MY SISTER PAULA

by Danna Shirley

            I would never have believed that my sister, Paula, and I would become so close as adults considering the miles that separated us over the years and all the battles we fought as children. She was the middle daughter and I was two years younger. I suppose as the middle child she had to “try harder.” 

            As all siblings do at times, Paula and I had our differences . . . dare I say fights? She would sharpen her nails into daggers and then come at me ready to scratch my eyes out. I remember going to her closet and pulling all of her clothes off the hangers and letting them drop on the floor. When she found the pile and screamed, mom came running and saw what I had done. 

            Mom said, “Well, that’s the only way she can get back at you. She won’t come up against those fingernails.”

            At other times, the one on the losing end, usually me, would run to the hall bathroom and lock the door. She was smart enough to pick the lock and get to me anyway. Once I was the one chasing her into the bathroom and when I was able to pick the lock, she had pulled out one of the drawers and blocked the door from opening. She was always one step ahead of everyone!

            The only injury suffered during these years was a broken finger . . . mine! She attempted to slam my parent’s bedroom door shut trying to get in their room to lock it behind her. I thought I would be smart and put my hand in the door jam to stop her. Not smart! We only lived about four blocks from our doctor’s office so she walked me all the way to Dr. Berger’s on San Pablo Avenue. I fell asleep in one of the examining rooms and when I awoke, Mom was there to take me home.

            Nan, our oldest sister, was pretty docile and I was pretty docile, but Paula could spin us up the walls in a heartbeat. Nan and Paula used to play Canasta and Rummy and I would watch. Paula was a card shark and I mean a “shark.” When I finally grew old enough and learned to play with them, it was frustrating to say the least. I could never win against Paula; very few people did! One of her tactics was to discard something she would want later so she could pick up the whole pile when it was full of good cards. Nan and I struggled to just keep our hands going while Paula gloried with the table full of runs and three of a kind and would go out on us, always her goal from the beginning.

Now as adults, we play Hand and Foot. It’s humorous to still see the wheels of conquest in motion behind her eyes. She hasn’t changed a bit. Today, though, the competition isn’t fierce. We’ve all mellowed considerably and enjoy each other’s company immensely.

            When my husband died, Paula (in CA) would call me (in MS) every morning and every evening to check on me. I told her it wasn’t necessary to call twice a day but she insisted saying she didn’t want me to wake up alone or go to be alone without a “good morning” or a “good night.” She let me talk and cry and never got tired of being there for me. When a friend moved in four months later, her calls became less frequent because she knew I had someone to be with me.

Now that I’m in Bartlett, TN, and still alone, she calls almost every day. I’m going to CA to see her in August and she’s coming to TN to see me in October. Our plans are to kidnap our sister, Nan, for her 65^th birthday and we’re all going to Pigeon Forge for a girl’s getaway.

            I thank God for my sisters.  Such good memories are even more special at our age.

June, 2007

I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU...

by Danna Shirley

          Two people can get very comfortable with each other after thirty-four years of marriage.  Our nest was finally empty and my husband, Ron, and I were enjoying our warm and contented, quiet and peaceful life together.  We had worked hard, he more than I, and every so often he would figure our finances calculating the exact date we could retire and still live well on our savings.  Every day was harder and harder on him physically for he suffered with fibromyalgia, a chronic disorder that causes pain and tenderness in the muscles and soft tissue, as well as insomnia, fatigue, and any number of other problems. On top of his daily ration of pain from the fibromyalgia, he developed the flu at Christmastime. He seemed to recover from everything but that nasty cough that wouldn’t let go.        

            Ron worked in the defense industry in Pascagoula, MS (Navy ships; Aegis weapons, etc.) and although he knew that everyone is replaceable, his boss did not want any testing done without his watchful eye. It was not until February that he surrendered to go to the doctor.  Why? The Iraqi War began in March! By the time he sought medical help, the cough had a firm grip on him and he was now diagnosed with pneumonia. The doctor wanted to put him in the hospital but he refused. He had his five prescriptions filled on Tuesday and called his boss that he would be out on Wednesday but would return to work on Thursday. Thursday never came!

            Wednesday morning I woke to find Ron barely able to sit on the side of the bed. I begged him to let me take him to the Emergency Room but he insisted that he wanted to give the medication time to work. I called often throughout the day; he was in a lot of pain. When I arrived home, he was sleeping. He got up once and we talked for a short time then announced he was going back to bed. That night I slept in the other bedroom so I wouldn’t disturb what little sleep he would receive. Surprisingly, I slept peacefully, never waking, which was unusual for me. 

