Monday, December 14, 2015


Somehow I keep finding myself there
Somehow I keep finding myself here
Left to listen to the sound of the drips
as the drops make their way down my cheek
I know I’ve cried before
Just never like this...
Didn’t ever think I would be able to actually hear the sound of a teardrop…
That is until you were gone.
And I was, (we are) left to continue without you
How can I remember to breathe
knowing that a life I breathed into this world
I could never hear breathe again?
Funny thing about grief
and losing a life (that you gave)
you never really know how it feels
until it comes upon you
Must be what God felt that day when He gave up His Son.
Didn’t really want to know… It was just a thought, I said.
Wasn’t meant to be answered
Wasn’t given an option
Take it or leave it wasn’t presented before me
I would have definitely left it
But things happen
…The grass withers, the flowers fade…
…For what is life? It is just a vapor that appears for a little time and then quickly vanishes away.
It’s weird being in this place.
It’s not a feel good place. 
Walking in this valley of the shadow of death.
Alone, but not so much.  
You’re there... but not there.
You’re here. But not REALLY.
“I AM,” I hear. Just in a different space.
“But not MY space.” I answer.
So I take a deep breath and I breathe again with the life I have…
The life I have yet to give, remembering
“Oh, Lord teach us to number our days…”
And I tenderly pick up the pieces of my brokenness
...alone, but alive.
You are STILL ALIVE.  You’re still alive!
You said so poetically.
I go on with this never-ending look of sadness in my eyes,
Wiping away involuntary tears that don’t seem to know how to stop running…
on the inside.
And I no longer ask God the question, why
But don’t hesitate to ask Him, when
…until I see you again.
As I sit alone, (but not lonely),
in this place called grief.

For my Joe.
From Mom.

© Copyright 2015
All rights reserved.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

The Perspective of Gratitude

Our Helping Hands Ministry distributes canned goods and other non-perishable items every Wednesday at our church.   Recently after one of the giveaways, when the crowd died down, my daughter began to take inventory of the items we had on hand… baked beans, corn, tomato sauce, pasta, spam, sardines, hash, tuna, and the list goes on and on and on.  

Anyway, I saw her list and realizing how extensive it was, I said to her, “I think it is much better to know what we need, then to see what we have,” arguing my point really good (not only as her mom, but as her first lady) or so I thought.  That is until someone else jumped in the conversation and said, “No…  not to take Brandi’s side, but I believe it’s easier to have a record of what you have.  That way you can have an inventory and then you could look at your list and see what you need.”  And he continued with, “So you could say, I have this many cans of this.  We want to have this many of them, or we have this many boxes of these, we need to have this many…” and blah, blah, blah...  J

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” I said.  Sounded like too much work to me.  And then I went on, “I’d rather look at what is on the shelves, and write down what we have need of.”  And felt inclined to go continue, but instead followed the prompting of the Holy Spirit, Who told me (as He often does), “leave your daughter alone” and I walked away. 

Okay, so what’s the point?  We can surely go back and forth with this, and just like the other member said, “It’s just a matter of perspective.” 

Right, it’s all a matter of perspective.  And as I walked away from that conversation and even until the next morning, God spoke. And what He said was this, “Taking inventory of what you have is a way of expressing thanks.”  You have a written record of what you have when you look at what you have and write it down.  What you are actually doing in writing it down, is giving witness to it.  Giving witness to what you have.  And though you don’t realize it you are making a mental note of how you have provision.  Namely, how GOD has provided for you.

Whereas, taking note of what you don’t have, clearly defines your focus and causes you to overlook what you do have. 

Yes, it is a matter of perspective.  While one way may not necessarily be the best way over the other as you actually go to replenish your inventory for a church give-away; one way is definitely the best way to look at the inventory in your life.  First natural, then spiritual.   Focusing on not what you don’t have, but what you DO have, and that is certainly the right perspective and more than enough reason to give thanks. 

Yep, it is a matter of perspective.  And I’m grateful for what I have.  What say you?

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Take Me Back

Take me back, take me back dear Lord
To the place where I first received You.
Take me back, take me back dear Lord where I
first believed.

I feel that I'm so far from You Lord
But still I hear You calling me
Those simple things that I once knew,
Their memories are drawing me.

I must confess, Lord I've been blessed
But yet my soul's not satisfied.
Renew my faith, restore my joy
And dry my weeping eyes.

Sometimes you get lost on the road to life, to living.  You take a detour and end up someplace you have never been before.  Lots of things going on where you are.  People you are unfamiliar with, people that you have known or thought you did, who said that they will be there, always, only to leave you stranded as if you had a flat tire.    While others cling on to you as if you hold the keys to life itself.

The buildings are huge that surround you appearing as if they are mountains.  Streets become smaller, so much so that you feel like a pea in a pod as you try to navigate your way through them.  What once was familiar, has all of a sudden become strange territory.

And you are lost. 

Not knowing where to go, where to turn, but simply desiring to be there. 

Back to a place where roads were paved and if you hit a bump, at least you knew how to ride it. 
Back to a place where you recognize people for who they were and you kept them there as such. 
Back to a place where you could canvass the neighborhood with your eyes closed, as the laughter of children guided your every step. 
Back to a place where you may not have been comfortable with not knowing, but was certain you would know soon. 
Back to a mostly dry land and if it rained, you were yet able to keep your footing. 

You yearn to go back to a place of familiarity. A normal place.  A place of security, of knowing, of innocence.  Of believing.

Desperate to go back there, to where you were, you cry out for help.  A phone call, a text to a friend, a family member, and yet no one can seem to get you back there (or desires to).  Because back there, what you know, that road you were on, takes on a different form, and it doesn’t quite look the same.   To you or to them.

