Category Archives: Literature

Geezer Up (Part 8)

Jane

Because of my standby reservation, I was the last person to board the Virgin Airline’s Airbus A320. One hundred and forty-five other passengers walked ahead of me to their seats. I looked at my boarding pass − Row 24 Seat B − and tried to look over shoulders and heads for my seat, but my five feet three inches of stature hindered my efforts. I eventually arrived there, lifted my black suitcase into the overhead storage compartment, and squeezed past the outside passenger’s long legs into the seat.

The young sailor with a shaved head in Seat A by the window looked up from his iPad and nodded at me. The lanky man to my right, sitting by the aisle in Seat C, paid no attention and opened his iPad, connecting to the Internet through Virgin’s free WiFi service. Both put headphones on as soon as the plane taxied toward the runway.

I reached down and pulled a Michael Connelly paperback novel out of my purse, but the Harry Bosch story failed to hold my interest for long. My mind kept wandering back over Dylan’s and my off-the-beaten-path spiritual journey.

It all began when Dylan walked out of Jedidiah Smith Community Church on that first Sunday in June three years earlier when the new pastor preached his first sermon. Dylan explained that he couldn’t listen to another sermon while he ignored the Lord’s voice telling him to branch off into a different type of church ministry. That different type of church ended up being a home church, which we called Last Chance. Two senior couples joined us in the new venture: Phil and Faye Strawmeier and Vinnie and Gracie Nguyen. Both couples had been our closest friends for years. Others joined our house church so that the original assembly now numbered eighteen people.

But it was Pamela Walter’s words to Dylan and me just before she died which stirred Dylan’s heart. “The Lord wants the Last Chance groups, like yours, to spread all along the West Coast, from San Diego to Seattle. He wants to use senior citizens as His last chance army to touch millions of people −” she said.

Dylan interrupted her and explained we didn’t know how to do something like that.

I still remember her words: “Shush! Of course, you don’t, but He knows how to do it. Fast and pray and He will show you.”

Then, she died.

Dylan focused his life on obeying Pamela’s prophetic words to us from that moment forward. He fasted, prayed, studied the word, and continually sought the Lord on what we needed to do. His seeking led to three new groups being started: one in Hemet, Lake Elsinore, and Corona.

I went along with whatever Dylan wanted, not because I heard the Lord’s voice for myself or even felt impressed to do so. I just trusted that Dylan heard the Lord’s voice and followed him. Maybe I caved in too easily rather than seeking the Lord on my own.

But when Dylan said he felt the Lord wanted us to plant Last Chance home churches in San Francisco, I was shocked and nervous. As he spoke his vision to me, I comforted myself by figuring it would be years before we reached the Bay area. Yet, two days later, he received an invitation to speak at a Business Men’s Fellowship luncheon in China Town. He left a week later, hoping doors would open for Last Chance groups in San Francisco.

I watched him leave and waved at him, but in my heart, I prayed nothing special would happen. I hoped it would be a nice trip for Dylan but nothing more. Nothing more at all.

Maybe you think I’m selfish and maybe I am. But I am seventy-three years old and so is Dylan. I want to get off this spiritual merry-go-round and enjoy life again. Do some traveling to Branson, Lake Tahoe, Las Vegas, and even Paris or London. I want to enjoy our sunset years without worrying about jail or confrontations. Why not? We deserve it, don’t we?

(Continued in Part 9…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 7)

Jane

“Hi Jane, I’ve been expecting your call,” said J. C. as he answered my phone call.

“Hi, I figured you would.”

“You probably want to know what happened?”

“Right! Dylan said that it was no big deal, but he’s the master of understatement. So, fill in the gaps between hate crime, no big deal, and a broken nose.

J. C. laughed.

“Well, as you know Dylan spoke and gave his testimony at our businessmen’s noontime luncheon down in China town. There were about thirty men there. All enjoyed his words and I’d say it was a great success.

J. C. was the owner of Bates Properties, a commercial real estate firm in San Francisco. His success caused him to seek ways on how he could give back to the city he loved. He ended up being involved in Business Men’s Fellowship and became the chapter president.