            Thursday morning I woke and went into our dark bedroom to get ready for work. I passed by our bed several times thinking that I mustn’t disturb him. I never noticed the silence in the room.  As I was leaving for work, God spoke to me so clearly, “You need to try and wake up Ron.”  When my spirit heard the word “try,” I immediately knew something was wrong. I couldn’t see him in the dark but when I touched him, he was cold. I knew he was gone but I expected my continual shaking to awaken him. It was February 20, 2003. He was fifty-six.

            The day continued with the 9-1-1 call. My pastor arrived and my church family took over my every move. I was numb. I couldn’t think what should be done next. Thank God for friends!  I had to tell my children. “Oh, God, how can I live through this day? How can I tell them they have lost their father when I still had mine?”

            My children, Kristen, Russ, and Aaron arrived one by one; his mother and brothers arrived the next day. The arrangements were made; the visitation would be Saturday and the memorial service on Sunday. We marveled at how God buoyed us through the whole weekend. I know the prayers of the saints sustained us. I have pondered since then just how and why I did so well that day. I believe one thing that was a tremendous blessing was Ron’s wish to be cremated. He had told me for years if I ever put him in a box and put him in the ground, he would come back and haunt me. At least that decision was made and out of my hands but there were so many more to make. 

            Kristen and I put together a memory table and a picture collage of Ron with each of us over the years. It was comforting and very therapeutic to go through photos and select memories of our wedding, his Navy days, building our home, fun times with each of the children, and the precious few photos we had made of him with his only grandchild, Emma, just four months old when he died. The memory table consisted of all his plaques, awards, letters of commendation, and pictures of the ships he had worked on over the years. We were able to share a side of him most acquaintances didn’t know and many said how much they appreciated it. We opened the memorial service to comments from family and friends. We laughed, we cried, we were all blessed!

            Ron wanted to be sprinkled in the Gulf waters of MS where he loved to fish.  I, too, have decided to be cremated and have already made my arrangements so the children can follow through with the same measures for me. This has also been very therapeutic and I give praise to God for His comfort and peace during those first difficult days. God is sovereign and I have received great comfort from the Lord in many ways. Among them knowing:

·     Ron is no longer in constant pain from fibromyalgia.

·     God knows the end from the beginning and I trust and believe that His wisdom has prevailed.

·     God could have aroused me that night; awakened my spirit to go to Ron, but He let me sleep so peacefully it was almost as if He and Ron were having a special time of their own together; sort of like they were taking care of business.

·     God is in control of all things and if He had wanted a different outcome, we would have had a different outcome.

·     I know where Ron is and I know I’ll see him again some day. 

            I’ve since learned that those first few days were the easy part of this ordeal and the hard part was just beginning. Our empty nest was not content anymore. I was given books on grief from well-meaning friends. All they did was remind me of the pain I felt instead of helping me to get relief from it. One friend suggested that I should write the book for which I was searching. Another recommended that I write a letter to Ron, putting down on paper all of my feelings: anger, loneliness, regret, guilt, all of it. Others suggested that I should attend grief recovery groups. All I knew is that I didn’t want to have grief or even talk about it . . . I just wanted to have my memories. 

            Bottom line, I didn’t do anything except go to work every day and come home every afternoon to live in my bed . . . not my bedroom, but my bed! I would watch television, read the mail, take a nap, wake up, eat dinner, go back to sleep for the night. I was thankful when the alarm would sound so I could get up and start my routine again. Work gave me a reason to get up; to keep my mind busy on daily duties. 

            At home, however, there was still Ron—thinking of him, longing for him, lonesome for him, and crying out to God to help me get through another day. Although my desire for God’s Word waned, I still went to church because I had a responsibility to conduct the open assembly for our Sunday School. God faithfully gave me a message every week and I was able to share it but my heart was somewhere else.

            I felt if I could make it to the first anniversary of Ron’s passing, I would be over the hump and my life would finally fall into place again; my emotions, my thoughts, my desire for the things of God, everything that had been numb for one year would awaken and I would be alive again; but it doesn’t take one year…it takes so much longer! 

