaks the silence with an unexpected, yet timely statement.

"Philo, if it's okay, I'd like to tell you about my son David, and the incredible challenges he had to face on his short life's journey."

He sits motionless, unsure of what he should do or say at that point. Despite his coolness she presses on.

"I have a _feeling_ that you'll be able to relate to what my son went through."

† † †

She takes a sip from a bottled water at her side and then begins her story.

#  Chapter 21

It all started with an eighth grade teacher, who turned my son on to drugs. . . .

There were times when David would be normal like any other teenager, but when he was on drugs he seemed to lose complete control of his conscience; he wasn't able to distinguish between right and wrong. On one particular day, _I knew_ something was terribly amiss with my son.

It seemed like quite a long time since we'd seen David. After having run away from home several times, he was mostly on his own once he turned eighteen. At the time of the incident, he was twenty-one. Late afternoon on that day, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, when out of the blue, he came through the back door. Initially, the intrusion startled me, until I realized that the intruder was my son. But what happened next, still weighs heavily on my mind when I recall it.

Looking frantic with dark, bloodshot eyes, trembling hands, runny nose and slurred speech, my son came nearer to me.

He said, "M o m m, do ya have some m o n e e y!"

I hesitantly replied, "Not on me. What's wrong with you? You look so bad."

"Just get me some m o n e e y!" he loudly insisted.

At that point he pulled out a knife and waved it in the air, as if he was going to use it. I started shaking for fear that he might hurt me, or worse. When your own son pulls a knife on you, unconditional love is certainly tested. I loved my son with every broken, aching, fragment of my heart. That day he was strung out on drugs and didn't fully understand what he was doing. All David wanted was money, so that he could get more drugs. If he'd driven the knife in me, with my last few breaths I would've tried to tell him that I loved him and that I forgave him. At one time he was a part of my very own flesh and blood—I had nurtured him in my womb. How could I do anything less than but forgive him for what he did, and what he might have done!

That night he slept off his stupor in a spare room in the garage. He got what he came for, but a piece of my heart left with him the next day. My son had become unrecognizable to me. Troublesome thoughts had lingered in my mind for quite some time: _How could this be the same adorable child I used to cradle in my arms, and sing sweet lullabies to at bedtime?_ _Why would he pull a knife on his own mother? Something evil has gotten a hold of my son. Oh Lord! I don't know what to do._

That heartbreaking incident was the first wave of an avalanche of destructive behavior for my son. At times he would be productive, but the lure of drugs kept him hostage in the deepest, darkest pit, with seemingly no way out.

† † †

While working for a bricklayer in Texas, David had developed masonry skills, which at least gave him a trade. But being a restless soul, a normal work a day life never satisfied him. He continued to bounce around from state to state, leaving a trail of arrest warrants in his wake. Several years later we moved to the West Coast. We thought that maybe the move would be a positive change for him, if he decided to follow us—which he did.

After a year or so, he surprised us with the news that he wanted to settle down and have a family. His words gave us hope. Despite the past struggles with David, my husband felt honored to preside over his wedding ceremony. A ray of sunshine fell on our son and his bride that day, it was a joyous occasion. That _feeling of happiness_ was something my son hadn't experienced in an extremely long time.

At that time opportunities started presenting themselves to my son. People were drawn to David because of his charismatic personality, which opened the door to a great job for him at an aerospace company. It was wonderful to see him settling down into a profession, and focusing more on his family. Before long, we were thrilled to hear the news that he was having a second child. At that point, he seemed to be happy and fulfilled being a father and husband. But then . . .

† † †

Momentarily, she bows her head, brushes a tear from her eye, and turns toward Philo and says, "It's painful for me to talk about what happened next to my son, but I truly believe you need to hear this." After a short pause she continues her story.

† † †

My son's restless spirit took over again. One day he came to our house appearing disheveled, having yellowish skin and dark rings under his eyes—completely out of sorts. His appearance immediately alerted me to the fact that he might be strung out on drugs again. Just when we thought his life was on track, it started falling apart again. However, at that time he had a family, which made his struggle even more painful—for all of us.

_That was the beginning of our sorrows._ David had fallen back into drug abuse, but unlike previously, it had become all consuming. On one occasion he became so desperate for drugs that he held several of his in laws captive, in an attempt to plunder their home for anything of value. That desperate move placed a huge wedge between David and his wife, and between him and her parents. Not long after the robbery was reported, the police arrested him—he pled guilty, and spent time in prison. That one act triggered a cycle of volatile behavior and back to back prison terms. His wife divorced him shortly after he received the conviction that led him straight to _Folsom Prison_ —where the most hardened criminals reside.

