The Unbroken Circles of Love and Grace

Posted on March 22, 2025 by Mark

A blessing of age is being able to see how life, love, and grace moves in great circles. I noticed this one blustery day on the beach with my mom who was in her nineties. I had reached around her from behind to help her zip up her coat. I came to the front, adjusted her hood, and kissed her on the forehead. We had come full circle.

When Teckla and I lived in Kansas City, we took in a couple who found themselves homeless. Don explained that he was worked in “collections” for a motorcycle gang. Lorae, his wife, had suffered great trauma and heartbreak. Her teenage daughter was in rehab. Lorae had serious back problems from a car accident that took the lives of two of her children. After one night in our basement Don disappeared. Lorae was left broken spiritually, emotionally, and financially. It turned out later that Don had a second wife in Minnesota and had run up huge telephone bills that Lorae had no way to pay. Her life was so terrible that Teckla used “Lorae” as shorthand for any situation that was really bad and then got worse.

For a couple years, Teckla drove Lorae everywhere: doctors, social workers, stores, and church. Teckla was content to give freely as long as we could. I impatiently looked for solutions. After we moved from Kansas City back to Oregon, we lost track of Lorae. Years later we were contacted by her nephew on social media. He sent a friend request and asked if we were the Mark and Teckla that had done so much for his Aunt Lorae. He thanked us and explained that Lorae had died a Christian and never forgotten our love and kindness.

This reminder came at a good time because Teckla and I were now in Lorae’s place. Our son, Peter, was in and out of ICUs with his brittle diabetes, and Teckla had just been diagnosed with cancer in both breasts. We were living paycheck to paycheck. After surgery, Teckla needed to come to Eugene for four weeks of radiation treatments. I was still teaching at the college. Teckla and I were the legal guardian of Ari, Peter’s son. Everything seemed impossible until our friend Rosalie offered to drive Teckla wherever she needed to go—even the two and half hours to Eugene and back five days a week for four weeks. Others watched Ari when both Teckla and I needed to go to Eugene. In the midst of “our Lorae”, we had come full circle and were given the care Teckla had given Lorae so many years before.

Our “Lorae” experience continued for a while with my prostate cancer, Teckla’s gall bladder removal, Peter’s death, and Teckla’s diagnosis with dementia. Just when things couldn’t get worse, they did. But we are now blessed to complete more circles. When we adopted Peter as a baby, my parents stepped in and paid many of our expenses and we have recently been able to cover most of the cost of Dylan and Vanessa’s adopting Ari. Teckla and I rejoice in these great looping circles of grace and love that God weaves into our lives.

This morning after eating breakfast, taking medications, and praying and singing together, Teckla said, “Thank you.”  I asked her what she was thanking me for, she said, “For all you do for me.” For years, Teckla did so much to care for me, our sons, and so many others. It was now my turn, and my blessing, to care for her. I am now doing most of the cooking, cleaning, and management of our finances. Here is another circle of love and grace. None of these circles are simply the impersonal workings of karma. These circles are covered with the fingerprints of God and the fragrance of His love.

Time has taught me not just to love God, but to love His ways. Love never fails. Nothing given in the name of Jesus is ever lost, ever wasted. Even when we are weary, even when we can’t see the good ending for which we long, may the circles of God’s love and grace remain unbroken.     

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Ordinary Sacraments of Extraordinary Grace

Posted on March 19, 2025 by Mark

Ordinary Sacraments of Extraordinary Grace

  • The light in Teckla’s eyes when she worships: a steady distant gaze of glory, electric blue with joy.

  • Acorns: brown potential, fallen, squirreled and lost under snow, alive with hidden hope.

  • Buds: tightly folded, sheathed against the cold, until spring rains light the green fuse.

  • An old dog: the whimper of joy, the slow wag while rising on old legs.