            Three months after that first anniversary was Mother’s Day. My children couldn’t be with me but they all called and I assured them that I would be fine! The tears began on Friday night and by Saturday afternoon I was calling my pastor to withdraw from my church duties the next day. He immediately put me on the prayer chain; the prayers went up and the phone started ringing. Kristen called and said it was time I thought about moving to TN to be closer to her. My first thoughts were, “I can’t leave my home, my job, my church!  My life has been here for 23 years.” I told her I couldn’t promise anything but I promised that I would begin to pray. 

            A week later while in the shower, I was again praying for the direction God wanted me to take. The water was spraying down and I actually felt God physically move across me sensing Him saying so unmistakably, “You are released!” My house sold in three hours, I gave six weeks notice at work, and I was in Tennessee by the end of July.

            Now, when I have the opportunity, I tell other stubborn husbands, “If Ron knew he was leaving me a widow at age fifty-four, he would have gone to the doctor sooner!” 

            If God chooses for me to continue my life alone, then I bow to His will; however, I still feel the deep loss of a continued life with my love. It is said that time heals and grief lessens and life goes on, and it does during the day-to-day activities; but the special days, the birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases, and the day he died will never diminish. On those days I sense the glaring reminder of how much I miss him and how I see my future alone!  I say alone by choice for I feel a reserved contentment as a widow.  He was the only love of my life!

             Ron never knew what to give me on birthdays, anniversaries, or Christmas. When I got my ears pierced, he blessed me with diamond, emerald, and opal studs. I told him what I really appreciated would be a nice card that spoke from his heart and conveyed exactly how he felt.

            Here is the last anniversary card he gave me (Christmas 2002) before he died in February 2003:

For Our Anniversary

Somehow, beyond all expression, I knew right from the start

that you’d be the light, the sweetness, the comfort in my life, my heart . . .

Each year we’ve journeyed together we’ve arrived somewhere new . . .

and we’ve forged a bond of trust, creating one life out of two . . .

And in countless tender moments of appreciation and care,

we’ve discovered ways without words to nurture the joy we share . . .

So today, as we talk about memories, I look toward the future we’ll spend

with confidence in each other, in love without end.

Happy Anniversary

 Summer, 2011—

            It is now eight years later and I can say I have survived.

            I am still single but I am not alone.

            My life is filled with God, family, and friends.

            I have three wonderful grandgirls and my children are close by.

            I am pursuing what I have always wanted to do . . . write!

            It is not a betrayal to say I have thrived, but I do confess that I am content.

HAPPY 89th BIRTHDAY, PA

By Danna Shirley

You have given me some wonderful memories of my childhood and beyond. I recall when I was a little girl and was riding down the Buena Vista hill on my bike. A car came around the corner toward me and I went off the road to avoid being hit. I skinned myself up and you doctored me.

Then of course there were the many Saturdays that I was your helper as you continued the never-ending construction on the house; from changing out the louvered windows in the front bedrooms and the living room, to adding the den and brick fireplace off of the kitchen, to adding the master bath so we weren’t a one-bathroom family anymore. I suspect you planned that so you could have some private bathroom time away from your four females. J

I loved it when you had to work on the roof because I got to climb the ladder and look out over the water toward the hacienda. The hacienda always fascinated me . . . but I never even drove up there to get a closer look. Maybe that’s what kept the uniqueness of it so special.

On one of those trips up the ladder you found my leather jacks bag that I had thrown up there. Why, I don’t remember! It was faded on one side and still colorfully bright on the other. I still have it . . . and the original ball and jacks, too.

Then came the teen years and my driver’s permit. My first experience behind the wheel was in a large empty parking lot. After just a few turns around the course, you put me on the freeway. I was scared to death. I couldn’t believe you would let me loose that quickly in California traffic.

When you finally let me drive to my own orthodontic appointment, I was afraid to change lanes. I wasn’t secure enough to turn around and look, as you had taught me, nor did I feel safe enough to take my eyes of the road to use my mirrors.

Your favorite greeting after one of these appointments was, “Let me see what they did to your teeth today.” I would give you a big smile and then you would say, “That’s the first time I ever saw teeth in a horse’s arse.” J  I fell for it every time. Now, at 61, you still try to catch me but I think I’ve gotten smarter to know what you’re up to . . . I hope!

Shortly afterward came my first accident, the infamous dent down the side of the Monza from the front bumper to the back. Of course I was where you told me not to go, doing what you told me not to do. I cried and cried all the way home and was more upset than you were. Why? Because I had disappointed my father and I didn’t ever want to do that again.