“After the luncheon, I was driving him to Mission Terrace to spend some time together before I dropped him off at the airport. We were heading down Market Street, past the Castro District, when we saw a Pride parade. He asked to stop and watch. I pulled over and walked across the street with him.”

“So far,” I said, “everything seems okay.”

“Yeah, nothing happened until Dylan stepped off the curb and began preaching in a loud voice, ‘Each of you must repent of your sins and turn to God, and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. Then you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.'”

J. C. paused for a moment.

“Then everything happened at once. A couple of guys pushed and shoved him. Another hit him in the face, knocking his glasses off. He fell to the ground and quite a few kicked him. Two police officers came over and inquired what was happening. A man said that Dylan was preaching hate. One officer asked Dylan what he was doing and he replied he was preaching the Gospel of the kingdom of God. They cuffed him and threw into a police cruiser and took him off to jail.”

“That’s all my sweet hubby did.”

“Yep and he even forgave the crowd before he was ushered away.”

We talked a few minutes more. J. C. offered to pick me up at the airport and wanted me stay in his home with his wife and him.

I agreed to his offers, but I still had an unanswered question gnawing at me.

(Continued in Part 8…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 5)

Dylan

The heavy-set bailiff with a booming voice announced, “The People of San Francisco against Dylan Matthews.”

Almost with a snap of a finger, I stood to the right of Artie Chin while a junior prosecutor stood on the other side of Chin. Judge Ester Strong sat directly in front of us. The sixty or so year-old judge looked down at the file in front of her and then over at me. A slight smile crossed her lips for a nano-second before she resumed her judicial posture.

Back and forth legalese-filled salvos from the prosecutor and my lawyer ended up with Chin saying, “My client enters a not-guilty plea.”

“I’m inclined to allow Mr. Matthews to be released on his own recognizance, without bail, but I do want to ask him a couple of questions,” said Judge Strong, leaning forward and staring into my eyes. “What will you do if I set you free this morning? Will you go back to Temecula and return for your preliminary hearing in two weeks?”

Three possible answers crossed my mind at that moment: forty-sixth anniversary trip to Tahoe, playing with grandchildren, or enjoying a few rounds of golf with my buddies. All would have pleased the judge so I could have walked out the door into the sunlight once again, but they all evaporated into nothingness. What came out of my mouth caused a reaction much like dropping a live grenade into the courtroom.

“I will walk out the door and go directly to the Castro District and preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to that community. They deserve to be set free from the kingdom of darkness by the love of Jesus.”

Judge Strong stood up and pointed a finger at me. Her judicial mask slipped off her face, revealing her inner feelings.

“Mr. Matthews, you have no right to impose your self-righteous religious beliefs on our gay and lesbian communities. I will make sure your bigoted beliefs cost you dearly by setting your bail at one hundred thousand dollars and remanding you to our county jail. What do you think of that, Mr. Matthews?” she proclaimed loud enough for everyone in the building to hear her.

I shrugged.

“I shall not pay one dime nor allow anyone to raise money to set me free nor will I eat another bite of food until I am set free from this jail. Whether I walk out the door or am carried out in a casket is up to the Lord, I shall trust Him to set me free,” I replied.

“Well, we’ll see about your so-called God and how your arrogance holds up two weeks from now at your preliminary hearing. Next case.”

My lawyer escorted me back to the small holding pen.

“Maybe you would have answered differently if I would have warned you ahead of time that Judge Strong is a lesbian and staunch leader in the LGBT movement,” he whispered.

I laughed.

“Probably not.”

Then, a voice cut my heart.

“Dylan, Dylan, I love you…”

I turned to see Jane waving at me. She looked great in her yellow dress, one of my favorites, but all I could do was nod my head and wonder about what she was thinking.

(Continued in Part 6…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 3)

Dylan

The afternoon turned into evening and the evening into night. The only change was the fourteen people that joined us in the holding cell. The newcomers forced me to make a decision between sitting with murderers or with vomiting drunks and strung-out druggies. I chose the five MS-13 homies and behaved myself.