  • Laughing children: Spring sun after a cold winter, untiring play.
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White-tailed

Posted on March 10, 2025 by Mark

Teckla and I take long walks every day. Although Johnson County is blighted with miles of industrial parks and suburban housing developments, it has many amazing parks and miles of bicycle and hiking trails. After a short drive, it is possible to stroll for hours through woods and prairie.

The winter has been harsh, with a couple blizzards, an ice storm, and many days below zero. The eastern cedar is the only evergreen native to this area, so forests are naked. I have enjoyed hiking through the bare bones of woods and limestone ridges. The rocks, cliffs, and gullies will be hidden behind a wall of green this summer, so I am trying to make a mental map of the land.

Yesterday Teckla and I scared up a white-tailed deer while we wandered through a stand of oak and shagbark hickory. The bare branches and bushes allowed us not only to hear the deer bounding through the woods but also see its tail flashing white in the sun. The contrast of the white tail against all the brown and grays of tree trunks was startling.

I suppose there is a survival advantage in the tail flashing like a white flag. It catches your eye and makes you look at where deer was and not where it is going. In the three seconds we watched the deer, we never saw whether it was a buck or a doe. We never saw its head or antlers. The soft grey and brown of its coat blended perfectly with the bare trees and bushes. After each leap, it was invisible.

Yet, it was thrilling to see. The trails were damp from the last melting snow, so we had seen many deer tracks. There was abundant evidence of their presence, but on most hikes, we had not seen any. Seeing the white-tails was a joy.

The white flash of the deer’s tail broke through the barrenness of winter with energy and beauty. I am grateful for how faithful the Holy Spirit is to pierce our barrenness with His beauty and grace. In many small ways, and in hidden places Teckla and I have seen the tracks of Holy Spirit in our lives, but it is wonderful when His beauty blazes bright and strong in the winter sun.  

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Winter Visions

Posted on February 21, 2025 by Mark

The second big snow covers the ground, and it was ten below last night. We moved here in July, so this is our first Kansas winter. At these temperatures, frostbite is a real danger, especially when the chill factor gets to 20 below. The cold wind cuts like daggers through your clothes and your face numbs instantly.

On the southern Oregon coast, the daffodils and crocuses are up. Snow queen is blooming at Euphoria Ridge under the myrtles. After throwing on a jacket, one can walk the Oregon beaches on a sunny February day. Here we have been housebound for a couple weeks, even though we are quick to get out when the temperatures hit the 40’s. People at the stores express how tired they are of winter, but I am patient. I am even patient with the barrenness of winter, the naked branches of trees, and dry rattle of wildflower stalks.

I have memories of spring from when we lived here in the 80’s. Few places have a more glorious spring. In April the redbuds bloom and spring beauty, phlox, and bluebells run riot in the woods. The air fills with living sweetness of spring and all things green. All is lush and alive.

Even now, the earth drinks deep from the melting blanket of snow. Rhizomes and roots stir, spread, and push deeper. Brown life percolates in spongy dirt as last year’s grass and leaves rot and dissolve. The melting snow is even gentler than the spring rains. Fallen seeds awaken. The slow-burning fuse of spring is lit. Beneath the melting snow lies the promise of spring’s green explosion of life and beauty.

Because I have seen spring, I celebrate instead of berate the cold and snow. Even though it has been 30 years since I have experienced a Kansas spring, the memory holds me steady. Just as one never really sees water until one finds a spring in the desert, one never experiences spring until they have had a winter of snow and ice. The certainty of spring and resurrection changes how we see this present winter.

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A Distant Shore

Posted on February 17, 2025 by Mark

In the middle of night, I listen to the rumble of the trains. The sleepy sound carries me away to nights camping on the Oregon coast. When the winds had died down and the traffic on 101 slowed, Teckla and I, snug in our sleeping bags, could hear the roar of the surf from our campsite at Washburn State Park.

Here in Gardner, the Santa Fe, California , and the Oregon trails met and parted. On patches of grass near the edges of farmer’s fields, one can still see the ruts the wagons made. Railroads replaced the trails long ago, killing some small towns and giving life to others, stitching the nation together with tracks.