So you continue to cry out and yearn for that place, long to go back… not as you know it of course, but back to where you might have left Him, …left him… when you took the detour or the detour took you.  Presenting itself as a “you have no choice in the matter” exit.

Take me back, dear Lord, to the place where I first received You.
Take me back, to the place where I FIRST… believed.

I believe Lord.
Help me, my unbelief.
Help me to believe again.
Show me… show us, how to make our way back, wherever back may be in this journey You called life.

Sis. E

“But He knows the way I take and after I have been tried, I shall come forth as pure gold.” (Job 23:10)

Copyright 2015

Thursday, October 1, 2015


I had another dream about you last night
I actually had two.
Just like the others, this one seemed so real.
I touched you.
I was actually able to lay my hand on your skin
And feel your smile.
I saw it too.
It was so big and so pure.
Your smile really did light up the room you know.
And this one,
This one was glowing,
So much so that it illuminated the dark areas of my heart,
Of my life…
Even if it was only just a dream.

When you opened that door
I watched you as you walked in
Such a confidence in your walk,
It wasn’t how it used to be.
No, you were standing up straight.
Proud of who you were
Proud of who you had become
There was a quiet confidence in your stride
As you made your way towards me
I said, Wow.  Look at my Joe.
Then you spoke.
There was a boldness in your tongue
That I only heard when you were performing
Yeah, I thought, this is a different Joe.
This time you COMMANDED attention
Which I was so ready to give you.
Even if it was just a dream

Your face was so clean.
It did not have the marks or the blemishes
That you so often worried about.
A bit too much, I told you.
“How could I get rid of this mom?”
You would ask.
A question many a young person had asked of their own moms,
I’m sure.
It’s gone now, Joe.
Except for the one scar that reminded me of how 
and when you left

Then you touched me back.
You extended your hand towards me
As if you were trying to reach my heart,
But you were already there.
And for a moment everything felt alright.
Because you were alive.

But it was just a dream.


To learn about my Joe, visit or

Copyright 2015

Thursday, August 13, 2015

For the Man Who Killed My Son

I don’t know what to say to you.  I just know I need to say something, so let’s just start there.

It’s been a little over two months now since the car incident.  I can’t really call it an accident, since an accident is considered an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally.  You see as far as I can tell and from the police report itself, you ran that red light on purpose, intentionally, making a decision to change lanes to do so (avoiding the car that was sitting there).  And since you have not taken the time to reach out to us to express your sympathy, I thought I would write.

This is not easy you know.  We’ve had your name and address almost from the very beginning, but I have not been in the place to want to say anything to you,… kind.   So I chose to instead to endure the silence, for a time.

Let me tell you a little about the person that you hit when you made the decision to speed through that red light.  His name was Joseph.  He was a real human being.  He was the youngest of our three children, our only son and was 22.  And you killed him.

Joseph was working.  He was on his way to the office that morning, where he had been working with his dad for the last year.  He was filled with so much promise as he began to learn the tools of the trade, and was excited at the prospect of “working among lawyers” he said.  

He believed in God and went to church, where he was developing his ability as a spoken word artist.  He also liked to sing, draw, play video games and shoot basketball.  Besides leaving me, his dad and his sisters to mourn him, Joseph also left behind an 11-year-old nephew, who he was teaching to play basketball, every chance he had.  And one day, Joseph said, he wanted to go back to the high school he graduated from, not only to perform his spoken word, but to talk to students about bullying, because he himself was.  But now he can’t because you not only killed him, you snatched his dream away.

Joseph took a different route that morning than the one that I knew he usually took.  But he decided to take the one that I told him was much easier and that his dad always took, Route 206.   How I wish he did not listen to me that day!  Somehow I believe taking that route, was just another way to pay tribute to his dad.  He wanted to be like him more than I knew and was beginning to show that in little ways.  But you also took that away from us, when you ran that red light.

Joe always drove safely too.  He always had on his seat belt, and surprisingly as a young man, he maintained the speed limit.  He liked cars, too.  Muscle cars he called them.  But yet in spite of the stereotype of young males who drive, Joseph drove with caution and control.  But he didn’t see you coming that day.  Oh, how I wish he did!   You killed him when you made that decision to run that red light.

You see I have a picture that plays over and over in my mind.  I see Joseph as he turned that roundabout to go across Amboy Road, on his way to work, thinking about what he would do once he got there, clueless as to what would happen… and then I see you, (somehow wishing I could go back in time to tell him), speeding through that red light--- and slam!  

That is the running picture that keeps going through my mind almost every time I close my eyes and I remember Joseph.  And sometimes it plays even when my eyes are open.   

Joseph was on his way to work.  He was on his way to work.   It was not even 10:00 in the morning.  He was three short minutes away--- and slam!  

Cut off--- from life--- from me, from his family.  You did that.

What were you thinking?  What was going on in your mind?  Were you distracted?  Were you on medication?  Were you supposed to wear glasses?  Were you on your cell phone… oh no, were you texting!? 

The red light was as clear as day.  There are four them going across that bridge, sitting just above the road so that they can clearly be seen…  How could you have missed them?  All four… really?  Oh how I wish there was a camera there!  Reasoning tells me you had to see them.  And when you did you made a conscious decision to go through them… anyway. 

Are you not aware of what you did?  You hit someone.  You killed someone.  It wasn’t an animal.  It wasn’t a squirrel.  It was my son.  His name was Joseph.

Joseph was 22.  You are 74.  You lived your life.  His, was only beginning.  And yet you walk away with “minor” injuries, the newspaper reported, not even enough to warrant attention.  You actually made the decision to decline medical treatment.  My son was not given that choice.  He died.

And yet YOU stay quiet.  YOU don’t feel a need to reach out.  YOU don’t express YOUR thoughts, YOUR sympathy.