Do you remember how bad school lunches tasted when you were in first grade? Dry bread, chalky-tasting peanut butter sandwiches, and soggy potato chips served with stewed prunes and a dollop of day-old whipped cream. All of it ladled out on a yellow compartment tray.

Well, let me tell you, my first bite into the peanut butter sandwich made me yearn for the good old days of first grade. I gagged and spit up a mouthful into a napkin.

“Hey, old white man, about three in the morning, you’ll be wishing you ate this garbage,” said the youth with the teardrops tattooed under his eyes.

I shook my head and offered my tray to him. He took it and consumed both his and mine. I admired how he and his friends adapted to their situations without so much as a single complaint. I supposed being in jail was just a normal part of their lives.

But the smell!

Nineteen guys in a ten by twenty room with vomit, diarrhea, normal toilet usage, and BO swirling around us without a fan to alleviate the stench. My poor stomach tried its best to unload itself, but somehow everything remained below deck. Steady as she goes, I thought to myself in a moment of humor, which quickly passed

And sleeping!

If I leaned back, my back hurt because of the iron bars, but leaning forward moved my nose closer to the vomit and diarrhea on the floor. I compromised by slouching down like an old sweater midway between both positions. I dozed a little here and there throughout the night, but around 3 a.m., I had a vision.

In it, I was seated high above the city of San Francisco, maybe in the heavenly places looking down on the city. I heard the Holy Spirit speak to my heart, “I am going to use your time in jail as an opportunity to take on the spirit of depravity, which is the main principality governing San Francisco. Be bold and allow me to speak through you. I will give you more than enough grace for this experience.”

I then fell into a deep sleep, comforted by the gift of faith which enveloped me like a warm quilt.

(Continued in Part 4…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 2)

Dylan

Any syrupy ideas I might have had about jail were quickly erased when the door banged shut to my holding cell. The five young men who sat on the bolted down metal benches, which lined both sides of the cell, followed me with their dark eyes as I sat down in the far right corner. A stainless steel toilet without a lid and a sink stood in the middle of the back wall. No privacy here, I thought.

“Hey, old white man, what terrible crime have you committed that the police would lock you up with five MS-13 homies charged with murder?” asked a young man covered with tattoos and wearing a white tank top.

My ears perked up with the mention of MS-13, also known as the Mara Salvatrucha. It’s the most violent gang in the United States with its members known for their cruel murders and merciless revenge.

“I preached the gospel of Jesus Christ to the LGBT parade watchers down in the Castro District. Some became angry and kicked me around like an old football. I was charged with a hate crime.”

“Did you fight back, old man?” asked a short young man with teardrops tattooed under both eyes.

“No, of course, not,” I replied.

The five laughed and slapped each other on the back as if my words were the funniest ones ever spoken.

“Old man, that is so hilarious!” said the biggest youth with a large scar on his neck. “You preach the gospel to gays and lesbians. Then they beat and kick the crap out of you, but you don’t fight back. And you’re the one who gets charged with a hate crime. We MS-13 homies understand that type of justice. So, what happened to the gays who did this to you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I pray that God won’t hold their actions against them.”

The same youth leaned toward me. “Do you really think God cares about gays and lesbians?”

“Yes, and not only that, He cares and loves you, too.”

“Old white man, now you’ve gone too far.”

The five leaned back and closed their eyes, ignoring my presence.

I sat there, checking myself out. My broken nose hurt. My ribs were sore and all of the other bruises added to my suffering. Yet, in the midst of my pain, I wanted to jump and shout and praise God because He counted me worthy to suffer for His name.

“Lord,” I prayed softly, “thanks for giving a seventy-one year old geezer, like me, a second chance to be a part of the action and not allowing me to retire from Your kingdom work. And Lord, use me even more in the days ahead.”

The Lord reminded me of this prayer often in the days following it.

(A new sequel to my eBook, Unhitched Geezer.)