The railroads testify that we are still a restless nation. Huge warehouses and miles of industrial parks have sprung up at the edge of Gardner. Near my neighborhood is Intermodal, a huge facility for the movement of containers from trucks to trains and from trains to trucks. Our restlessness is now expressed in consumption, not migration. The rail cars are stacked two high with Amazon and Walmart containers.

The trains run through town night and day. I suspect I will eventually cease to hear them, just as people who live near the ocean stop hearing the waves. But I hope not. The rattle, hum, and roar of the trains takes me home to nights sleeping beneath red cedar and spruce. The horn of the train barges through the winter nights like the foghorn at the jetty in Bandon. It calls me to a distant shore.

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Riptides

Posted on February 11, 2025 by Mark

I felt foolish and terrified. I had let my boys venture into the surf on boogie boards near the jetty at Bastendorf Beach. They had gone far enough out to catch some waves, but no matter how much they thrashed around they could not get back. They were fighting a current that would not let them paddle to where Teckla and I stood yelling over the roar of the surf. This is Oregon where the water is cold and the surf, rough. They did not have on wetsuits, so we feared the cold, current, and exhaustion would drown them.

In a panic, I jogged back to the dunes where some surfers were basking in the sun. I pointed to my boys and breathlessly asked a surfer, “Would you help my boys? They can’t make it back to shore.” I expected him to grab his board and rush into the water, but he just looked out at my boys. Then he said, “They are caught in a riptide. Tell them not to fight it. It will carry them south and spit them out on shore.” Sure enough, by the time I got back to surf’s edge they were wading through the waves to the beach.

Over the years, I have seen many believers caught in spiritual riptides. They are a pastor’s nightmare. No matter how hard they paddle, they don’t make any progress or move any closer to God. They exhaust themselves, and in their exhaustion, risk giving up and sinking beneath the waves. There are several kinds of spiritual riptides.

A common riptide is the cycle of trying harder and failing harder. We thrash around feeling guilty and ashamed, vowing to try harder and do better. But we never do, no matter how hard we paddle toward shore. I was saved at age nine but was stuck in this riptide until age sixteen. To be honest, I was not enjoying being a Christian no matter how many altar-calls I answered. Finally, I said, “God I can’t do this in my own strength, but I am going to follow Jesus without giving up. And if I fall, I will fall toward you.” At the time, I did not know I was doing this, but I began to trust God to keep me and give me strength. I also trusted in His unchanging love—love that did not disappear every time I sinned. I trusted in the current of His grace to save me. The result was joy—and growth.

Another riptide we can get caught in is fear and unbelief. This happened to Israel when God was ready to lead them into Canaan. Israel refused to listen to the good report of Caleb and Joshua and would not trust God to give them victory over the Canaanites. They were stuck wandering in the desert because of their unbelief and disobedience. Sometimes we are stuck because in one area of our life we have said no to God. We fail to grow spiritually  anywhere because we have declared one area of our life off-limits to God. Only complete surrender to the current of God’s brings us safely to shore.

A third riptide is a transactional relationship with God. This where we follow God to the degree that He keeps His end of the bargain. We will follow God if he gives us good health, a successful career, a happy marriage, godly children, and pastors that never fall. This huge tangle of “IF’s” makes all obedience partial, contingent, and tentative. To our stupid surprise, this approach never brings us closer to God. We never grow and never have the father/child relationship our heart longs for. To our dismay, we discover God will not stop being God. Clinging to Jesus and surrendering to the love revealed in His life, death, and resurrection sets us free from this riptide. We need to be able to proclaim that if God did nothing more for us than what He has done in Jesus on the cross, it would be enough.