Every time, every single time, that I need to go to the supermarket, I have to pass through that intersection.  Just to get a few groceries, I have to live through the longest nightmare of my life.  That running picture of what happened in the middle of that intersection.  Just to pick up simple things, like ice cream, I have to live through the reality of knowing my son will never tell me “don’t forget the chocolate syrup, Mom” again. 

Every time that my husband goes to his office he goes through that same intersection.  It takes him less than 15 minutes to get there.  And that same picture plays again for him… slam!  And not only does he have to deal with the harsh reality of Joseph not being at home, he has to deal with it at work.  Joseph lived with him and Joseph worked with him.  And you took that away when you ran through that red light.

One morning as I prayed and asked the Lord to cover my children… I actually included Joseph.  Now every time, every day as I pray, I pause when I call out their names, reminded that one is missing.  I can no longer ask the Lord to cover Joseph, because Joseph is not here.  And then the scene plays again and I have to suffer through the pain all over again, and the thought of the pain he must have felt when you ran that red light.

And you go on.  Free.  Able to walk the streets, able to go to the supermarket, able to cross that intersection, able to enjoy your life, the holidays, your family, go on vacation and live out the rest of your days.  While my son can’t and neither can we… at least not without the reminder.  Slam!

That’s where it ends every time I remember Joseph.    Good times, fun times… slam!   You killed him.

It came to an end and we are forced to deal with a reality we did not sign up for and certainly did not see coming. 

I don’t know why I’m writing to you.  What I want most of all are answers.  Not that they really would make a difference, nor make any sense…  But did you consider at least for one moment, what it might mean if you ran through a red light?  Did you hesitate… for a second? 

Traffic laws are made for a reason…. To protect…. lives.  To protect someone’s son.  You broke the law and you took away Joseph’s protection.  You stole his life when you made the decision to run the red light.

I really don’t know what else to say to you.  I tell myself I want to hate you, but the love of God won’t let me.  I want so much to see you locked up, to make you pay, to make you suffer, to make your family suffer, as we do… but even that doesn’t quite feel right.  I can’t say I want revenge, because it’s not mine to get.  And it won’t bring my Joseph back.  I know it won’t.   

But I do want justice.  I want Joseph to be vindicated.  I want your license taken away, if it needs to be.  I want every person who reaches the age of 65 (myself when I get there, included) to be tested every year, in order to renew their license.  I want you to be punished for the wrongful act you committed… the reckless decision you made as you sped through that red light.  You chose to do that… you chose to break the law and for that you need to be punished.

And I want to hear you say I’m sorry.  You don’t have a right to remain silent in this case.  And you owe us at least that much.  You owe at least that much, to Joseph. 

But you know what, even if you don’t, I forgive you.  Not because I want to, but because I have to, realizing that not forgiving you will allow you to steal another part of my life, and remain silent in doing so, as the man who not only killed my son, but continues to kill me in the process. 

Can’t say that I expect to hear from you.  Don’t even know if you’ll ever see this letter, but I yet had to write it.  For Joseph. 

His mom.

For more about Joe, visit

9/5 Here is an update on Joseph's case:

Copyright 2015

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Loud Silence

It’s been five Fridays since we’ve buried our son Joseph.  And it’s been some kind of rollercoaster ride.  Every day that has passed by, new questions arise.  Why, Lord?  How could You allow such a thing?  It wasn’t supposed to end this way— And as each question gets ignored, seemingly, another question surfaces.  With still no answers, we are left in the silence. 

Locked in the imaginations of our mind, of what would have, could have, and certainly should have been, life goes on as we scramble to pick up the pieces in silence.

22 years old he was.  Just realizing his purpose.  Silence.
The dreams, the visions, the promises You made.  Silence.

Friends have come— some who we thought were not. 
Some who we believed were— only to discover hidden plans and agendas, promises made and broken.  It’s something to find out that you do not mean to some, what you thought you did.  Silence.

So many emotions.  How can you be so high on life one day, only to hit rock bottom the next… again.  Silence.

How can you be surrounded by so many at one time, never feeling alone, never left alone… not for one solitary moment… and become virtually invisible the next.  Even more silence.

Phone rang at some points so much we could have been an emergency call center.  The pain is still here— even more evident than it was before, why the silence?  And why so loud?  Nothing has changed.  He’s still gone and we still have no answers. 

Notification among notification, back to back, a buzz, a vibrate, a ding... constant and consistent.  Yearning for that now.  Trying to find some new sense of normal, holding onto those things--- the only things that still seem to be normal… a hairdresser appointment, a Mani and a Pedi… church.  So simple.  Feels somewhat familiar and sane for a moment, but somehow screams that it’s not.  Loud. 

Are you running…? I hear.  Doesn’t matter… No matter how far I do, still can’t escape the silence.  It beckons me.  Calling out my name.  “I’m still here!!!!”  It says.  “Don’t you hear me?”  It’s sure loud enough to hear.

Answering it, I hold on.  We hold on.  We still have each other, I think.  Always have, always will.  Wasn’t that the way it was?  Then I’m reminded …we still have each other… until we don’t.

Questions come once again.  More silence.  So very loud.  Why are you screaming at me? I say.

It doesn’t even make sense.  Is there such a thing as loud silence?  I ask.  Sometimes something is missing in your life so strong, that the mere absence of it, speaks louder than its presence.  Absence… silence.  In absence, there is silence.   Talk about deep calling unto deep.  The silence is speaking so loud, so deep, it’s deafening.  Sometimes I can’t hear myself think.

When will it end, Lord?  How do we go on Lord?
Silence… still.

Still silent?

You answer… Be still. 
Be still and know I am God.

