Category Archives: General

Becoming a Hope Craftswoman (Pt. 2)

About eighty women attended the meeting that Friday afternoon.  It was a treat to have my “girls” there—not only Kelli, Morgan, and Nicks, but Nina Atuatasi, my Samoan “daughter,” who showed up just before the meeting.  Nina, a gifted musician, had arrived in the Los Angeles area a few hours earlier and surprised me by driving over for the meeting.  Before I preached, she sang two songs and ushered in the presence of the Holy Spirit.

“I don’t trust people who haven’t been through something,” I told the ladies.  “And I have a feeling that most of you have been through adversity.  You’ve known some deep pain and heartache.”  Many women responded vocally.  As I began recounting my personal story, I also preached about making choices—how bad choices get us into trouble, but “God choices” get us out.

In the back of my mind, I could hear my father—who sounded just like Archie Bunker on the old All in the Family TV show—saying, “You’re a bad picker, Little Girl.”  Dad was so right about that.  My teenage years were full of bad choices, with disastrous and far –reaching consequences.

I told the women at the Dream Center how Jesse and I had decided we would get married in the summer, after I graduated.  My last year in high school, I was in the DECA (Distributive Education Clubs of America) program, so I only went to class for half a day, and then I went to my job.  One afternoon in late April, Jesse picked me up after work, and he had an engagement ring for me. Standing there in from t of Diamond’s department store, he put a diamond on my finger.

My mother was devastated when I told her I was going to marry Jesse.  “Lori, please wait,” she begged me. “You’re too young.”

“I’m older than you were,” I snapped.

“That’s true—and it’s why I know firsthand how hard it is.”

She looked pained.  Mom had been just sixteen when Dad , who was eighteen, pressured her to get married.

“Besides, you can’t stop me.  I’ll be eighteen at the end of August, and then I won’t need your permission.”  I was stubborn and determined.  “So either you sign the papers for me to get married, or we’ll go to another state and elope.”

Mom kept trying to talk sense into me, but I wouldn’t listen.  She knew that Jesse hated his mother, and that was a huge warning sign for her.  “He doesn’t have a good family relationship,” she said, “and he won’t be good to you.” I turned a deaf ear to every reason why the marriage wouldn’t work.

(to be continued)

Becoming a Hope Craftswoman – Part 1
Becoming a Hope Craftswoman – Part 3

Becoming a Hope Craftswoman (Pt. 1)

I opened my Bible to 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, which I had often prayed over in my ministry: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please help me to show my wounds today, so that you may use them as a source of healing.”

It is never pleasant to relive the past when I share my testimony.  But I do it because God uses it to comfort others.  A hurting woman knows I understand her pain and suffering when she hears that I have been down the same road.  And when she receives healing from God, she will extend that same comfort to yet others so that the circle of wounded healers widens.

I’ll never forget the first time I shared a short testimony before a group of women at Phoenix First in the fall of 1990.  I had panicked at the thought of standing before the pastors’ wives and the matriarchs of the church and telling them even the briefest highlights of my sordid past.  I had been a Christian for only about eighteen months, and I still carried a dump truck size load of shame about my past sins, even though I knew God had forgiven me and completely changed my life—in fact, he had called me into full-time ministry.

They’re going to shun me, I thought.  They’ll talk about me, and I’ll never be able to hold my head high.  I’ll have to leave the church.  They think I’m the perfect little Christian, but when they find out. . .

On and on the accusing voice assaulted my mind.  My stomach was so tied in knots; I didn’t think I could go through with it.  I nearly backed out at the last minute, but I managed to battle my fear and honor my commitment to give a five-minute testimony.