One harrowing day would see my son on the brink of death, after being out of prison for only a few months. He lived in a rough neighborhood, where on that particular day he had a run in with several gang members. Because they didn't like him being in their territory, they decided to beat him mercilessly, within an inch of his life. He was rushed to the hospital, looking as though he'd been in a horrible accident. The assault resulted in his face being beaten beyond recognition; as well, open wounds saturated his clothes in blood. Only by the grace of God did he survive.

After three months of recovery he became strong again. _Revenge_ became a driving force that relentlessly possessed his mind every waking hour. Those close to him knew he would retaliate to the fullest extent, no matter the consequence.

Knowing the house where the gang members hung out, he set out to even the score with the ones who almost beat him to death. As soon as David was able to obtain a shotgun, and plenty of ammo, he took off for the gang's hangout. That afternoon he sneaked up to the edge of the house and laid in wait. At the first sign of movement, he riddled the house with shotgun blasts, leaving huge holes in the front door, shattering the glass windows, and splintering the wood siding. The thunderous sounds startled the neighbors. They were accustomed to random gun shots, but not a flurry of explosions from a high powered shotgun. Fortunately for him, the few gang members in the house must have seen him coming, and escaped out the back unscathed. No one was injured, but a neighbor called the police, and later identified David as the shooter. For the charges of having a gun and destruction of property, he violated his parole, which meant more time back in prison.

Drugs pushed David to his physical and mental limits. When having a conversation with his brothers after he'd recently got out of prison he said, "My heroin addiction is like a _300 pound Gorilla on my back._ I've tried with everythin' inside me to shake the beast off, but it relentlessly hangs on—it's unwillin' to loosen its grip."

His pattern of drug abuse and breaking parole continued for over a decade or more. The final three year stretch he served in prison, was the result of the FBI arresting him on federal charges.

Though my son didn't want to be a criminal, he felt that he couldn't make enough money to support his habit otherwise. As a go between for drug dealers, he took on one last big deal, but found himself right in the middle of an FBI sting. David unknowingly became a pawn, to help bring down a Mexican cartel that was running guns and drugs across the southern border to North America. He'd only wanted to feed his habit, but that decision led to an encounter with undercover agents posing as buyers.

After several meetings with David, the buyers (FBI agents) tried to extract more information from him, when they did he made an effort to back off, but they persisted. Next they met at a coffee shop, where the FBI agent in charge issued an ultimatum. He said, "David, either you cooperate with us and turn state's evidence, or you'll spend a very, very long time in prison—we're talking about a federal offense. Do you understand?"

"Yes! But isn't there another way?"

"There's no other way. If you want to save your hide, you'll do what we say."

The stern warning echoed over and over in David's mind—it bothered him greatly. Caught in a terrible dilemma, with seemingly no way out, my son wasn't sure what to do. It was no longer about getting his next fix, it was about _survival_.

Struggling with the choice he had to make, he said, "I could be killed by the Mexican cartel for turning on them, or I might have to spend most of my life in prison, if I don't cooperate with the FBI." His words tore me up inside! I've learned that you never stop being a mother; you never stop loving your child, no matter what they go through. But at that time, David had to make that perilous decision himself, we couldn't have done it for him. Having worked closely with vicious criminals, he knew that they would protect themselves and their interests, no matter the cost.

Reluctantly, he made the hardest decision of his life.

#  Chapter 22

The FBI forced David to stay in the prison population under an assumed Russian name. They made him cut off his long hair and thick beard. Being completely bald and clean-shaven, he was almost unrecognizable to those who had known him before. A _roadmap of scars on his face and head_ were his only distinguishing marks. To help protect his identity, he kept his innumerable tattoos covered, and wore fully buttoned, long sleeve shirts. They hid him in _plain sight_ until the federal trial—it was their form of _witness protection_. Up until that time, guards kept a close watch on him, to ensure that the state didn't lose their key witness. It was a huge case for the FBI, one they'd worked on for quite a while. My son found himself embroiled in all that madness for almost two years, until the big trial.

† † †

I'll never forget the last time David got out of prison. From the moment he sat down in the back seat of our Buick on Friday, December 21, 2001, he was a different person than what we'd seen in the past. He seemed to have a new found zest for life. In another sense though, he showed an urgency about everything he did, as if he had an idea that time was of the essence.