My first job came after high school graduation. I worked for the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) near the UC Berkeley campus. It took a while for me to save enough money to buy a car so you drove me to work every morning before you went to work at Dymo in Emeryville. Then you would brave the University traffic to pick me up every afternoon. You put your work hours on hold to get me to my job on time.

Ah, my first car—a 1957 Chevy BelAir two-door, hardtop. You found it for me, checked under the hood, kicked the tires, and it passed inspection. It was a beauty! Unfortunately, by the time I sold it, the back seat and lighter had been stolen while it sat in a church parking lot. Green primer paint was on one door panel because someone had hit me while it was parked.

Then came my elopement to Ron in 1968. It was December and we drop over Donner Pass and into Reno, Nevada. Wow, what an experience. I know I let Mom down by being the third daughter to go to Reno and not let her give me a wedding as I had promised. I think you were relieved, though—there were no months of planning or having to dress up in fancy clothes. It was short and sweet. Two months later, however, you had to work on Mom’s “Honey-Do” list to get the house ready for our wedding reception.

One year later Ron got new orders that took me from my home and family to begin a thirty-four year trek all over the world.

In 1980 you stopped in Alabama on your way to Georgia hoping to see my expected third child (Aaron) but he was stubborn and did not cooperate. You called on your return trip home to see if there was any reason to stop back by—but to no avail. You missed seeing him until much later.

In all of my travels I learned one thing—home is wherever I am with my loved ones. You taught me that. You loved me unconditionally—through all the disappointments, car accidents, and even my five-month separation from Ron. You never judged, never criticized, never told me what to do, but your wisdom was invaluable and I will always appreciate your advice.

Now you’ve reached your 89^th year. How awesome!!! You’ve had a wonderful life and you’ve blessed so many others with your love and generosity. It’s been my privilege to share you not only with those you know but with those you’ve never met, for I have told my many friends in all of my travels about my wonderful father . . . and they are j-e-a-l-o-u-s!!! J

MAY GOD’S MANY BLESSINGS BE YOURS

ON THIS SPECIAL DAY!

 I Love You So Much, PA --

WRITERS WRITE

by Danna Shirley

            I’ve always been a reader thanks to my mother who was an elementary school teacher for over thirty years. She encouraged my sisters and me to “turn off that television and pick up a book.” Nan and I became avid readers and still are to this day. However, my sister Paula said, “I never want to read another book in my life!” after she spent 7½ years in college trying to figure out what she wanted to do.

            Children could walk home from school in safety in those days (1950s) so I would go by way of the public library. I always had books to return and then would select more. I remember checking out one particular book that had difficult words for my age. I got frustrated trying to read it but my mother kept encouraging me to sound it out. I was very proud of myself when I finally finished that book.

            I was probably in my 40s when I began thinking to myself as I read, “I wish I could write like this.” Then my thoughts graduated to, “I can write like this!” Little by little an idea would come to me for a story or the name for a character that I thought was inspiring. Nothing came to fruition, however, until I was 56 and began working at the Bartlett Senior Center. They had a creative writing class at one time but the leader had moved away and so the class had disbanded. The director asked if I would like to start it up again. They had one member I could call who was interested.

            I didn’t believe I could actually be considered a “teacher” so my daughter and I put our heads together and decided I would be the “facilitator.” When my first writer joined me for my very first class, I finally began to really write.

George Mitchell taught me more than I ever taught him. He had many stories in his portfolio and I had none. At the end of class I would throw out some ideas for a short story assignment but George didn’t like assignments. He also didn’t like to start at the beginning. He would write the ending first and fill in the blanks later.

All writers have their own style. One is not better than another.

It’s just what works for them . . . and what doesn’t.

            I remember sharing one prompt with the class and as I wrote my supposed “short story” I knew there was so much more I could add. I envisioned a book . . . my first novel, Sleepy Bend. It flowed easily through my fingers and ended at page 230. I got one of the character’s names from two road signs as I traveled through Alabama—Jemison and Thorsby. My hero would be Jemison Thornsby. (see book on my blog: danna1966.blogspot.com)

My writing is my passion, my mission; just as an artist paints or an athlete trains. I have a thought and immediately the story unfolds. I read a headline and can direct it into a fictional tale. I view a picture and see the word play behind it.

Thank You, Lord, for imparting to me this insatiable hunger for writing. It is my outlet, my therapy, and my ministry, as I share Your love with others. 