You are God.  But I still don’t understand, Lord.
How did You make me to contend with horses, but I can’t contend with silence?
Even tried to go shopping and it just doesn’t do it anymore.  In the midst of a noisy and active mall, all I hear is silence, still.  And it’s so very loud.

Be still.  You said again.
Still your heart.  Still your mind.  That is where I am.
Remember Elijah and how He looked for Me.  It was silent for him, too.

I am God… And I am in the still small voice of your silence.
Wait for Me there.  And hear Me.  It’s not so loud where I Am. 

And it’s not so silent.

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Saturday, June 27, 2015

The Day My Heart Died

June 5, 2015, that was the day my heart died.  On June 5th, I buried my son.  Oh, the official service was not until the 12th but the burial took place way before that.

You see, when I received the news that my son, Joseph, had been in a car accident, immediately my heart stopped.  I know, because I felt it when I happened to look up from the phone call and saw the expression on my daughter’s face, as she watched mine.  And when it stopped, I stepped out of myself, and saw it pounding on the floor, placed at the bottom of her feet as if it was snatched from me and put there for my eyes to see.  Then I picked it up as I found the strength to hold her and pray that all would be well with my son.   But I lost it again. 

As I made my way scrambling through the Chicago airport back to New Jersey, I had to go back a couple of times, to pick my heart up again, as I had left it in a few places: the cab on the ride to the airport, the restroom stall, on the seat in the airport lounge, and even on the airplane.  Then when I arrived in New Jersey, after experiencing the longest plane ride of my life (although just short of an hour and a half). Somehow when your heart stops, so does time, it seems, or takes longer to pass, however you want to look at it.  But when I arrived, I had to pick it up again, because I needed the strength to grab my luggage from the baggage claim.

I waited for a friend to pick me up and dropped my heart there at the terminal a couple of times, only to pick it up when she arrived and I embraced her as if I wanted to steal her heart and the life it had in it.  Only I could feel her heart was broken too.

All I wanted to do was to see him­--- if I could just…. see him.  If I could just lay my hands on him and tell him I love him and how much I need him---- how much we all did… he will be okay, I thought, in spite of the prognosis I heard from the doctor, telling me from a New Jersey hospital that I needed to start my way back home from Chicago.

I saw my husband first, and as I saw the pain in his eyes, my spirit ran to hug him, and as I did I realized I didn’t hear his heart either.  Apparently both of ours had stopped.

And so I picked mine up again and asked to see my son.  If only I could….

As I walked into that room, 312A, they said… my heart stopped again as I saw wire by wire, plug on top of plugs, needles side by side, and machines, machines everywhere.  And I picked it up again as I reached out to lay my hands on him.  If only I could… I reached out to hug him (be careful, somebody said, “watch out for the wires.”).  I held his hand, I kissed his forehead and I gathered up the strength to speak to him, words of life, (the Word is your life, I heard).  “Joseph, it’s your mother.  I know you can hear me.  I’m back from Chicago.  You can wake up now… You don’t have to be afraid, it’s gonna be okay.  You’re gonna be okay.  We’re all here with you.”  And I felt my heart flutter as I saw his eyelids jump---- “He hears me,” I said aloud.  “Lord, just open his eyes.”  I stood there for a while, unaware of anyone else, continuing to speak life to him, speak life over him, recalling the things he had done--- then the words he had spoken to me, last, “I love you mom.”  And I felt my heart race as I remembered, my last words to him, “I love you too, Joe.”

The doctors came in and I chose to leave the room, taking my heart with me as I went into the private waiting room they had given us to “wait” this out.  If that was possible, I remember thinking.  In that room I saw faces of hope, faces of belief, faces of love--- I saw some who had their hearts ripped out as well, trying desperately to hold on to it, as I mustered every piece that was in me to speak words of hope to them.  We shared stories of God’s goodness, how He healed this one, how He saved that one.  What He was doing in the life of another, and then I told how I was diagnosed once and shared a blog about it--- Diagnosis:  Devil Is a Liar--- there would be a part 2 to that blog I said…

That was the longest night of my life--- as I went back into 312A several times--- heart stopping --- heart revived with every movement of his eyes--- “It’s involuntary” they said.  But I believed otherwise.  I saw a raised eyebrow, I said.  I even saw a teardrop.  Then how could that be, I asked.  It’s involuntary, they said again.  And my heart would stop again.

How could I keep dying and come back so many times, I thought to myself.  “Lord how many times can my heart stop and I keep on living?”

I found myself in the bathroom and the questions came--- and the doubt came, along with the whispers--- “every day Joseph would not leave your presence without you laying your hand on his forehead and praying over him--- every day.  Every day, he would rub your stomach, call you “big mama” or some other nickname he happened to come up with; every day, he would touch your hair, hug you from behind or simply say, “I love you mom… can I have a hug?”  And I interrupted my thoughts with “Lord I WILL NOT bury my son!”  And my heart would stop again… “I got him…”  “Keep believing,” I heard Him say.

I mustered up my strength after my heart got going again and I would go and look at him, speaking life to Him, again… holding his hand, kissing his forehead (carefully, not to touch the wires, I was told).   Refusing to see what I saw with my natural eyes, but each time that machine alarmed, forced to see what was there.  And my heart would stop again.

Friends came and as much as we resisted, convinced us to go home and rest.  Not much of that happened, even though it should have been easy to do so, when your heart has been ripped from your soul. 

Getting up the next morning was easy since I never really slept, and we made our way back to the hospital, hearts in hand, as heavy as they were to carry.  Placed it back in my body as I saw friends who needed to be encouraged… but as I saw my Joe, lifeless, I lost it once again. But quickly picked it up to let that nurse have it for not watching over him, for not tending to him as the prior one did.  “You are not by his side,” I told her, “you are NOT doing all you can… the other nurse never left him, and the second that alarm went off, she adjusted whatever needed adjusting.”  And my heart stopped again, as she tried to explain “But I am.” Yet I refused to believe her, choosing instead to pick up my heart where I left it and continue to share it with my Joe… “Joe, you can hear me… that’s enough now, you can open your eyes…” recalling and quoting every Scripture, every Word that I have ever heard before concerning, life, living, healing and the promises of God.  “You shall not die, Joe, but live to declare the glory of the Lord.” That’s what I said to him.