The date of December 26, 2001, has a special place in my heart—it was the day that David shared Christmas with our extended family. That type of gathering hadn't happened in many years. Excited about seeing everyone, he was a big hit with all his little nephews and nieces. At Christmas we had a family tradition of having each person say what they were thankful for that year. When it was David's turn, he stood and said words that I hadn't ever heard him say before. Oh, how I'd longed to hear those words from my long lost son.

Aware that young children were present he said, "I'm so thankful for a family that loves me unconditionally, and that always came to see me, no matter where I was . . ." Getting somewhat choked up, he hesitated for a bit. "I want you to know, _this time_ , I'm truly glad to be home."

After everyone finished expressing their thoughts, his brother in law Randy asked, "Would it be okay if the family prayed a prayer of blessing over you?"

David responded, "Yes! _I most certainly need it!_ "

As prayers went up, it was as if the windows of Heaven opened into the living room of our home that evening. David cried tears of joy, all because his family was willing to accept him—he felt wanted. That was the first time that he'd given us a real chance to show how much we cared about him. His father spoke on behalf of all of us, by saying, "We'll be there for you, David, no matter the difficulties you might have to face. Your family has always loved you, and will never stop loving you."

Shortly, we began to sing Amazing Grace with all our hearts:

Amazing grace! how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found,

_Was blind, but now I see._ __

The song had special meaning to David, for it was the first song he learned to play on the guitar. It was a joyous time of reconciliation and spiritual healing. As the atmosphere began to calm, the children sensed that it was almost _time_. Anticipating the opening of gifts, they all scrambled to get in front of the Christmas tree. That was perhaps the best Christmas our family had ever enjoyed together. Love and unity embodied the mood of that special day.

David's short journey began.

After a little more than a month we all gathered again for a family dinner. Later that night while sitting on the living room couch, my son Joel asked David, "Why did you stay this time? All the other times you would usually leave after only a day or two."

He responded, "I had every intention of leavin' home after the first night. But when Mom and Dad arrived at the prison that day in late December, somethin' was different. As soon as I sat in the back seat of Mom and Dad's car, I felt God's presence—it was wonderful! _Peace_ I hadn't experienced since being a child, broke through my _callused_ heart that day! I know that they've always prayed for me, but I definitely felt their prayers on that special day.

"I'd searched my whole life for a sense of purpose and belonging, and in that moment it all came together for me. I simply wanted to be surrounded by those who really loved me. That instant my mind was made up. I was gonna do my best to stay out of prison, and I was gonna get my life right with God and with others."

After a short while we could see a significant change in David. He wanted to be productive, which was highlighted by beautiful masonry and tile work that he did at a children's center for a church. His main goal though, was to work hard, in an effort to be able to see his daughter and new grandson, who lived far away.

I remember the last time that we spent quality time with his daughter Misty. It was when she came from back East to visit her dad; he was living with us at that time. His greatest desire was to see his daughter and new grandson. Though he had major physical issues, he worked tirelessly to save enough for her plane ticket.

Making up for lost time was David's top priority. He was able to do just that, by having his daughter visit him from the East Coast, along with her one year old son Brice. He was antsy about seeing them, but as soon as he met his daughter face to face at the airport, they had an immediate connection. There couldn't have been a more proud father or grandfather—his smile was unmatched.

Several days later, David and Misty went out to celebrate their reunion, but unfortunately, the celebratory late night drinking sessions led him in an irreversible direction. Before leaving on her flight home, Misty expressed to David how much she enjoyed spending time with him, and how much it meant to her that he got to meet his grandson.

Despite all the joyfulness surrounding their reunion, David had begun yet another plunge into darkness. He'd made a choice that was his alone. Misty wasn't fully aware of the extreme addiction that he'd battled for years, not only with drugs, but also with alcohol. _I saw his struggle firsthand_. It broke my heart to see how drugs had aggressively pulled his life apart—one piece at a time—until there wasn't even a remnant left. For David, his battle was a relentless tug of war that lasted a lifetime.

During his final years in prison he'd stayed clean from hard drugs. And after being home almost two months, he'd successfully steered clear of situations that might've drawn him back into his old lifestyle. Though he had good intentions, David's relapse induced a dramatic downward spiral.

After Misty had left, only a week or so later was my birthday, the first of March. At that time I thought, _I'm sure David will come home or a least call me on my special day, but I haven't heard from him yet._ Throughout that afternoon, birthday wishes came by phone, mail and floral delivery. My sons and daughter had called and wished me well, but still I hadn't received a call from David. Since we were meeting on that Sunday afternoon to celebrate my birthday, I had the feeling that he might show up at that time.