I was petrified as I stepped behind the pulpit—the spot usually occupied by Tommy Barnett, one of the most respected pastors in America.  What an incredible honor.  Some one thousand women were in the audience, about six or seven hundred from the inner city and three or four hundred ladies from Phoenix First.  The lights were dimmed, so I couldn’t see their faces.  But I definitely heard them respond when I took the microphone and said, “From the time I was seventeen to the time I was twenty-one, I had five abortions.”  The loud gasps throughout the audience paralyzed me for a moment, but I finished my story and then sat down to listen to the other testimonies.  Well, now they know, I thought.  I wondered if anybody would even speak to me, or if they would just avoid me.

One of the first people I saw afterward was Marja Barnett, my pastor’s wife.  Phoenix Fist Assembly is a huge church, and as I recall, she had never spoken to me before, except perhaps to say hello.  This beautiful, gracious woman came over to me, kissed me on the cheek, and then clasped my hands.  “Oh, Lori, you poor thing,” she said in her lilting Swedish accent. “I never know you have such a horrible life—I can’t believe what you go through.  I’m so happy you are in our church.  I love you so much!”

I don’t remember exactly what she said after that.  All I know is that Marja’s love and acceptance flowed over my soul that day like a healing balm.  Now, eight years later, she had invited me to the Dream Center, and my heart’s desire was to extend the same encouragement to those who needed it.

(to be continued)

Becoming a Hope Craftswoman – Part 2
Becoming a Hope Craftswoman – Part 3

Wasted Years

One of the last times my father walked without assistance was when he walked me down the aisle.  He had developed diabetes because of his weight problem, and was now suffering complications from the disease.  Although he was in a lot of pain, Dad was determined to give me away. “Little Girl, this is the proudest moment of my life,” he told me.

In November 1999 Jim and I spent a week with Dad and Lita in Phoenix.  Jim had quizzed the doctor when we took my dad for an appointment that week.  The doctor had said that because of the complications from diabetes, they would likely have to amputate one of Dad’s legs within a year.  “But he’s a strong man,” the doctor said, “and he could live another five years, especially if he would take care of himself.”

On Monday afternoon Jim and I left Phoenix. We were getting in the car to drive to the airport when I turned around and went back in the house to hug Dad again. He held me to his chest and said, “Little Girl, don’t ever forget. Your daddy loves you.” Those were his last words to me.

The next morning Jim and Tammy Sue sat me down and broke the news that my dad had just passed away. Sue knelt down beside me and tenderly held my hand while Jim stood behind me and put his arms around me. They surrounded me with love in that difficult moment.

Peace filled my heart, and I felt that God was saying to me, your dad’s with me here now, and he is happy.

I had needed to know that my dad was in heaven.  God knew dad’s heart. And I believe my dad had finally come to understand the gift of God’s grace.

But he left this world many years before he needed to – because he could not control his eating.  He literally ate himself to death.  His refusal to take better care of himself deprived him and our entire family of many years together.

The wisdom of healthy living is beyond measurable.

Take care of yourself and do what you can to live out your appointed years.  Your family needs you and it is not God’s plan for you to waste the years He has appointed unto you.

Silent Night in Bethlehem

It was a silent night in Bethlehem,
When Christ our King was born,
While shepherds watched their sheep,
On that very early morn

A brilliant star was shining,
Upon that sacred shrine,
Of the Holy Family kneeling,
Beside the manger of God Divine

The shepherds followed this radiant star,
Of royal beauty bright,
And listened to the angels sing,
While praising God all through the night

Hosanna in the highest,
Unto Him all nations sing,
Christ our Savior is born this night,
‘Tis Christ our Savior King

The radiance of His being,
Will shine through all our lives,
And crush the sins of all mankind,
Upon which all evil thrives.

Oh Blessed Child of Mary,
To whom all the world will bow,
Tis God’s Son – The only One,
To this our God forever will avow.

Oh loving Saviour of mankind,
The souls of man both then and now,
Will sing Your praises forever,
And unto You all knees will bow.

Each year we’ll celebrate Your birth,
To please our God our King,
And pray You will come again,
So peace to this world You’ll bring.

~L M Willson