I WANT A MACHO MAN

by Danna Shirley

          It said Sam on the name tag but I couldn’t determine if Sam was a Samuel or a Samantha? I was the third in line at the Customer Service counter in Wal-Mart. Now I’ve seen plenty of “Wal-Martians” online and all could be considered as wearing Halloween costumes; men dressed like women, skimpy clothing that shows too much, purple hair, tattoos, piercing in the oddest places. But this was October 26^th and I couldn’t tell about Sam.

          As the line moved forward, I noticed more; taller than the customer being waited on, shoulder-length hair, purple eye shadow and black eyeliner, a black lace camisole under the traditional blue polo shirt, and slight breast bumps. Then a move from behind the counter revealed black flats with a bow on the toe.

The line moved again to reveal long painted nails with beautifully manicured cuticles. I still was questioning if this was Sam or Samantha. No good clue was adequate enough to reveal the mystery.

          Now it was my turn. Sam was probably six feet tall. Not unusual for teens today, boys or girls. I saw a faint mustache above the upper lip but I have one of those myself. Then the mouth opened and the voice boomed out loud and low . . . “May I help you?”
          Sam was a male! But was he dressed for Halloween or was this his every day appearance? No other employees were wearing costumes. I was baffled and a little uncomfortable not knowing how I felt about this discovery.

Sam didn’t look natural for what our society and culture dictates. I understand that Sams and Samanthas are now out of the closet but my hormones, even at age 65, still desire the tall and handsome; the courageous, patriotic, and faithful men of this world.

Where are the James Bonds, the Supermans, and Captain America? I still love to see the action movie man trounce the villains, get the girl, and come out as the hero . . . without eye liner and lipstick!

I love a macho man!

PA's OVERALLS

by Danna Shirley

           I was a tomboy as a child and one of my favorite memories is of my father. He had three little girls but never let any of us feel that he was disappointed in not having a son. I called him daddy in those days but now he is just Pa to the whole family. I was the youngest and believed I was his favorite but I’ve since learned as an adult that all of us sisters thought we were his favorite; he was just that impartial with his affection and attention. We all adored him and still do but now there are two more generations who call him Pa; the grandchildren David, Rhonda, Robbin, Jordan, Kristen, Russell, and Aaron; and the great-grandchildren Sarah, Rachel, Ryan, Mackenzie, Emma, and Bella.

            My parents were born and raised in the south (Mom in AR and Pa in OK) but after the war they moved to California where I was born. It must have been a real gamble for them to trek across the country to a strange location. Mom said they surely looked like the characters in the Grapes of Wrath with luggage piled high and tied on top of their 1935 Ford J. 

            Their first residence was in a housing area in Richmond (43 East Seaver Court) but when word came that Harbor Gate was going to be torn down; my parents decided they would build a house themselves. Pa found a vacant lot in Pinole and an architectural college student from the University of CA, Berkeley drafted a floor plan. He got the house framed and finished to the point where we could move in (I was five) and then continued to work on it nights and weekends by either completing first projects, redoing old projects, or adding on new projects, as mother’s creative juices dictated. 

            Saturdays were especially fun for me. Pa would come into the kitchen where I was watching cartoons and pull on his striped bib overalls with all its many pockets filled with nails and loops filled with tools. He would hold out his leg, first one and then the other, for me to pull down his inside pants leg that had ridden up when he donned his overalls. Then I would go back to watching cartoons until his next entrance into the kitchen sometime later. That’s when a trip to Three Brothers Hardware was necessary. He would quietly stand behind me for a moment or so. I was engrossed in Porky Pig or Daffy Duck and didn’t pay much attention . . . until he would jiggle the keys in his pocket. My ears perked up like a puppy hearing his master at the front door. Cartoons faded and Pa grinned as I popped up and yelled to Mom, “I’m goin’ with Daddy!” 

            In those days kids could ride in the back of the truck. Pa had a steel lumber rack on his and would let me stand up holding onto the frame as we drove down Highway 40. (Dangerous today, of course!) After our first trip to the hardware I was Pa’s shadow the rest of the day, getting him whatever he asked for—“Hand me that square,” he would say, as he lay flat on his back measuring something; or “Go get me that Phillips long handle.” I eventually knew the name of every tool. As I grew older, I would help with bigger needs, such as holding a huge piece of lumber while he ran it through the table saw, which he still owns to this day (2011). He always took care of his tools and has a sign hanging in his garage that reads . . .

“I’d rather loan my dog than my tools!