(Continued in Part 3…if you’re interested, the full series to date may be seen here.) 

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Geezer Up (Part 1)

 

 

Dylan

I hated phoning Jane, but there were no other options because she needed to know my situation. The long distance operator took my info in a business-like manner and connected the call as I sat there with my hands cuffed together. Sweat dripped off my forehead onto the plastic-covered information blotter in front of me. The police officer standing next to me belched, coating the air with his garlic and onion breath.

“Dylan, what’s wrong?” Jane shouted into her cellphone.

“Well, I have a little situation here in San Francisco, but don’t worry —”

“Don’t worry! Are you kidding? Where are you right now? And where’s your cellphone?”

“I’m at County Jail Number Four, on Bryant Street in San Francisco —”

“Is this one of your jokes? If it is, it’s not funny!”

“Honey, it’s not a joke. I’m being charged with a hate crime and will be arraigned tomorrow morning. You need to call our attorney, Jacob, and have him refer me to a criminal lawyer here in San Francisco. Tell him I’m in County Jail Number Four.”

A gasp could be heard through the receiver, followed by a few sniffles.

“Hate crime? What’d you do?”

“It’s really no big deal. I just preached a short message to the gays in the Castro District. That’s all…no big deal. So don’t worry, please.”

“Gunsmoke, no big deal! It’s Pride Week there, right? Did they rough you up?”

“There was a little fighting, maybe even a small riot. I have a few bruises, but my nose should be okay once a doctor  checks me out and sets it in place.”

BEEP!

“Sweetheart, don’t talk. That beep means we have thirty seconds left before we’re disconnected. Call Jacob and tell him I’m at County Jail Number Four.”

“Honey, I love you and —”

The officer tapped me on the shoulder as soon as my call finished. I stood up and he pointed toward the door, leading back to lockup.

Yikes, I thought as I walked through the door, Jane’s really upset because she called me by my college nickname –Gunsmoke – which she hates. Not only that, she’s probably wondering how my arrest will affect our forty-sixth wedding anniversary plans to travel to Tahoe for this upcoming weekend. What a jam you’re in, Dylan Matthews! I’d better geezer up and prepare my seventy-three year old body for what awaits me in the days ahead.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which is free on Amazon today. Check it out here.)

(Continued in Part 2)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 13)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

A Catholic friend of mine hungered for the baptism of the Holy Spirit for many months. Her trips to large Charismatic Renewal conferences in Des Moines and Kansas City resulted in nothing happening for her.

So, she came up with a Plan B. When her husband left for work and her children attended school, she would go into the living room, place candles on the floor, light them, and bow down in the middle of the lit candles. There she cried out to God for the baptism of the Holy Spirit.

Plan B failed, too.

On a July 4th holiday weekend, she invited another family to their home for a picnic. What says Independence Day more than hot dogs, potato salad, and a picnic, right? While she stirred a large batch of potato salad, she looked out the window at her friends and husband, and at that precise moment, she was baptized in the Holy Spirit and spoke in tongues.

Now, think about this for a few seconds. What was God thinking when He baptized her in the Holy Spirit at that awkward moment? Couldn’t He have performed it at a more opportune time?

REMEMBER: God is Boss and He chooses the breakthrough times in our lives. We don’t!

A little over four weeks ago, I turned on the water, stepped into the shower, and the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart: “Full Gospel Businessmen’s Fellowship.”

I was absolutely shocked because I had not thought about that particular men’s fellowship in over twenty-five years. The FGBF had been an important part of my life in my early Christian years, but I had drifted away when I moved to Ames, Iowa.

As soon as I dried myself and slipped on some clothes, I rushed downstairs to check on the computer for the nearest FGBF chapter. None were nearby or within fifty miles. Yet, in my Google searches, I ran across another businessmen’s group: Business Men’s Fellowship. There was a local phone number for BMF and I called it.

My phone call resulted in a meeting at Starbucks with Bill Keith, who had moved to Temecula a few months before and happens to be a great guy and the national president for Business Men’s Fellowship. What a remarkable coincidence, right?