A fourth riptide is our individualism. There is growth God can and will give only in the context of the Body of Christ, the church, the family of God. Because evangelicals rightly emphasize a personal relationship and experience of God, we are often blind to how central community is to God’s heart and his purposes. All the gifts of the Holy Spirit in I Corinthians 12, 13, and 14 are given for building (edifying) the Body of Christ, not so that individuals can have a successful ministry. Even the offices of apostle, prophet, pastor, teacher, and the evangelist are for equipping the saints.  When we seek in isolation what God will only give in community—we are stuck.

And as with real riptides, escape comes when we surrender. One of the paradoxes of faith is how hard we must work at resting in God and surrendering to His will. So much of our peace and growth comes from letting God undo much we thought we had to do to please Him. God will unravel our agenda, raising up values we ignored and bringing down castles we built on the sand of our pride.  

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The Snake in my Tears

Posted on January 31, 2025 by Mark

There should be a myth about a species of snake that lives off our tears and bites us when they begin to dry.

For the last couple years, after the death of my son, if asked how I was doing, I would say, “Terrible.” I said that to give myself permission to grieve, permission to feel my loss and brokenness. I recently finished All the Noise is in the Shallow End, a book by my pastor, Mark Warren. It is a bracing and honest account of his journey out of the shallow end of ambition, anxiety, and depression to the deep end of God’s grace and unconditional love. The book is a call to rest in just being with God and feeling God’s love in our bones and blood. In his excellent book, Mark challenges us to carefully examine ourselves.

I did not like the result of my examination.  I discovered, to my dismay, that I am doing well. I feel loved by God and have deep peace in the midst of genuine heartbreak. I am not “terrible” even though I will never stop grieving the loss of Peter. I am full of what I call “stupid joy”—stupid because all the facts of my life argue against it. It is probably more like a “holy joy”, but this claim seems pretentious. There is a calm and peace I cannot explain and is not the result of being zapped by God. My heart even feels free and open to love others.

What disturbs me is that part of me doesn’t want to be okay—at rest in God. Peter’s death, and the terrible years leading up to it, were genuinely traumatic. And trauma has given me a license to be broken, messed-up, and a little self-centered. If we have wounds, people let us take time to lick them. Our pain can numb us to the pain of others. I didn’t want, I discovered, to lose the license to not care—to be self-absorbed.

Even worse, my poetic soul does not want to give up the tragic aura of being ruined by the loss of those I love. Part of me, I must confess, wants to be sick with melancholy. It is hard since I don’t drink—but people might excuse me becoming a sloppy drunk, crying in my beer. I can finally be a hero with a tragic back story. But I can’t hold the pose of tortured poet without feeling ridiculous—and dishonest.  

I gave into temptation and revisited all the most traumatic moments. I cried a little, but realized I only had a healthy and reasonable grief—nothing grand, nothing poetic, nothing tragic. And these tears were a little forced—tears from the bite of the snake that feeds on them. I think all who go through trauma and grief must beware of this serpent and the license that trauma gives.

I am well because of all the little things. Each day Teckla I read scripture aloud, sing three hymns, sing some worship songs, and pray. God has not powerfully visited us during these times, but this practice has kept our hearts steadfast. As Mark Warner urges in his book, we have not been trying to get well or whole, we have been training—doing the spiritual exercises that allows God to heal us. We have not made it rain; we have only set out buckets and prayed. God’s grace and help has filled the buckets. Walks in the woods and prairies, hugs from grandchildren, and breakfast at Perkins with friends are a few of the common graces that sustain us.

I have traded the license of trauma for the freedom of the Spirit.

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If God Were My Pastor

Posted on January 29, 2025 by Mark

Once I taught a year-long Bible study on getting unstuck, so it is embarrassing to admit that I have been stuck in one area of my life: hearing God’s voice and experiencing His presence. Through all the heartbreak of my son dying, Teckla’s breast cancer, my cancer, and then Teckla’s dementia, I have not heard God say anything but, “Trust me.” For two years, I kept a journal titled, What God is Saying to Mark. Each day I meditated on Scripture, I wrote my name followed by a comma, and then scribbled whatever I thought God might be saying. Before coming to Kansas, I read through all my journals. After reading my record of God speaking to me, I tossed the journal in the fireplace, not in anger or frustration, simply because I could easily remember that I should trust God.  