My dog can find his way home!”

            I remember once when Pa was working on the roof. I was older by this time and didn’t jump up quite so quickly when he jiggled his keys. However, this particular project required several trips up and down the ladder so I was definitely called upon to be his helper that day.  It was forced servitude . . . but with a smile. J Eventually Pa finished the house—the first time, the remodels, and the add-ons. Life was good and memories even better

            Pa retired at fifty-eight to pursue his hobby of restoring Model A’s and in due time he outgrew the one-car garage in Pinole and needed a bigger workshop. They found a house in Rodeo, the next town over, with two two-car garages. Mom always said she had to take the house that went along with Pa’s hobby. I was married by then and living across the country but hearing about them selling the house that Pa built, that WE built, was like reading an obituary in the newspaper. 

            When my sister, Nan, and her husband decided to buy the house, I thought, “Now, that’s better, keep it in the family.” Fifteen years later when they were ready to sell, I was in a better frame of mind to accept this eventuality. 

                      For years afterward, when I would go back for a visit, I would drive by the old home place. At almost sixty years old she still looks pretty good. I did a great job on her, building her strong and sturdy . . . well, Pa and I did anyway! Nan and Paula would probably argue that point. J

By early 2010 Pa had been steadily going downhill fighting prostate cancer and congestive heart failure. He reached his 89^th birthday on February 26^th before passing away on March 1^st. He was such a great man; a man of honor and integrity. Glowing words were expressed by the many who attended his “Celebration of Life.”

            Each of his daughters received one of his Model A’s and my mother graciously bequeathed them to us immediately. I received the 1929 Sedan and passed it along to my daughter, Kristen. Nan received the 1929 Roadster and passed it along to her daughter, Rhonda. Paula received the 1929 Pickup and it still sits in Pa’s garage today.

The following article written by Bob Rigor appeared in the Moto-Meter, the official publication of the Diablo A’s Chapter of the Model A Ford Club of America:

     Genius is not a title or affectation that can be drawn from books or schooling. Yet, its potential lies within us all. When a person’s life is well-spent nurturing what is God-given, with honesty and generosity, their genius is revealed. Just such a person was Howard Goines. Yet, Howard’s genius was equally remarkable for what he did not do.

     We knew him for many remarkable examples of natural knack for engineering, his thorough understanding of mechanical devices, and his creative abilities with metal and paint. But we also knew him through his genius for love of family, kindness to neighbors and friends, his dignified humility and selfless generosity. Those of us who were blessed with an opportunity to know him in even the smallest ways were struck by his lack of arrogance and self-efficacy.

     Howard’s legacy is the fleet of restored Model A’s he leaves behind and the many improved restoration techniques he developed that have become a standard of excellence for automotive restoration.

      Howard will be greatly missed by all of us, but his selfless genius will continue to inspire us and our club as we seek to involve the next generation of Model A enthusiasts. Thanks, Howard!                

OPEN LETTER TO 75 LGBT UMC CLERGY

                                                                                                                        June 28, 2006

Dear Pastor Monroe

(First United Methodist Church, Napa, CA):

I received your June 1^st bulletin in the mail with the insert…

A PASTORAL LETTER TO THE UNITED METHODIST CHURCH FROM 75

LESBIAN / GAY / BISEXUAL / TRANSGENDER (LGBT)

UNITED METHODIST CLERGY

Please permit me to respond:

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE SEVENTY-FIVE

LESBIAN / GAY / BISEXUAL / TRANSGENDER (LGBT)

UNITED METHODIST CLERGY

(and to ALL Christians)

As I read your heartfelt plea, a question began to form in my spirit: 

“I can understand the promotion of the homosexual agenda by the secular community, but how can God’s people who are supposed to be in ministry to the Body of Christ AND who are supposed to know the Word of God, promote something that is so against His Word?” 

You used the words “dismembering, amputating, fear, and isolation” intending these words to shame and alienate Christians from their beliefs. May I say that you are also “demanding” full agreement and “challenging” believers to accept your lifestyle to the “detriment” of their own Christian walk.

            

Since God’s Word is our standard and our compass, our deliberation should be what the Word of God proclaims as a whole and not what we think or believe.  God has listed many offenses that HE considers sin and without God’s grace and Christ’s death on the cross, we would ALL die in our sins. 

“For ALL HAVE SINNED and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom 3:23).

There is no distinction or degree of sin…homosexuality vs. fornication, wrath vs. envy, pride vs. drunkenness…in God’s eyes SIN IS SIN and His Word confirms it!