We talked for a few minutes and then I looked at him and said, “I’ve been waiting for twenty-two years for you. Where have you been?”

(Continued in Part 14…if you’re interested, the full series to date can be seen here.)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 12)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

 

It was only a dream, but it seemed so real.

I stood on a starting line for a race. A man dressed in a long white robe stood off to my left, wearing leather sandals on his feet. His dark beard and long hair framed his bronze face. He held a starter’s gun in his hand and nodded at me.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I pulled up my red track shorts, yanked my white athletic t-shirt outside my shorts for more freedom of movement, and checked to see if my shoestrings were tied tightly on my Nike running shoes. Everything seemed ready. I nodded back at him.

“Now remember,” he said, “you need to go as fast as you can. This is a timed race. You only have a limited amount of time to finish it, okay?

I looked over the racecourse. In the distance, I saw the finish line with healing, deliverance, prosperity, miracles, wonders, peace, and joy awaiting me on the other side. Between the starting and finishing lines stretched an obstacle course. Posts sticking out of the ground. Fences. Brick walls. Quicksand pits. Mud bogs. Trees. Rivers. Water falls. Railroad tracks. Highways. Tunnels. Dangerous cliffs. A narrow path zigzagged its way through the course like a switchback jungle road. It looks easy enough, I thought, just stay on the path and run as fast as I can.

I nodded again to him.

“Get ready.”

I got down on my haunches.

“Get set.”

I rose into a sprinter’s position. My feet and legs strained, set to slingshot my body forward.

“But first, you’ll need this,” he said before firing the gun.

He walked over and covered my eyes with a black blindfold. Not one ray of light touched my eyes. I could not see a thing, not even my feet.

“Now, don’t forget, you must go as fast as you can.”

I heard a faint whispering behind me, a soft voice saying something. I paid no attention to it.

BANG!

I took off like an Olympic sprinter, running as fast as I could.

BAM!

I hit a post and fell to the ground. My nose felt like it was broken with blood gushing from it. The warm wetness soaked through my t-shirt. It hurt so much I wanted to just lie there and quit.

The dark haired starter walked over and stood above me.

“Now, don’t forget this is a timed race. You need to run as fast as you can.”

I struggled to my feet. As I did, the same soft voice whispered words behind me. But again, I paid no attention and took off running.

YUCK!

I fell into a quicksand pit and found myself sinking under the heavy glop. The more I flailed my arms and legs, the faster I sank. The sandy goop soon reached my neck, not far from my nose.

“Help me, Lord,” I shouted.

My body relaxed and I floated over to the edge, crawling out of the pit. I flopped down there. It was all I could do to catch my breath from the all-out physical effort of trying to survive. I wanted to quit.

“Don’t forget. This is a timed race. You need to go as fast as you can,” the starter exclaimed.

Why I stood up, I don’t know. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment or possibly a modern day Don Quixote searching for futile endeavors to joust against. I brushed the sand off my legs and attempted to clean my shoes. I once more heard what sounded like soft whispers in the background, but like the earlier times, I ignored them.

My sense of direction was completely out of kilter. I could not figure up from down, let alone north, south, east, or west. However, I gave it the old college try and took off running.

SPLASH!

I feel into a deep river with fast-moving waters rushing over me. The hurtling rapids sent me flying downstream in a haphazard manner, smashing my body against rocks and floating logs. I attempted to swim toward shore, but the full force of the current battered my body, flinging me about like a rag doll in a typhoon.

“Lord, help me!” I screamed.

My hand reached out and grasped a tree limb. I pulled myself across the stream, hand over hand on the limb, and climbed onto the shore. This was the end. I couldn’t handle anymore.

I heard the soft voice whispering to me once again. This time I gave it my full attention and listened.

“Stand up,” said the gentle voice.

I obeyed it.

“Okay, now turn to your right ninety degrees.”

Again, I obeyed.

“Walk four steps ahead and stop.”

I walked ahead and waited for the next command.

“Turn forty-five degrees to your left.”

I turned.