Hours went by and we were summoned into 312A again, and the doctor said, after performing the three tests to determine if your son was alive, he failed all three.  Then the words that no mother (or father) ever wants to hear came out of that doctor’s mouth… I’m sorry, your son is dead. 

And so was my heart.  It completely stopped.  I believed I died too in that moment. I stopped living.  As I heard my husband wail, I quickly picked it up as I comforted him.  I don’t even know if I had the strength to let out a whimper.  I just remember thinking about all the talks I had with God.  “This wasn’t supposed to be God.  You said you had him.  You said to keep the faith.”  And since I couldn’t rely on God, I had to shelter my family from the hurt myself.  So I kept my heart beating this time, for them, for Joseph.  My husband and I gathered what strength we could from each other and we went and told our daughters and those in that waiting room with us… Grief shouted from the rooftop, piercing sounds, wails, screams, was all I heard in that room.  No one was immune, that I saw, except me, as I just had a yearning to comfort and support.  I hugged, I grabbed, as I felt my heart trying to get away from me again, but it didn’t.

And in that moment, I felt a peace that I know only God could have given me, as I felt my heart lock into place.  “I got you,” He said.  “Breathe.  Just remember to breathe.”  And those were and have been the very words I spoke to others who have loved Joseph, who have come to me since, distraught and broken.   Breathe.  Just remember to breathe.  Inhale, exhale.

June 5th, that was the day.  I buried my son.  And I buried my heart.  June 5th that was the day, God gave me a new one.  That’s what He said when He told me to breathe.

This new heart still hurts though.  It doesn’t quite fit like the old one does, but it works.  Each time I am reminded of what happened on that day, it tries to escape my body, but God wrapped it so tightly in His love that it can’t.  And I remember to breathe.  “Just breathe,” God said.

June 5th, that was the day.  The day my Joe died.   Yeah, June 5th, that was the day my heart died.  And my life will never be the same.  “But it will get better,” God said, “as I remember to breathe.”

I’m breathing.

Because God is real.

Sis. E

Copyright 2015

Wednesday, April 8, 2015


After I got dressed this morning, I opened my jewelry box and went to pull out a chain to wear and along came it with several others.  They were tangled, each string intertwined with the other.  Nine chains exactly.  I managed to easily pull out the one I wanted to put on, but the others still remained tangled.  I put on the one I wanted and since I had nowhere to go this morning, I decided to try and untangle the rest.  After about 20 minutes I untangled four from the midst.  Hubby saw what I was doing, how involved I was and simply cut on the light above me, so that I could at least see what I was trying to do.  Then after a few moments, as we often do when he leaves the house, we prayed and he asked the Lord to help me to untangle my chains.  And then he added, and untangle anything in her life today.  In total agreement I said yes, Lord.  Hubby left and then I went back to my “project” of the morning.

With my new light, I had my chains on the bed and continued working on them, while standing up.  After about 10 minutes I was really starting to get frustrated thinking about how fine the chains were and the knots were not coming loose.  I found myself actually afraid that I might break them.   Funny that at the sign of fear, God stepped in and began to help.  Which is why we have to have the Word in us, because even when we are not thinking about it, the Word will come to life.  God has not given you the spirit of fear… Holy Ghost said.  So with fear back under control, God then gave me the wisdom to sit down at my desk so that I could at least see the knot up close. 

I went downstairs, laid the chains on my desk (albeit balled up) and went to make a cup of coffee.  Came back relaxed and determined to untangle my chains.  Started working carefully and slowly on them.  Following one link through the entire chain until it became loosened.  Did that for a few minutes and just when I thought I got one loose, the magnetic clasp that I put on it, joined itself to another and was tangled up again.  (Side note:  I often had trouble putting on my own chains, because the clasps are so small and so hard to join.  So I found and purchased these magnetic clasps where you can just put them on whatever chain you have and easily join the clasp around your neck because of the magnetic links.  They work perfectly!!!)  Anyway, the magnets joined themselves together on this one particular chain I was working on and caused it to tangle up, again.  But not too much though, thank God. 

Finally after about 2 hours, I managed to get all of the chains untangled.  But it was a process.  Each one I had to remove one by one.  And in doing so, this is what I heard the Lord saying about my tangled mess.

God said, sometimes things in our lives get tangled.  It becomes a tangled mess.  Some of them we make ourselves by putting our hands directly on it, some of them just come together by the choices that we have made and some of them are formed because we are not careful in how we do things.   My chains were tangled because I was not careful in how I hung them in my jewelry box.  Then my chains were even more tangled because of the way I had my hands on them when I carried them downstairs in the palm of my hand balled up.  And some of my chains were tangled because they were drawn together by the magnet (an outside force).   

God said that sometimes things in our lives become tangled because we allow outside forces to draw things together that should not be.  We allow people to get into situations where their advice does not help.  We allow ourselves to get attached to things that please our flesh for the moment.  But in the end it will cause us to be tangled.  Tangled up in sin.  Tangled up in denial.  In circumstances.