The evening had grown darker, and yet not a word from him. His absence concerned me somewhat, but he'd forgotten birthdays and special occasions before. As night closed in on us, several thoughts had crossed my mind: _Maybe he contacted an old girlfriend, and they're hanging out together, or perhaps he's with friends and simply lost track of the time._ Because it was getting late, I decided to prepare for bed.

That particular night the atmosphere in our home seemed tense and foreboding; I had a sense that something was wrong. As thoughts swirled through my mind, out of the silence came a loud knock at the front door, followed by the high-pitched sound of the doorbell. Standing a few feet behind my husband, I watched as he cautiously answered the door. In front of him stood a man in some type of uniform. Immediately, he posed a question.

"Are you the parents of David Luce?"

"Yes!" my husband replied.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" he said in a deep, somber tone.

"Come in" my husband said, "we can speak at the kitchen table."

As soon as we sat down he said that he was with the L.A. Corners office. He pulled out a picture and asked, "Is this your son?"

Pictured was my son slumped in a chair, with a white T-shirt on and jeans. That's exactly what he wore the day before, when he decided to visit some friends.

We both nodded _yes_ , affirming that he was our son.

"I'm sorry to inform you Mr. and Mrs. Luce, but we found your son dead in Long Beach at a friend's house. He was discovered late this afternoon sitting in a chair in their living room, but was unresponsive. I'm so sorry for your loss." He remained quite for a short while, allowing us time to absorb what had been said.

With a calmness and quiet respect he said, "We need to know what funeral home you want the body delivered to." After a slight pause, he added, "Here is the number you can call to make arrangements. . . ." Then he left without saying another word.

We were devastated! My husband and I held each other for a long time—we cried our hearts out. He was our oldest son, and now he was gone. No more second chances, no more hugs, no more prayers for him, simply, no more. _At that point, David was in God's hands_.

Once we pulled ourselves together, we then called all our children. My daughter, living in Texas, said she would catch the earliest flight that Saturday morning, to give us added support. When my sons first heard the news they weren't sure how to react, but as soon as they arrived at our house, around two in the morning, a tidal wave of emotions released.

We stayed up most of the night trying to piece together what had happened. _Why was David in Long Beach? Who was he with? What caused his death?_ Getting answers to our questions proved to be a slow process. Day after day we anxiously waited on the corner's report to come out, and any subsequent police reports. We searched for any information that might help us understand the cause of our son's death.

One of the most difficult phone calls was the one to Misty. She had only recently seen her dad, who seemed happy and very much alive. David had been thrilled about seeing his daughter and grandson. Yet now she was flying back out to the West Coast to attend his funeral. While in the limousine with our sons, they overheard Misty say, "It's all my fault; I caused my dad's death." They immediately reassured her that she had nothing to do with his passing. David had made choices. No matter what anyone did or said, he would've still made the same ones.

Our son left this world at the age of forty three, wanting to right all the wrongs. God had graciously given him yet another _second chance_. His window of opportunity after getting out of prison, was a mere two months. In that short time frame, David did his best to make sure his relationship with his family was right, but most importantly, he wanted his relationship with God to be right. He had a repentant heart, which we all saw firsthand.

Knowing all that my son went through, I'm careful not to judge other people's children. David did terrible things that he deeply regretted, as a result of being ensnared by drugs. Our son had a good heart. He needed help, not more time in prison.

The most enlightening thing we can take away from David's journey is this—the Creator who breathed the first breath of life into our lungs, is the _God of second chances_. Before we take our last breath, the Lord is still asking us to get our life right with Him and with others. He's a perfect gentleman, and will never force us to love Him. Even so, the Lord will never give up on His wayward children. Relentlessly, He pursues us, but we must make a move towards Him!

#  Chapter 23

The atmosphere began to feel calm and receptive.

She senses that not only Philo's mood may have changed for the better, but also his perception of his father may have improved as well. At that point, she felt that he might be ready to have an honest discussion about his relationship with his father.

Insightfully she comments, "Philo, I hope you're beginning to understand how much your father loathes what he's become. He probably had wished a thousand times, _'If only I could summon up the courage to be free from drugs.'_ That's exactly how my son felt."

She let the thought soak in for a short while before continuing.

"Don't be too hard on your dad! I can promise you, he's hard enough on himself. Do you honestly think he wanted to be addicted to drugs? Not likely! People get trapped in the addiction, and can't seem to find a way out. They desperately need help!