I have been stuck yearning to experience God’s presence more directly. By faith and as a discipline, I proclaim that God is always with me and his promise to never leave us or forsake us is true. However, in all my heartbreak and loss, I find a God who is silent and invisible no different from a God who is absent. I have been comforted by my faith that God is with me but not comforted by God himself. I can, by faith, testify that through all the trauma and grief, God is with me, but I have had no direct experience of His presence.

I have felt stuck partly because so many testify that God was near them and strengthened them through the difficult times. On one level, nothing we possess comes from us, so if we simply endure, we have received grace and strength from God. And God is omnipresent, so He is always with us. But people usually mean they experienced God’s presence and felt His strength through the trials. They also testify to how God used the trials to help them grow closer to God. Perhaps steadfastness in the face of heartbreak is evidence of growth, but I do not feel more spiritual or any closer to God. I cannot testify that these trials have resulted in spiritual growth.

Another reason I have felt stuck is that so many speak of having conversations with God. Despite meditation on God’s Word, active listening, silence, and solitude, I have not had conversations with God. During all the years when Peter was in and out of ICU’s, often near death, ravaged by addiction and diabetes, I longed to have a conversation with Jesus. As I watch dementia steal away Teckla’s memories and ability to communicate, I would love to have a conversation with God. I am left wondering if there is something wrong with my heart since I do not have those give-and-take conversations with God.

If God were my pastor, here is what I think He might say

Mark, you are right: I have been and always will be with you. But the noise of your pain and grief makes it hard for you to hear me, so I have surrounded you with believers whose love and help could make my presence real to you. When you needed me, I was there through Tom, Carl, Mark, Phil, Steve, Andrew, and Rick. I was with you and Teckla through Rosalie, Amy, Erin, Petra, Christina, Heather, Judy, and Jessica. When your heart broke for Ari, mine did too, so I have wrapped him in the love of many—Carol and Ross and all your church family at the Presbyterian and the Nazarene church in Oregon. I opened the hearts of Dylan and Vanessa to adopt Ari and even moved the heart of the judge to finalize the adoption. I have made my presence real to you through the flesh and blood of my Son’s body.

Mark, you hear my voice more and better than you think. Although many may talk about conversations with me, I am God. Conversation with me is not the same as talking to a friend. I choose the topics. I also know that direct communication with you would mess you up. The more direct I am with you, the more accountable you are. What you say is my silence is often my mercy. And I know you perfectly, so I know when direct communication would blow up your life or make you unable to move or live without a clear word from me. I also know that an answer to one of your questions would only bring a hundred more. Often, I just need you to be still and trust me. By the way, I told you this.  

Mark, what I desire from you is more than obedience to commands. I am forming the character of my Son in you. I am more interested in you learning and walking in my ways than you getting information from me. When you feel my nudge, or a holy “ought” in your heart, I am inviting you to walk with me—not just work for me. I know this is not the conversation that answers your swarm of questions, but it is all you need to enjoy me.  

Yes, Mark, I am invisible, so you must walk by faith. But my Holy Spirit is in you and the Church is my Body—they will bless you and slap you whenever you need my touch. But be honest, you see me in many other ways. You saw me in Ari’s big smile when you told him his adoption was final. You heard my joy in chatter of the sparrows after the snow-storm. You saw my glory in the sun shining through the ice-covered branches. Yesterday, you saw my beauty in the bluebirds on the snow and the red-tailed hawks soaring in the blue Kansas sky. I could go on all day.

Mark, you have probably noticed that you feel my presence best and hear my voice most clearly when you are praying for or speaking to others. Even though you think this unfair, this too is my way. I want to flow through you, not to you. Your healing comes as you pray for the healing of others. You hear my voice best when I can use your voice to bless and encourage others.

