The calling really isn't an appropriate title for this piece,and yet I am uncertain how else to affix a label. Perhaps a more perfect title shall occur to me in the writing of it, and perhaps not. It would be considerably bold of me to make it a more brash statement,to remove the question mark. In my heart of hearts, I will allow that I might be called of the Lord to do something,however,it is not my place to decide whether I am doing that, or even whether or not I have been called. Only HE can judge the truth of it, but others shall judge all else. Of that I have no doubt or fear.
All I can relate is my experience,from the first to the latest, and if there is a calling, it shall in all probability be revealed somewhere along the line. Strangely, to be complete, this must begin before I have any memory of events. Every birthday I spent with my mother, she would relate to me, and of course, anyone willing to listen, how both of us nearly died that day. She went into labor about Ten a.m...and I was not delivered until nearly twelve hours later. I was placenta previa. Around four the afterbirth was delivered, which left me dry and unsupported in her womb for about six hours. There were several complications. The doctor needed to take me with forceps, however, this could not be done until there was an anesthetist there so he could operate on her immediately,or she would bleed to death. But he had a choice. He could disregard the risk to me and do the operation,thereby saving her life. Apparently,there were two options to put mother to sleep.The sort easily at hand was the kind that would put her to sleep for the surgery, but would depress my breathing, and would probably kill me. Unfortunately, the guy with the knock-out drops was miles away, battling his way through a terrible summer storm to get to the hospital. The hospital itself was threatened by twin tornadoes while mother and the doctor and nurses and other doctors were in that delivery room were doing what they could to keep us both alive.Everyone kept telling my doctor that I was dead,and he should just go ahead and do the surgery,and there was a raging argument going on right over my mothers head. The doctor kept shouting, "No-sir! That baby is not dead! And I'm not going to kill it!" Well, obviously, Doc won,'cause here I am! Whew! Since then, it's been one thing after another. A few months later, My entire family was hit with polio.This was during the big epidemic,and everyone knew the symptoms,and mother spotted it right off, so she was able to respond immediately. That could have killed me, because I was just a baby, but fortunately, mother had just read the story of sister Kenny, whose remedy was discussed in great detail in the book,and as we came down with the fever,one by one she took care of us. We all seemed to come out of that without any major lasting effects, but with certain weaknesses. Mine seemed to be my respiratory system. I can recall spending every winter in the hospital with something involving my breathing, and it was always, "serious". (But, of course, this was long before anyone ever heard of post-polio syndrome,so the final chapter hasn't been written on that either.) I was also, a "fainter". This usually happened at church, but it also occurred in the school, when we would have large groups (like the whole school) in the assembly hall, for choir practice.It never occurred to me to wonder why it never happened any other time. At about the age of seven or eight years, I came down with scarlet fever. I say about, because I don't remember exactly. I was very sick for a very long time. I only know that I was barely in school, when I got so sick that I lost most of the school year,and my parents got really upset when they were told that since I had lost so much time, I would have to repeat that grade. But we were Catholics. Anyone who knows anything about a Catholic family knows that the one thing that all good Catholics do, is to see to it that their children attend the church school.In this one thing, I still fervently believe. Children should be taught of their faith every day, just as math, or English, or any other subject to prepare them for life. But I digress. My Mother and Father hit the ceiling. Holding me back was the same as labeling me as a failure,and everyone in our church,school and social circles would know about it,and treat me accordingly. It would be as bad as a scandal,and yet they also understood that the school couldn't pass me on to the next grade without my first having the foundation of passing the current grade.But there was a solution. It was pretty radical, but my parents knew that the Catholic schools curriculum was far ahead of the public school. So, they chose to do the unthinkable,and move me to a public school. After testing, the public school passed me on to the next grade without a problem and I was up with my peers, even after having lost all that time.
I still remember the incident when the Lord first revealed his plans for me. It was a nice spring day, and I was walking home from the Catholic school, one of the last times I would do so, when he said, " I have something for you to do." That was it. No blinding flashes of light, or angel choirs singing, or visions. No tears of blood or stigmata to show for what I had heard, so how could I tell anyone? So, I waited, knowing if this was real, sooner or later, He would say more. If it was my imagination, eventually I would forget all about it, and go on with my life. Okay, so maybe I have something,...etc. wasn't exactly a plan revealed, but it was a definite starting point that I have never forgotten completely.Then a while after that,I was given, I believe, a word,an insight. The devil has been trying to kill me all my life. It happened again when I gave birth to Yon son. I stopped breathing, and he was premature, and one of the nurses went out and told my husband both I and the child were dead! Years went by,and I was busy raising yon son,running the home, attending collage classes,working and having emergency surgeries,each time, to save my life. Meanwhile, I was seeking the Lord. I was investigating churches. I even began to join a couple of them, and got baptized in one of their tanks...but I soon realized that these were not for me. And then, I broke my back. Lost my job because I couldn't work,and the doctor my employer sent me to covered up the fact that my x-rays showed I had broken my back,and I was in so much pain, it was not possible for me to return to work. Then, several things happened. I found amongst my things, an old decrepit typewriter,a standard royal...manual. I fell heir to a typing course, with books and records, and thought, well, I broke my back, but my hands still work,and I have always loved to read and write, so why not give it a whirl? I taught myself to type, and then, for lack of a better subject, spent that first unemployed winter writing that book I had threatened to write while tending bar.During that time, I met Tom, and we became a happy little family about the time I submitted my manuscript to a publisher. Long story short,it would be published today, if someone hadn't stolen it. While I grieved over the loss of my first creation, I still continued to write. Mostly stories to amuse Yon son,which helped him with his reading. He loved the fact that I wrote them for him so much, it was never any problem getting him to read for me. Then, I got saved. I began to seek the Lord in earnest, asking him what I should be doing, and his answer was like in a dream. He said" What is that you have in your hand?" I looked, and it was my typewriter. But it was no longer the manual Royal I had started out on. It was the new one I had lately fallen heir to, My electric Underwood Scriptor. I finally wrote a new book on that,and then got a computer...the one I now call my dinosaur,which I used to finish the book,and it turned into three. One thing led to another,and soon Tom was gone, and Yon son was single again, and he decided that I should have a good computer, where I could go on line and keep in touch with my favorite preacher, and maybe find a publisher, which led me to typepad.
And I don't know, but I suspect, that the Lord knew the end from the beginning, when he spoke to my heart that day on third avenue while I was walking home from school. But he also knew there was no point in telling me what it was he wanted me to do. There were no words for where I am now, back then. And, I also suspect that he gave me those words of encouragement, because he knew that I was going to have to go through a lot to get to the place where he could bring it all together. So,even though he did not conjure up a picture in my mind, or dazzle my eyes with a vision, still, a vision was given,just as surely as if he had shown me angels dancing on the lawn. Scripture says:"My people perish for lack of a vision." I believe the Lord gave me that to keep hope in my heart for the future, as well as faith and trust in him, and to keep me searching for him. He kept the devil from killing me...not because I am anything special, but because knowing that, I will respond to his promptings,and write, what he tells me to write.And the devil? Well, he just knew that God had plans for me,and he is always trying to thwart whatever it is God has planned.
Just goes to show you what I have always believed.
God will use, whom he will use!
OUI?
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