Then God said this, we find ourselves entangled and we look to Him to get us out of it.  And He can and He will.  But we have to give Him time to do so.  To get out of things is much harder and takes a lot longer than to get in it.  See it only takes a second to be drawn to something.  But it takes some detangling (and some detoxing and demagnetizing, if you will) to be taken away from it.   The magnets on my chain simply came together.  Those things that we are drawn to we find easy to attach ourselves to it.  Then it takes some staying away, some pulling away, some prayer and sometimes fasting to detach ourselves from them.   I had to physically pull the magnets away and be careful to KEEP them away from each other.  And let me remind you it took me over two hours!  The mess we find ourselves in might have taken years to get in, the decisions we have made over our lifetime cause us to be in a tangled mess today and then we expect God to untangle them now.  He certainly can, but I believe His will is rather for us to learn something in the process, so that we don’t do it again. 

God will untangle the messes in our lives.  But He also said this, we have to trust Him enough to give it to Him.  To lay them down, flat out, so He can take a close look.  Just like I had to get close to see the knot in the chains to untangle them, we need to get to close to God, so that He can see the knots in our lives.  We tend to hide, keep at a distance or even pull away when we’re in a mess.  When what we need to do is draw nearer.  Get up close. Draw nearer to God.  So that God can see what is really going on.  So that He can see the detail in the knot.  We cannot be delivered from what we keep hidden. 

And then just like I knew with my chain, God said He knows how fine our chain is.  He has made us.  He knows what will break us.  But He also knows how much He can pull before we will break.  Hallelujah!

My chains are untangled, praise the Lord and pass the jelly (just like my hubby says).   And so is my life, because God is real.

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

“Those who leave everything in God’s hand, will eventually see God’s hand in everything.”  –Unknown



Thursday, April 2, 2015

Believe Thou This?

With Easter, Resurrection Sunday, (whatever you want to call it for whatever reason), coming up, as every year, there is much debate on what day Jesus died.  Seems like all the enemy has to do for some is sit back and watch while he gets us to focus on the less weighty things of the day.  The things that ultimately do not matter.  Good Friday not really being Good Friday, Sunday not being the Sabbath or the first day of week, Jesus dying on a Wednesday, and how it is that Friday to Sunday is three days.  Debates and questions of all kinds and everybody has an opinion.

Not going to say a lot about this, because like I said ultimately it doesn’t matter and I’m not going to waste my time arguing or debating over things of little importance.  Not trying to be evasive, not trying to avoid arguments, not trying to step on anybody’s toes or offend anyone, just desiring to state the Truth.
Was talking to my hubby and he pointed this out, “If God wanted us to know the exact day or date of when things occurred He would have stated so in His Word.” 
God told us what we needed to know.  Too many times we try to expand and get revelation on something that doesn’t need revelation; we just need to believe the Word of God.  Jesus went to the cross.  In doing so He was spat upon, ridiculed, put to shame, called out of His name.  He was beaten.  He was bruised.  He was scourged.  He was nailed to the cross. There He hung, He bled and He died.  And on the third day He was raised from dead.  Why?  So that we can have eternal life.  So that we can be free of our sins.  So that we can be reconciled to God.  That is the Truth.

Now, the day Jesus went to the cross, the day He was in the garden, the day He was born, the day He rose again; ultimately does not matter.  In continuing the conversation with my husband today, we talked about this: if you are drowning and are in need of someone saving you, when you look back at being saved, it does not matter what day of the week it was.  What matters is that you were saved.  That because of what someone else did on your behalf, YOU ARE ALIVE.  And that is what matters about the Resurrection.  What someone else did on your behalf.   Most importantly, someone died on your behalf.  JESUS.  Jesus died on the cross and saved you.  He saved me.  And He still offers that message of salvation, the Easter message, to all who will believe.  All who believe that THAT is what He did.  (The act, not the day). 

So if you want to continue to debate, to argue, and concentrate on the significance of the day or the date, I just want you to know there are more pressing issues.  He did it. And the only question that remains is whether or not you believe it?  Ultimately, that is the only question that needs to be answered for that is the one that determines your salvation.

Jesus Himself has said, “I AM the Resurrection and the Life.  He that believeth in Me, though He were dead, yet shall He live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believe thou this?”

I choose to believe no matter what day it was.

God is real.

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Saturday, March 7, 2015


I was watching Judge Judy the other night and two people were declaring their case.  It was a dog case and whether or not one sold the other a sick dog.  Anyway, Judge Judy is hearing all the facts about the case and at one point, the case is starting to lean in favor of the defendant.

Judge Judy begins or rather continues to pick apart the plaintiff’s case (as only she can) and the defendant feels a need to raise her hand to plead her cause.  Judge Judy motions for her to put her hand down, she does and then two seconds later, she puts it up again.  This time Judge Judy says to her, “Does it look like I need your help?  You’re winning.”  The defendant nods in agreement and puts her hand down, but just a few seconds later, it goes back up.  Judge Judy addresses her yet again, “Why do you keep on interrupting me?” she says.  “Does it look like you’re losing?  You need to learn when NOT to open your mouth.”  The defendant puts her hand down for the third time. 

Then I heard God say that we are so much like the defendant.  The enemy files a case against us and he brings us before the Judge.  God.  Jesus is our Advocate.  He is pleading our case.  He is doing the questioning, but He is also doing the fighting.  But for some reason we keep raising our hands in our own defense.   We keep interrupting Him in the middle of the case, delaying the judgment.  Delaying the outcome.  God also said we need to learn to keep our mouths shut.  We need to stop wanting to defend ourselves and let Jesus plead our cause.  

We are always standing before a righteous Judge and our case is always leaning toward His side.  Leaning in our favor, but we don’t let Him judge because we are too busy trying to make Him see our side.  What we’ve done.  In our own righteousness. 

God already knows what you’ve done.  He has already seen it.  Your righteousness in and of itself is as filthy rags.  But in Christ you are made righteous.  And He is fighting for you.  “You don’t need to fight in this battle, My child, only stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.”

We are not standing still if we keep raising our hands.