·         “So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God.”  (Rom 8:8)

·   “Now the works of the flesh are evident, which are: adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lewdness, idolatry, sorcery, hatred, contentions, jealousies, outburst of wrath, selfish ambitions, dissensions, heresies, envy, murders, drunkenness, revelries, and the like; of which I tell you beforehand, just as I also told you in time past, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.”  (Gal 5:19-21)

       

·       “Therefore God also gave them up to uncleanness, in the lusts of their hearts, to dishonor their bodies among themselves, who exchanged the truth of God for the lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator…For this reason God gave them up to vile passions.  For even their women exchanged the natural use for what is against nature.  Likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust for one another, men with men committing what is shameful, and received in themselves the penalty of their error which was due.  And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a   debased mind to do those things which are not fitting: being filled with all unrighteousness, sexual immorality, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, strife, deceit,   evilmindedness; they are whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, violent, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, undiscerning, untrustworthy, unloving, unforgiving, unmerciful; who, knowing the righteous judgment of God, that those who practice such things are deserving of death, not only do the same but also approve of those who practice them.”   (Romans 1:24-32)

·    “Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?  Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit the kingdom of God.” (1 Cor 6:9-10)

·      “But we know that the law is good if one uses it lawfully, knowing this: that the law is not made for a righteous person, but for the lawless and insubordinate, for the ungodly and for sinners, for the unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers, for manslayers, for fornicators, for sodomites [homosexuals], for kidnappers, for liars, for perjurers, and if there is any other thing that is contrary to sound doctrine…”  (1 Tim 1:6-10)

·     “But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.”  (Rev 21:8)

·       “Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.  For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life.”  (Gal 6:7-8)

All scriptures taken from the NKJV

God does not list these sins to condemn us but that through Christ we can overcome them.  Below are listed a few of what we might consider lightweight sins because we’ve all probably committed some of these at one time or another even since our salvation:

Outbursts of wrath          Selfish ambitions         Envy                Liars                   Strife           Disobedient to parents     Whisperers                  Deceit              Unloving             Boasters             Unbelieving                    Unforgiving                Thieves             Unmerciful          Revilers          
Cowardly                       Drunkards                   Proud               Backbiters      

Obviously, no one is innocent and if we think we are, even in lightweight sins, God explains it this way…

"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.  If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.  If we say that we have not sinned, we make Him a liar, and His word is not in us.”  (1 John 1:8-10)

According to the above referenced scriptures, God has made Himself very clear on this subject? 

“Brethren, if anyone among you wanders from the truth, and someone turns him back, let him know that he who turns a sinner from the error of his way will save a soul from death and cover a multitude of sins.”  (James 5:19-20)

So what is the job of the clergy, if not “to turn a sinner from the error of his way?”  The clergy has been given as a gift to the church (Eph 4:8-16) to minister to the people in their need, to comfort them during a time of loss, to pray for the sick, to offer encouragement during times of doubt, to counsel against sin, any and ALL sin, and the need for repentance, forgiveness, and restoration. 

            

How can the clergy address someone else’s sin while living in their own…openly, proudly, defiantly?  How can the clergy counsel someone not to commit adultery because it is a sin in God’s eyes while they are living in homosexuality? And demanding that the church agree with it and even keep silent about it!!! 

Let me ask the 75 clergy how they would counsel: 

     An abusive husband with outbursts of wrath?  Are we to accept this sin or try to counsel the abuser to renounce his behavior and live in peace?

     A whisperer/backbiter spreading the poison of gossip?  Are we to accept this sin or confront the person to repent and ask forgiveness of those who have been hurt?

   Strife that is killing a relationship, a congregation, a ministry?  Are we to accept this sin or denounce the strife it brings and repair the damage done?

  Drunkards (alcoholics) living a bankrupt life destroying their family, health, finances, even employment?  Are we to remain silent or counsel the person into victory and a new life?

If you would counsel these to repent of their sin; how can you justify your own? 

Are the scriptures “TRUTH” or not? 