“You went too far. Turn to your right five degrees.”

I adjusted myself in accordance with the instructions.

“Walk ten steps forward and wait.”

I stopped after walking ten steps.

“Won’t this take a long time to finish the obstacle course,” I said.

The gentle voice laughed.

“My system is the fastest way through the obstacle course. However, you can always choose to return to your running blindly method, but as you have learned, that can be extremely painful. What do you want to do?” the voice said.

“Lord, what’s Your next instruction?”

Then I awoke with a Bible verse on my mind:

“Your own ears will hear Him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” whether to the right or to the left (Isaiah 30:21 NLT).

The dream made perfect sense to me: wait on Him and follow the voice of the Holy Spirit when He spoke to me. It seemed so easy at the time, but soon things became more complicated.

(Excerpt from The Hunt for Larry Who by Larry Nevenhoven, ©2014, Amazon eBook)

This dream certainly depicts my journey on building a publishing company.

(Continued in Part 13…if you’re interested, the full series to date can be seen here.)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 11)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

(Click on photo to enlarge)

As a young Christian, the Lord spoke to my heart, “Don’t ask Me why I want you to do something. Just do it.”

So, it’s been my desire to obey these words over the last thirty years. Have I made mistakes? Yes, but even then, I have learned to rely on the following —

Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits, whether they are of God; because many false prophets have gone out into the world. (1 John 4:1)

Every command or direction we feel the Lord is speaking to us, we must accept by faith, and then act on it in faith, which is one way to test the spirits. If it turns out not to be the Lord’s voice, we have to trust that the Lord’s grace will cover our errors.

So far, the Lord’s grace has been more than sufficient for me.

Okay, in Part 9, I wrote that I felt the Lord wanted me to start a Noontime Prayer Meeting for Geezers. What happened?

I delivered flyers to every church in the city (75 or so) and posted signs directing people to the outdoor noontime prayer meeting along the roadway. For weeks, I fasted and prayed each Friday at an open air park shelter with numerous people watching on.

My results were perfect: I always showed up and no one else did – as in zero, zilch, nada.

Did this discourage me? No, not at all.

I’ve learned over the years that it’s my job to obey what I believe are His commands and it’s His job to act. If He wants me to look like a fool or to fail, that’s His choice, not mine because I’m His servant, always ready to follow His commands.

But then, four weeks ago, the Lord spoke a new word to my heart.

(Continued in Part 12…if you’re interested, the full series to date can be seen here.)

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The Rumors of Larry’s Death Were Not Greatly Exaggerated (Part 10)

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(Click on photo to enlarge)

I began this series on January 10, 2015, but because nothing was moving forward for me, I placed it on hold. Now things are happening again. So, I’ve decided to rerun the earlier parts before I began anew. If you don’t want to wait, you can read the first ten parts in their entirety here.

 

Twenty years ago, if you would have asked, “What will you say when your publishing company is successful?”

I would have quickly answered by singing a Toby Keith song: “How do you like me now? Now that I’m on my way. Do you still think I’m crazy, standing here today? I couldn’t make you love me, but I always dreamed about…How do you like me now?”

You see, when you’re walking through the wildernesses designed just for you by God, there’s not a lot of people who believe in you because of your mistakes and how unsuccessful you appear to them. If you bother to mention your dreams to others, you invite ridicule and the inevitable questions: “How?” and “When?”

And all you can do is shrug your shoulders at their queries.

But in all this, you have to hold onto the promises given to you by God. You can’t ever let go of them. Each day, you must thank the Lord for your publishing company and your promises being fulfilled, even if you’re sleeping in a car and eating out of dumpsters. Walking by faith is not an easy path for anyone.

So, for a major part of my journey through the wilderness, I kept going for one major reason: the desire to prove my worth to others. I wanted to show them that I heard God’s voice and that He honored me for my perseverance.

Today, if you asked me the same question, I would answer, “It was by His grace and I deserve no credit for any success.”

Somehow, in the wilderness, it no longer became about me and my quest, it became all about Him.

(Continued in Part 11)

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