It is Jesus who fights our battles.  We just need to keep our mouths shut and let Him.  And it is God Whom we are standing before, our righteous and Holy God.  How could we not win?

“Does it really look like I need your help?  I GOT THIS.”  Saith the Lord.

When Judge Judy was finally able to judge the case and state the outcome, the defendant won her case.   Just so you know.

But God is real. 

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Friday, February 27, 2015

Wearing Your Purpose

I went to the hairdresser last week, for my usual appointment.  The temperature being “0” that morning (yes you read that right… not O, zero… lol), I decided to wear my fur coat.

I don’t get to wear it very often.  It’s full length, meant for very cold temperatures.  But not something that one would tend to wear every day and everywhere (at least not up until this point).  And although I had opportunity to do so on a few occasions, I never wore it to the hair salon, but this particular morning I did.

My hairdresser put the coat away for me when I arrived and when it was time for me to leave, she helped me to put it on, which was when I heard “She is wearing that coat.”    And I immediately responded in my head, yeah, it’s mine.

I paid my bill and got in my car and made my way home.  On the way, I called my sister and we spoke for a moment about the cold and staying warm.  And when she asked me what was I doing out in the cold, I told her where I had been and also said, “Oh, but I’m warm, trust me.  I’m wearing my fur today.”  I then remembered that morning when I was on my way to the salon, speaking with my mom about how cold it was and she too had asked me almost the very same thing, with me replying to her as well, “I’m wearing my fur coat.”

Now I don’t say this to boast about what I have.  Everything that I own comes from the hand of God.  And I don’t take anything for granted, big OR small. For I hope to be like Paul when I say, I have learned whatever state I am in, to be content.  But the Lord said two things to me concerning this.  First of all, when you have something of value, wear it.  It shows how much you appreciate what you have. 

Too many times we, especially as women, save our “good” things, our fine jewelry, our nicer outfits, the designer bag and shoes, the fur coat, for special occasions.  We tend to save them for a ‘rainy’ day or a birthday celebration or somebody’s wedding.  But God said every day you wake up is a special occasion.  It’s a day that you have never seen before.  A day filled with brand new mercy.  It’s a new day and that makes it a special one.

God said when we put away our best, or save our best for last, so to speak, when we treat our things like that, we treat them as if they own us, dictating when, where and how we can use them.  But when we wear them, simply because we enjoy them, they are ours.  We own them and it shows in how we’re wearing them. 

I have seen and perhaps you have seen as well, men who wear suits and men whose suits wear them.  They are just clothes on their body.  You can readily see the difference in the two.  The same thing when you see people wearing sweats.  Some people look very comfortable in them.   They still look good.  They still look pulled together.  Others just look sloppy.  They just look like they threw on some clothes.  It shows in how they are wearing them.  It’s in their confidence.

I heard that statement again in my head, “She’s wearing that coat.”  Which means, I am owning my coat.  I am dressing up the coat giving it life, it is not dressing me.  It is not just on.  I am not concerned about what I’m wearing, only that I’m wearing it, because it is mine.  I own it and I’m wearing because I own it. 

And then I heard the Spirit of the Lord say that, this is the same thing with purpose.  When you know your purpose, what you are here for, what you are designed to do, created to be, you walk in it.  You wear it.  You own it.  You are confident with it. 

It is evident in how you walk.  It is evident in how you carry yourself.  How you talk.  In how you go about your day on a daily basis.  In how you live.  It is a part of you.  You live life on purpose, with purpose.  You live with intention and it shows.  You’re not concerned about people, what they think, what you look like to them.  You’re not concerned about whether it’s the right time to do what you have born to do, you’re not concerned with any time.  You’re not concerned with whether or not what you do will work.  You don’t even think about it, it just comes to you.  You just walk in it.  You put it on and you wear it. 

It comes out of your mouth when decisions come before you, basing your decisions on whether or not it falls in line with your purpose.  You can easily identify when things don’t line up with your purpose.  You simply carry out a life driven by purpose that you take on.  You own it.  It’s yours.

I wore my coat because it was cold.  And because I did not want to feel any type of cold, my inhibitions, (whatever they might be, saving it for the special occasion) went out the window and I WORE my coat.

Purpose is your because.  The reason behind you doing the things you do.  Know yours and wear it.  Well.

I’ll be wearing mine (and my coat if it’s cold enough), the next time you see me.

Because God is real, I am,

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Safe In His Mouth

Well, for the last two weeks my hubby has been away on business.  It’s been kind of rough to say the least, but we’re in the homestretch.  Bless God!

This morning I called him and he said, “Hi Peach.”  And it made me smile.  Not knowing why that simple greeting hit me so hard, I just brushed it off basically by telling myself I just miss him.  We had a conversation, albeit short, because he was in the middle of preparing for one of his cases today.

But when I got off the phone I was still thinking how it made me feel when he said my name.  And then I clearly heard, “Your name is safe in his mouth.”  Then something I just read came to me. It was a series of quotes that kids said about love, that someone put together in recognition of Valentine’s Day.   This particular one said this, "When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth." –From Billy, age 4. 

I said, “Wow, Lord.”  He allowed me to see firsthand not only what that felt like but what it meant.  It is so funny how we can read things and later on God will reveal a meaning.  That’s why it is so important that we read and study the Word of God, because as we do, something will happen and we will get the revelation, and therefore get the victory.  Praise God!

Anyway, my hubby said my name.  In this simple greeting of “Hi Peach,” I felt his love.  He has called me many things over the years (lol)… namely, terms of endearment, but because we have been together so long, very often we don’t call each other by our own names.  The names that we used when we first met and fell in love.  But when he said, Hi Peach, I felt his love and I felt the safety of his love.  I felt what the little boy said… my name is safe in his mouth.  That means I never have to worry about what he says about me.  I never have to be concerned about what he thinks of me.  He will never say anything that does not line up with how he feels about me.  He will always speak well of me.  He will never lie on me or wish bad things on me.  He will not want anything but the best for me.  Because he loves me and my name is safe in his mouth.  Hallelujah!