Mark, don’t try to measure your growth through all these trials. Yes, I know you want to have “the good testimony” about all I have done for you through these hard times, but you will only see your growth clearly when we see each other face-to-face. And no, I am not telling you when that will be.

Mark, one last thing: I love you and we will talk soon.  

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Teckla: Woman of the Word

Posted on January 18, 2025 by Mark

Of all my blessings, one of the greatest is that I married a woman who has given herself to living out the truths of God’s Word. Among the pictures sent on her birthday, was one of Teckla sitting with high school friends in Pioneer Park  (Walla Walla) having a Bible study. From her earliest days as a Christian, Teckla has sought to know, and more importantly do, God’s Word.

Teckla was never one to clobber people with Bible verses. She always let the Spirit apply the verses to her life and heart, not in any legalistic way, but in a way that she felt pleased Jesus. Over the years I have seen a verse of Scripture put her on her knees asking God to change her and make her more like Jesus. Tenderly, she opened her heart and life to the scalpel of God’s Word.

Many may not know this, but Teckla was a Bible scholar. During the three years I taught at Mid-America Nazarene University in the 80’s, Teckla completed (with straight A’s) two years of New Testament Greek and numerous classes in Biblical Literature. She knew a solid hermeneutical approach to Scripture when she saw it. She knew how to do a word study in Greek or Hebrew. When she prepared for a Bible study, she was surrounded by commentaries, concordances, and word studies. Had she wanted the degree, a couple more classes would have given her a B. A. in Biblical Studies.

But for Teckla, God’s Word was never only academic, it was a stream of living water—headlights on life’s dark road. In our winding spiritual pilgrimage, Teckla would follow me anywhere that conformed to God’s Word and heart. The summer before my father died, I told Teckla that the commandment to honor my father and mother was burning in my heart and that I wanted to spend the summer painting my father’s and her mother’s houses. Teckla was quick to agree. Even more amazing, she was willing to sell our house in Kansas City and move to Myrtle Point to help my mother when my dad’s cancer became critical.

A few years later, After doing devotions in Job 29, I felt a strong call to be a “father to the fatherless”. Teckla and I had already adopted our son, Peter, so I initially thought this might mean being a soccer coach or something else on weekends. But within just few days a young man in Teckla’s youth group asked if we would consider adopting his older brother’s three boys. Because of God speaking to us from Job, we were certain this was God’s will. Because we listened to God’s voice through His Word, soon we were parents of four boys.  

In our theological journey, which meant losing my job at Mid-America, all I needed to do was show Teckla that I was being true to Scripture and we were of one heart. Making God’s Word the final authority in our lives left us with almost nothing to argue about. Our forty-six years of marriage have been amazingly free of disagreement and fighting. Part of the reason for this is that we love not just the Word of God, but the ways of God. Together we have come to value what God values, love what He loves. We have embraced the upside-down kingdom where the servant of all the greatest of all.  

Even though Teckla is struggling with memory loss, we read a chapter of the Bible aloud each morning. She still reads well but sometimes switches one word for another. Her first try at John 15:12 was “This is my condiment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you.” She caught her mistake, but I liked her “Living Bible” paraphrase. Her life has been full of the condiment of obedience to God’s Word—nothing stuffy, just the rich, sweet fragrance and taste of God’s love.

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Selections from Birthday Cards for Teckla 2024

