The following guest post was written by a pastor friend, Conrad, a brave and loving man who has been open about sharing from his own heart and struggles.

***

I am one of you. I didn’t know it. But I always took an interest in your story. The violence you suffered as a young boy in Haiti touched my heart. Not in a vengeful way. But in a way that felt your pain. Theo Fleury, your story intrigued me, those penetrating eyes in your face on the cover of your book. What was your story? Was there violent damage too? Dennis Jernigan, your story always touches me. How Jesus loved you no matter the sin and abuse you struggled with. 

But I didn’t know why your stories touched me. I couldn’t relate to them, after all. I grew up in a Mennonite home. I went to a Mennonite school and a Mennonite church. Life was quiet. On the surface. Inside, it was chaotic. My parents did the right thing in repairing their marriage after adultery. I was and still am proud of them for that. At the time, I cried with no tears. The connection between my head and my heart separated. At eleven years old. 

Later in life, I married. We were blessed. A few years later, with my wife by my side and two young boys in attendance, I was ordained a deacon. Life became stressful. Our furniture business prospered quicker than I could adjust to it. Church leadership stress was overwhelming. The gap between my head and my heart became greater. And I had a mental breakdown in 2008. My wife and I accepted help. And there was healing. I reveled in the love of God. I preached the love of God. I wanted to learn all about the God that I had missed out on before. It was an exciting path. I am still on that path. 

But there was still something missing. The stresses of life needed more answers than I had. 

Denise and I visited with a pastor friend. Before going home, he said “Conrad, God cares about you. He has a plan for you. But I need to show you that. You’re thinking ‘That is just a bunch of words.’ I prayed ‘How can I show Conrad that this is true?’ So I want to show you.’” 

He came over to me. I could guess what was coming. But I felt myself freezing. He motioned to me, I stood, and we embraced. He held me in a bear hug. He wouldn’t let me go. I cried. God spoke to me.

We went home that day thankful for a helper friend to discern God’s will in meeting our needs.

Could I write down all the events that had a contribution in shaping me? Little or big. 

Should I include two embarrassing sexual events that were done to me as a young boy? Why not? I never talked about this with anyone, other than mentioning it to my wife. Why not see what the pastor would say about it?

The next morning, I initiated the bear hug with my pastor friend. He was happy to return it. He later asked me, “Why the hug this morning?” Because it just felt right. “I never had anyone in my office initiate a hug before in 22 years of helping people. Our hug yesterday must have meant a lot to you.” Yes, pastor.

The pastor saw what I had written about the two sexual events that morning. He looked at me with a hint of shock “You were sexually abused!” I suppose so. If you say so. I never thought of it that way. Yeah, I guess.

“I do want to affirm you as a man of God. You are loved unconditionally by God,” he said firmly. 

“Here, check off all that you felt when that was happening.” 

In about 60 seconds I checked off about 12 feeling words. Words like “Helpless” “Vulnerable” “Defenseless”. Yeah, that was me. It was freeing to actually admit how I felt as a young boy. I hadn’t even thought to tell my parents about it.

The third day we visited, we prayed about this abuse. I understood my pastor friend was taking it seriously. I prayed: “Jesus, did you feel the pain of this little boy when this was happening?” Yes, I was there, right by you. “Why didn’t you stop it?” I did, it didn’t happen again or go any further. “Jesus did you care that I felt helpless? Jesus did you care that I felt defenseless? Jesus did you care that I felt dirty?”

Yes, my son. I was crying the tears you couldn’t cry. 

Now I was crying. Especially at the “Helpless” mention. I wished I could have reacted with a firm angry response as a young boy. But I hadn’t. I’d hated myself for not doing what I wished I had. 

I’d stuffed it all down. For over 30 years, I didn’t think much about it.

Jesus gave me a picture of my heart as that little boy. It was a shriveled small heart. 

It was a heart that became further disconnected from my head.

A heart that is disconnected does not make a good heart for a husband, or for a father, or for a friend, or for a deacon. I was disconnected from who Jesus really meant me to be. 

All this I now understood. I forgave my offenders. I pray they have found healing too. Jesus, it was meant for selfish evil. But You can turn it into something good. Only You can do that.

“Jesus, would you pull the pain out of my heart and heal it?”

Yes, I will. I could feel the pain draining away. 

Peace came. Along with a picture of an ocean. I could see Jesus dumping the pain in the ocean. And the ocean that once was stormy became calm.

I had peace in the deeper part of my heart. It was a heart I didn’t know I had. All that I had learned about God, His love and mercy and forgiveness was now connected to a healed heart. 

I didn’t know I was disconnected before as a husband. I didn’t know I was disconnected as a church leader. I didn’t know I was disconnected as a father. I was disconnected. But not anymore.

We went home free, healed, and grateful to Jesus the Healer. But not before giving the pastor a hug. 