And then, God, with His awesome Self, says to me, “Your name is safe in My mouth, too.”  And my heart just melted.  Overwhelmed by love early in the morning.  I can’t but hear the psalmist, saying “Early in the morning will I seek thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is.  My heart and my flesh cry out for the Living God.”  And my name is safe in His mouth and so is yours.

But I can’t stop there because God always points the finger back at me when He reveals Himself.  So I have to ask the question of myself and I pray that you ask it as well, “Does what I do and say of God, about God, reflect the love I say I have for Him? Is His name safe in my mouth?”  Only I can answer that, but God already knows.

But God is real.  And He loves me because my name is safe in His mouth (and in my hubby’s).   

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Wednesday, February 11, 2015


The Scripture says in Romans 8:28, “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

I was reading about Saul and his conversion to the apostle Paul.

Everywhere Paul went, the Bible shows us, he was tormented in some way or another.  People protested against him, they threw him in prison, he was bit by a snake, he was bound, he was tortured, he was imprisoned, beaten, and the list goes on.  (Side note:  Yet he continued in his mission for the Lord… how many of us would have abandoned ship at the first sign at any one of these?)

But we know that God changed his name, because he before he became Paul, he was Saul.  And the Bible says that Saul went around breathing threatenings and cursings.  Saul went around tormenting people, in particular Christians.  So some of the same things that were now being to him as Paul, he already did to others.

Sounds a lot like sowing and reaping.  God’s Word is true.  Whatsoever a man soweth, THAT he shall also reap.  And just like the Word said Paul reaped what Saul sowed.

Yet God is good, in that while the enemy meant it for Paul’s bad, God turned it around for his good.  All things work together for the good.  The enemy’s intentions were to take Paul out. To steal, to kill and to destroy him.  It did not work, because God said not so and the Word says, “all things work together for the good for those who love the Lord,…”  It appears pretty obvious that Paul loved the Lord, willing to do His will and most of all willing to die doing it.  (Can that be said of us?... hmmm)

So while Paul went through ALL these things he yet lived to be able to go and share the gospel so many other places, because ALL things work together for the good… even the way he was.  And even the way we were. 

Whatever we've done in the past or whoever we used to be, that very thing God will turn around and make it work for the good... according to His purpose. 

Yes, God is real.  And so is His Word.

A servant of the Lord,
Sis. E

Thursday, February 5, 2015

DREAM (For those who have an ear)

God woke me up from a dream I had last night and told me to write it down and share it however I can.  It was 1:57am.

My husband (Jeff) and I, and our family all of a sudden were being led by someone telling us where to go, how to get there.  We arrived at this place which appeared out of nowhere.  It was like an invisible doorway.  It could not be seen on the outside and no one knew it was there, yet I got the feeling that it had always been there.  We went inside and it was somewhat like a house and it had all kinds of toys lying around, although I could not make out what kind of toys.  The place was empty and dark and I didn’t see any people.  We came to another entryway, which really wasn’t a door but just a space with what seemed to be a keyhole.  The guide told us we were too big for this world we were about to enter so we had to become small and gave us each some words to say to enter in.  A couple of my kids did it and seemingly just vanished into thin air.  Three of us were left when someone came in, who appeared to be a kid, playing with something that looked like a doll.  We were startled.  We were told by our guide in order for him (the kid) not to see us we had to imitate him (the kid). We had to act like him doing the same thing he was doing, and so we did almost appearing like a mirror before the kid and the kid went away.  The last one of my children said the words and disappeared by the keyhole, just like the others.  And Jeff desiring to go last, told me to go.  I said the words I was supposed to say, but nothing happened.  Thinking I said them the wrong way, I said them again and nothing happened.  Jeff looked at me and I panicked, saying the words a third time and again nothing happened.  I felt lost.  The guide came back and told Jeff to do it.  He didn’t want to.  He was hesitant, not wanting to go without me.  The guide told him he had to let go of this world in order to move to the next, including letting go of who was holding him back.  Right then it was me.  The guide told him to make a decision now and as hard as it was for Jeff, I could see it in his eyes, he chose to go, kissing me on my forehead, telling me he would love me forever.  And then he was gone.  All alone, I screamed and tried to get in.  But it was too late.  The boy saw me, though I tried my best to act like him.  He ran and got others.  A girl came crying trying to leave the world.  They caught her.  What took the form of a body, came and pulled her away by her hair, which was being stretched so much that her face, her head, transformed into another shape.  Then others came and took me and layed me down on a ground.  I had the feeling that I was about to be raped, but the form was castrated, it was just a shape of a man, and instead he and others just started stabbing me repeatedly on every place on my body.  I heard a voice that told me to count.   I counted 47 times and then though I could feel the pokes of whatever they were stabbing me with, they did not pierce me.  It felt like a shield had come over me.  Like I was being protected from the penetration of the stabbing.  The pokes kept coming, I was still counting and then I was grabbed. 

Jesus snatched me from their hands.  He woke me up and told me so.  And then He told me to write this down and tell somebody.  Anybody who would hear.

“You are on the verge of going to hell, there is a doorway, but you cannot see it yet.  But though you cannot see it, it is there. 

Keep looking… stop playing amongst the demons.  They don’t know that you are not exactly like them YET.  But they will know soon. 

I am coming. 
So are they. 

Make a decision and kiss your world goodbye.  Join Me. 

I cannot save you again.  I saved you once. 

I will not do it again.”

Hear the word of the Lord.