"Addiction for my son was like being in one of those mirrored rooms at a carnival; no matter where he turned, the only thing visible was a distorted image of himself. For way too many years my son viewed himself through that awful lens. It looked as if he had given up hope of ever getting out of that vicious cycle, until that one special day. God in His mercy met my son in the back seat of our car, and whispered to him, _go this way—the way to life_. And David did; but he stumbled, like most people do. The only problem though was that the countless years of abuse had already taken its toll on his body; his heart couldn't handle one last hit from powerful drugs.

"Though he lived only two months after getting out of prison, he tried to be a better brother, a better father, a better son, and a better follower of Jesus. Most of David's life he'd blamed others for his troubles; but the last few months of his journey, he took complete ownership of every choice that he'd made. We were so proud of him for finally seeing the truth, and acknowledging it—that was his road to healing."

She felt it best to pause at that point, to give Philo a chance to say what might be on his mind. Once he realized that she was silent, he gathered his thoughts for a few seconds, then began to utter something quite unusual.

"I don't think we've really introduced ourselves. My name is Philo, and _I want to be a better man_ , especially after hearing about your life, and about the struggles that your son had to go through."

"Well, my name's Charlotte, and it's an honor to meet ya," she says in her sweetest southern drawl.

For the first time in their conversation he cracks a smile, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"Charlotte, thank you for being incredibly open about your life. I'm the type of guy that keeps personal matters close to his chest. That shortcoming probably caused the collapse of my past relationships, which were few; but each time they ended, I was the one who got stung. Each rejection caused me to be more distant. Also, it didn't help my previous relationships that I'm somewhat of a skeptic. But I'm hopeful that I can start makin' a change after today.

"Your words have had an impact on me. The person I actually want to be, is similar to what your son became at the end of his life—someone who genuinely cares about his family and friends, and isn't afraid to tell them; someone who is more sincere and open; someone who strives to know God better.

"At one point my family attended church, but after my dad's encounter with drugs, every area of our life changed, and not for the better. After a year we stopped goin' to church altogether. I hated God for the longest time, questionin' why He didn't help my dad, and why He didn't come to our rescue. My thoughts toward God have been indifferent since those teenage years. Today, though, there's been a shift in my thinkin'. I definitely want my life to move in a more positive direction.

"If I stay like I am, no woman's gonna want to be with me; I have to start changin'. I simply needed a little nudge—thank you!

† † †

His change of heart touches her deeply. A tear forms in her eye and trickles down onto her left hand, and begins to glisten. She immediately perks up and says, "Did you know that God keeps all our tears in a bottle? The Bible mentions about our tears in the fifty sixth Psalm. Maybe the bottle is a symbol, even so, all our tears are remembered. The Lord understands our pain, since He endured the greatest pain anyone could ever have to endure. _He is the essence of what true love means_."

Momentarily they both reflect on all that's been said.

At that point he leans in closer to her, and begins to tell her about the pain that he's had to deal with since he was a teenager. In a low, quiet tone he says, "It didn't seem that my dad ever loved me. He abandoned my family and me, when we needed him most. Regardless, I'm gonna do my best to not let the past control me anymore. If God can give your son a second chance, certainly, He can give my dad a second chance, and me too. I'll try my best to reach out to my dad—it'll probably shock him. He knows that I've had tremendous hate in my heart for him, because of what he did to us. I'm ready to move forward though; holdin' on to the past hasn't done me any good.

"Thank you, Charlotte, for being the woman that you are. I'm sure many others have been influenced in a positive way because of how much you care. All I know is that I don't want my life to be the same after today. I'm gonna make a change—with God's help."

† † †

Philo stands, then reaches out his hand to her and asks, "Would you like to go over and say a few more words to my friends, before the funeral service starts?" She nods, _yes_. While holding on to her hand, he assists her as she rises; arm in arm he slowly strolls with her to the rear of the church where his friends are still seated.

Surprise can be seen on their faces as soon as they see Philo approaching with Misty's grandmother. They begin to wonder: _Is this the same guy that went over there earlier? What on earth did she say to him, that he's now acting like a gentleman?_

As soon as Philo sits down, she positions herself right in front of his friends. Wasting no time with formalities, she begins her closing note of encouragement to the unlikely crew, who now have become attentive listeners.

#  Chapter 24

"We go through the fire, through the flood, through many struggles in life, but this remains—our Hope, our Foundation, our Redeemer. He is always patiently waiting with open arms, ready and willing to draw us to Himself. He will never turn His back on us. As sure as I am His witness, He has never failed me."