I was amazed. I didn’t know I was a sexual abuse survivor. I didn’t know I had a connection with you. 

I don’t like the word survivor though. I am healed. I am a victor.

Jesus loves to heal. When His Words are put right into our heart, He does the healing. Our pastor called it open heart surgery, without anaesthetic. It brought lots of tears. And it hurt so good.

Our marriage has a fullness it never had before. The next day, our last visit, my wife wore a “going out dating” dress. My favorite one for her.

We prayed together. We hugged the pastor with a goodbye hug. And Denise received a Daddy hug too.

I am one of you. I would love to meet you. On behalf of Jesus, I will give you a hug.

Isa 42: 3 A bruised reed He will not break 

And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish;

He will faithfully bring forth justice.

***

Conrad has written on this blog before. You can read of his heartbreak as a young boy over his parents’ marriage struggles in “Life’s Hard Lessons: As Learned through my Parent’s Marriage Struggles,” and about his mental breakdown and healing in “Life’s Hard Lessons: As Learned through my Mental Breakdown.” 

This post joins a series I call In Every Life a Story. I publish a new post in this series every 6 weeks or so. Do you have a story or know of someone who has a story to encourage or challenge others? Contact me at lucindajkinsinger@gmail.com. Although many stories will feature Christian themes, I hope to hear from people of many faiths and persuasions. Whoever you are, please get in touch.

The post I Am One of You appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

              Missy Yoder was only a teenager when she knew she wanted to adopt. Her husband, Doug Yoder, says he “loved kids for a long time, ever since I don’t know when.”

              Doug and Missy met in Thailand while working under a mission organization called Global Tribes Outreach. During their dating years, both were involved in children’s ministry. Missy worked as a foster caregiver under a GTO program. Doug helped in the Compassion Home, a Thai-run institution providing children from broken homes with care, education, love, and a chance to hear about Jesus. Since the Compassion Home worked with children ineligible for adoption, Missy wasn’t sure at first whether it was the right fit. But, she says, “By the time we were engaged, I was ready to plug in 100%.”

              Soon after marrying, they moved to the Compassion Home to stay.

About a year after the birth of their first child, Keegan, they began to pursue their dream of adopting. Missy had always wanted “a bunch of adopted kids, you know, every shade of brown…” Her experience of giving foster care, she says, just “burned it into me that I need to do my part in loving these kids that don’t have someone to love them.” From Missy, the flame spread to Doug.

              Initially, they planned to adopt a Thai child, but after they’d waited almost two years to be matched with a child, the Thai adoption agency told them they were ineligible. After their long wait and high hopes, “it was very, very devastating,” says Doug.

              The couple prayed long and hard and, after connecting with a U.S. agency, felt the Lord calling them to adopt from India. Nine months later, they had their paperwork done—”a stack of papers literally that thick,”—Doug says, measuring three inches with his fingers—when India made a new law that barred expats from adopting.  

              They were disheartened and disillusioned. They asked about China but were told by the adoption agency their income was too low. However, a second adoption agency helped them rework their application, counting non-money resources that could still be legitimately counted as income. Their income, all totaled, came in just over the line.

              After that, the China process went quickly. Five months after they said yes to one little boy, aged 2 years old, they traveled to China to pick him up. “The thing that still is amazing whenever we think about it, we were probably the last set of families that traveled to China before everything just closed down [because of COVID],” Doug says.

              Jaden Li, as they called their new son, was born with congenital hip dislocation and genital abnormalities, both issues Doug and Missy have since had corrected with surgery. The couple didn’t know about Jaden’s hernia, though, until he screamed and screamed the first night. When they changed his diaper, they found what they describe as a huge hernia on his groin. “Oh, it was scary,” Doug says. A hernia surgery several days later calmed him, though he still often cries inconsolably at nights.

              At first, Jaden was as floppy as a baby and could take only two steps without falling over. The couple delighted to watch him speed through the developmental stages, to see him move from flopping to digging in cupboards and trying to climb up on things. Missy tries to guard against comparing him to other kids his age. “Even if he doesn’t ever reach the same developmental stage other kids are,” she says, “that’s okay because he is thriving where he’s at.”

              For Doug, the most rewarding part of the adoption comes in seeing Jaden learn and grow and remembering where he would be if he hadn’t joined their family. “He would just be lethargically lying in his bed staring at the ceiling,” he says, “most likely with a huge hernia…probably still taking a bottle.”

              How has Keegan adjusted to a little brother? Although there have been rough patches, “he is doing phenomenal,” Missy says, explaining that she and Doug involved him in the entire adoption process. “He prayed with us. He knew when things turned upside down and stuff, and I think that was huge in helping him be a part of it.”  

              People have asked if Jaden feels the same to them as Keegan. “Absolutely!” Missy says. “He is ours 100%.”