     “And you shall know the TRUTH and the TRUTH shall make you free.” (John 8:32)

     “Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, the TRUTH, and the life.  No one comes to the Father

except through Me.’” (John 14:6)

               

Is homosexuality a sin or not?  Or is it an agenda that the church/believers are being forced to accept, just as it is also being forced on the citizens of the world?  As Christians, are we to ignore God’s Word in this area but accept it in every other area of our lives?  We would be fools indeed to believe that God would isolate the sin of homosexuality from ALL other sins listed in His Word and give it His seal of approval today.  Would God excuse homosexuals from this sin while allowing disobedient children, the unforgiving, the unbelieving, the unloving, etc., to suffer His judgment, much less murderers, the violent, the wicked, and the haters of God? 

            

There is enough evidence and testimonies from former gay and lesbians that have come out of a homosexual lifestyle to confirm that God can and does deliver and restore a life from this sin...just as He restores the liar, the drunkard, the proud, the envious, etc. 

“…God shows no partiality” (Acts 10:34) and “…with God all things are possible” (Luke 1:37)!

We are ALL on level ground at the foot of the cross asking God to forgive our sins.  We ALL must confess, repent, and ask Jesus to forgive us.  Our desire should be to move on and up and into maturity with Christ; not to remain juvenile, rebellious, unteachable, and lost? 

“It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” (Hebrews 10:31)

If we are to become mature Christians, we should renounce our sins, not demand that our fellow believers acquiesce to them…or else!!! 

Thank you, Pastor Monroe, for allowing me to voice my heart. 

                                                                                                Sincerely, Danna Shirley

P. S. (I was raised Methodist in Pinole, CA)

NUMBER PLEASE (Pinole, CA)

by Danna Shirley

My memory as a five-year-old was having a crank phone and a party line in our home. It was 1952 and our number was 246-J. Margie Hayden next door was 246-W. We had to click the arm twice to get the switchboard at Ruff’s Grocery because we couldn't dial it ourselves.

My next recollection is of a dial phone that sat on the end of our kitchen cabinet. Our number was Plymouth 8-3684, using the 7 as P and the 5 as L, making it 758-3684. To make a long distance call we had to go through the operator. Later the area code 415 was added.

When we called family in Arkansas, I remember my mother saying, “We can only talk three minutes because it’s too expensive.” Now we can pay a flat rate for unlimited long distance and talk as long as we want. Toll free 800 numbers help us avoid those costly “on hold” connections while we wait and wait and wait for someone to help with our issues.

            When wall hanging phones were invented, it cleared up space on the counter for other things. Phone books were a must to locate people you wanted to contact; however, some households wanted unpublished numbers and paid extra NOT to be found.

            Next came the push button faces which cut down on the slow moving dial and we reached our party twice as fast. Princess phones were popular for bedrooms and additional extensions but when portable phones came into being, we were all ecstatic that we could walk around the house talking and not be tethered to the wall. We could even receive paper copies immediately through fax lines and not have to wait days for snail mail to arrive.

            Features like caller ID, call waiting, and call forwarding kept us in touch with people we wanted, and out of touch with those we didn’t. The redial button saved our fingers and the speaker button gave us hands free communication.

Oh, the internet. All life changed in an instant. We didn’t need phone books anymore. Whitepages.com and reverse white pages were instantaneous. We could register on the “Do Not Call” list and eliminate those pesky telemarketers. Next we could bundle our phone, the internet, our cable television, and pay all of our bills online.

Lastly came my cell phone. I have considered going totally with this handy device and cancel my landline but I just can’t seem to let go of something I’ve had all my life.

I’m not quite ready for a smart phone mainly because it won’t fit in my pocket and I DO like to carry my phone around with me. Besides, I’m just too technologically unskilled to operate a device that allows you to watch television or movies, get on the internet, text, send and receive emails, has a GPS, lets you sink your home calendar, gives you a wake-up call, allows you to watch your house through the alarm company, takes pictures and video, and on and on and on . . . anyway . . .

We’ve come a long way, baby! 

How much farther can we go?

NOT the Senior Citizens

Unknown

We would like to point out that it was

NOT THE SENIOR CITIZENS

who took:

The MELODY out of music,
The PRIDE out of appearance,
The COURTESY out of driving,
The ROMANCE out of love,
The COMMITMENT out of marriage,
The RESPONSIBILITY out of parenthood,
The TOGETHERNESS out of the family,
The LEARNING out of education,
The SERVICE out of patriotism,
The GOLDEN RULE from rulers,
The NATIVITY SCENE out of cities,
The CIVILITY out of behavior,
The REFINEMENT out of language,
The DEDICATION out of employment,
The PRUDENCE out of spending,
The AMBITION out of achievement,
PRAYER out of school, or

GOD out of government!