Posted on January 5, 2025 by Mark
  • What a beautiful woman you are inside and out. I have always remembered the “Blue House” days, pulling taffy, going out to cut down a Christmas tree, meals at the dinner table, your smile, laughter and tears as a handful of us sat around while you read The Chronicles of Narnia and Pooh.
  • I have always admired how well you get things done, mostly loving others well.
  • When I think of spending time with you, I’m reminded of how you allowed me to be a part of your family and your boys calling me Aunt Jo-Jo. You are forever my friend, and forever family.
  • The one thing I will forever be grateful for is that you were an amazing counselor and confidant to me back in the Blue House.
  • You were and are always someone I loved so much—you had the quietness and grace of a godly woman.
  • I will always remember your warm welcome when I first volunteered at the Pregnancy Resource Center. Thank you for your kindness and help.
  • I don’t know if you remember me (Class of 72), but I remember you, as this sweet, soft spoken and quiet young lady.
  • I so appreciate working with you at the Pregnancy Resource Center; it was so good to see your patience and caring that shined out in all circumstances. I was so blessed to know you.
  • We would meet in Pioneer Park in Walla Wall for prayer, Bible study and fellowship (singing, laughing, sharing). What a special time. Your friendship and love remained in my heart all these many years.
  • We still think about the time when we were homeless, and you welcomed me to live on your enclosed porch even though the house was full. Thank you for loving and caring for us while we were establishing our new marriage.
  • I always loved it when you prayed before my shift at the Pregnancy Center. I would arrive with worries about my ability to do the work at the Center, but somehow when you finished praying, I had no doubt that God had it all under control.
  • You and your family introduced me to the Nazarene Church in Walla Walla. You were instrumental in my accepting Jesus as Savior, and I will always remember your genuine and loving faith.
  • You took me under your wing and in your beautiful, quiet way, taught me so much, not only about volunteering at the Center but sharing your unshakeable faith in God and the importance of giving the day to our lord.
  • You made the WOW [Women of the Word] Bible study really come alive for me. You always had a way of digging deep into Scripture and bringing out truths I had never seen.
  • It was wonderful getting to worship with you; you led us all so well.
  • I will always remember your lovely playing on the hammered dulcimer and how sweet and gentle you have always been.
  • I will never forget that at my wedding, you spoke kindly about my character and my love of God. I have carried your kind words with me since then.
  • Thank you for showing me what a godly woman looks like; you are a Proverbs 31 woman.
  • I remember when you taught my children and me primer Hebrew. You were the best teacher! I will never forget your gracious patience towards me, my children, and everyone.
  • In high school we were buddies. You were so sweet and funny. You always made me laugh.
  • Thanks for the early years of helping me get the tools I needed to raise my son while at the Caring Pregnancy Center. My son is now an officer at the US Air Force Academy in Colorado class of 2028.
  • I remember your gentle and kind spirit. Your smile always made a room brighten up. It made you so approachable. Also, I remember your sweet singing voice.
  • Your sweet prayers always spoke to me. Your quiet, gentle spirit was so much what I wanted to emulate (still working on that).
  • I will never forget how you stepped up to take the president’s job at the Pregnancy Center. You were so faithful to bring board enrichment every month and lead us through the many changes.
  • God has used you to change lives and many of us are so incredibly thankful for your loving obedience, your surrender, and your love.
  • I have missed your sweet, gentle spirit, and remember fondly all our time together at the OYAN workshops.
  • We have enjoyed knowing you with your kind smile and the love you have for Jesus and family.
  • I will always remember your gentle, sweet spirit and your gentle and consistent presence in my life during a difficult time.
  • What we remember best is how special you made us feel. Always ready with a sweet hug, encouraging words, cheerful countenance, and a caring heart. Our encounters with you refreshed our hearts. Your gentleness is evident to all.
  • The very best times were when we prayed. Your heartfelt, deep, wise prayers still mean so much to me.
  • You were always such a bright light and calming influence at the Pregnancy Center. You brought much joy and God used you mightily there.
  • I visited your church [Olathe Fellowship] in 1985, and you were on the worship team. You were radiant for Jesus. It showed me that there was more than I had yet experienced of God. It began a journey that continues today.
  • You were a great spiritual leader in Women of the Word Bible studies and many women were blessed by your love for Jesus. You always modeled a gentle, quiet spirit and your prayers showed that had deep friendship with Jesus.
  • I have good memories of women’s Bible study in the Blue House. Thank you for your encouragement, prayers, and love during difficult years in my life.

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