"You've been through so much though!" Bellamy blurts out. "How can you say that He has never forsaken you? I don't know if I could live for God if He put all of your struggles on me."

"Oh, but you're missing the point. He didn't cause me to sustain burns, nor did He cause me to have cancer multiple times, nor did He cause my hip to fail, nor did He cause my son to die tragically. He is the author of life, and I am a testament to that fact. Because of free will, this human experience opens the door to tragedy and pain; but at the same time, the door swings wide open so that we can enjoy life, family, friends, and all of God's blessings.

"Even though my life has been wonderful, _disease_ has been battling me for as long as memory serves. It seems to rear its ugly head after every pleasant and beautiful experience. It's tried to take my very life, if it were possible. But I will never relent! For my Redeemer lives, and I will see Him face to face one day. The instant I stand in His presence, the worries, the struggles, and the disappointments of this life will all melt away, as if they had never existed. In His presence we will be filled with joy, and for all eternity peace will flow freely like a natural bubbling spring.

"The Creator of life didn't bring these evils upon me, just as He didn't bring them on patient Job, from early Bible days. For a brief time He lifted His hand of protection from Job's life, for a significant and eternal reason. By allowing Job's faith to be tried, He established once and for all that no matter the difficulties that come against true believers, they will still live for God. In Job's greatest hour of distress he said, _'Though God slay me, yet will I trust Him.'_ Now that's sincere faith!

"Struggles not only make us better people, but they also help to draw us closer to God, if we allow them to do so. We shouldn't fret when we encounter tough times, for strength of character is being built—we're being refined like a diamond under pressure.

"Everyone on this planet goes through difficulties; pain doesn't discriminate, nor does evil. Every day we pray for our family that the Lord will strengthen them, so that they'll be able to face life's trials with confidence, and with peace in their hearts. I love my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, more than they'll ever know."

After a brief pause, Starling interjects a thought. "I'm certainly gettin' a clear picture of how much faith you have, and how much love you have for others. Your life's story is _evidence_ that God truly cares about every one of us."

"Now you're getting it! Do you think this was a chance meeting that we all gathered here today?" Her intriguing question causes them to reflect for a short while.

"The Creator of life doesn't take us out of our struggles, He helps us to go through them with His tender hand of mercy. He gave us free choice so that we could live for Him, or not. If we had no free choice, it would be coercion. Above everything else, He wants us to love Him with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength."

She says in parting, "It was wonderful to meet each of you," then smiles at them in such a way that it sends a special message— _you are important to God!—_ the message is heard loud and clear without one word uttered _._ She turns and saunters back to her seat. Shortly the funeral service begins.

† † †

Though at first it seemed that an uneasiness would ensue, a spirit of acceptance prevailed at the solemn event. Misty's grandmother shared _hope_ with an unlikely audience, in an unlikely setting. She was able to touch several people's lives in a positive way, despite the tremendous challenges she faced.

#  Chapter 25

To successfully emulate her grandparents was a life long goal for Charlotte and her husband Don. Peace and a welcoming spirit have been the hallmark of their home as well. One day they would have a wonderful country house, _wherein peace and love abide_. From their back screened porch, axis deer can be seen roaming freely, also visible is a grove of paper shell pecan trees, and a meandering creek nearby completes the panoramic view. It took them a lifetime to finally have it built, but it's all they ever dreamed it to be.

When their grandchildren or great grandchildren play hide n seek, the children's joyful laughter can be heard echoing off the creek and throughout the wooded areas of the property. It's not unusual to see fish flipping about on shore, as a child pulls in what he or she feels is a whale of a fish. On occasion the older children can be seen in a paddle boat navigating up the creek in search of adventure. As mentioned at the beginning of her story, she has an incredible love for country life, and is thrilled when others get to enjoy it as much as she does.

Their homeplace is where idyllic childhood longings are fulfilled.

# Author's Note

_Flames_ couldn't extinguish her precious life at the tender age of four years old. _Hemorrhaging_ couldn't extract the last drop of life in her at mid age. _Cancer_ couldn't take her femininity, nor could it destroy her gracious influence on ones near and dear to her. _Hip replacement_ couldn't slow her down from being a blessing to her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. _Cancer_ couldn't stop her at the age of eighty three from attending her granddaughter's funeral, despite the fact that it was a long and grueling journey. Unrelenting in her devotion to God and to family, she continues to touch the hearts and lives of all those she comes in contact with.