              Due to COVID restrictions, the couple is currently waiting to be allowed back into Thailand. Though they are separated from their Compassion Home kids, the children got a chance to meet Jaden and observe his inclusion in the family before the Yoders traveled to the U.S.

In fact, Doug and Missy often felt frustrated when Compassion Home kids intruded on private family time by looking in their windows during mealtimes or knocking on their door with requests. As the couple considered and prayed, though, Missy says, “I think God just gave us that perspective and that heart to show them what a Christian family should be because they don’t have any examples of that.” Thais rarely adopt, and many of the children had a hard time understanding why anyone would want to. Recently, Doug and Missy were thrilled to hear a girl say that when she is older, she would also like to adopt.

Although the adoption road has been long and difficult, Missy says, “we would do it all again for Jaden.”

***

This story joins a series of posts I call In Every Life a Story. I publish a new post in this series every 6 weeks or so. Do you have a story or know of someone who has a story to encourage and inspire others? Contact me at lucindajkinsinger@gmail.com. Although many stories will feature Christian themes, I hope to hear from people of many faiths and persuasions. Whoever you are, please get in touch.

The post One Couple’s Journey to Heal Hurting Kids with Love and Adoption appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

In Part 1 of this story, we watched Amy grow from a scared child abused by her stepfather to a young lady of 16 who knows how to express an opinion. After a particularly bad episode, she convinced her mom they needed to leave the abusive Pablo. They opened the door to go grocery shopping and found policemen and FBI agents standing outside. 

***

The authorities said they were looking for Pablo, and when Sandra told them he was gone, they took her instead. “Maybe if we take you to jail, he will follow to look for you,” they said. Amy was left alone with her four siblings, the youngest only 2 years old. Outside—on the roof, in the streets, everywhere—policemen and FBI agents waited and watched.

One armed policeman stayed inside to guard the children. “I feel so bad for you,” he told Amy. “The man that was your stepfather was not a good man.” He told them their phone was tapped and they would not be allowed to leave until her stepfather was captured. 

She learned later that Pablo was part of a ring of wealthy businessmen who worked as doctors and other high-end positions in Guatemala while using their connections to steal cars from America. The wives and children of these doctors had been friends and playmates of Amy, her mom, and her siblings. Her mother, during her period of confinement, was forced to go to their houses as if she were visiting and knock on the door so FBI agents could swoop in to arrest them. 

Meanwhile, not knowing where to turn for help, Amy called her aunt and uncle who were Christians, the ones who were always inviting Amy’s family to church. 

“We’ll come and get you out,” Amy’s aunt told her.

“The police said they won’t let us out. There’s no food here, and I don’t have anything to give the children. I don’t know what to do,” Amy said. 

Her aunt asked if they could bring food. The policeman who was guarding the children said they could, but they wouldn’t be allowed to leave again. 

So her aunt came with groceries. “We’ll stay here tonight,” she said, “but tomorrow we’re going to leave.”

“Aunt, what are you thinking?” Amy asked. “They’re not going to let us leave. It’s not going to happen.”

“It is going to happen,” she said. “We’re praying, the church is praying, and you will make it out.”

Amy was very scared, but her aunt prayed with her and said she should pack what was most important in preparation for the next day. Then she talked to the guard. “These kids need to leave,” she told him. “This is not healthy for them.”

He said he would leave the house the following day for lunch, and they could try to leave at that time. However, he said, the house was surrounded by guards and likely someone else would pick them up. 

True to his word, the policeman left at lunchtime the next day. Amy, her aunt, and the younger ones walked out the door of their house, carrying their bundles. The guards were there, in plain view as they walked down the street—but not one guard noticed them. “It’s a miracle,” Amy told her aunt. 

Going to her aunt and uncle’s house was like entering a wonderful haven. Her uncle was a pastor and a godly man. Amy and her siblings went to church with their uncle and aunt, and it was there Amy came to know Jesus. 

The church brothers and sisters gathered around to pray for Amy, and that day the Lord gave her, through one of his children, a special word from Psalm 27:10: “When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” That verse stuck with Amy the rest of her life. She knew in that moment God was really speaking and would do something beautiful. 

The next several weeks were precious to her. Often with the church youth, she would go out into the city to share the gospel. They would witness in the park or go to the jail and witness to the inmates, sharing their testimonies and telling everyone that Jesus is Savior. On the day Amy was baptized, she spoke in tongues, a beautiful language of communion with the Lord that she has often used since in her private times of worship and fellowship. She remembers her baptism as a day of tears. She cried and cried the entire day….but the tears were healing tears. 

Amy and her aunt went to visit Amy’s mom in jail. Amy took her Bible along. “Mom,” she said, “I have something to tell you. I have come to know Jesus in my life. Look.” And Amy showed her the Bible. 

“I have something to tell you, too,” Sandra said. “I came to know Jesus here in jail.” And she showed Amy her Bible, which the Christians who came to the jail had given her. 

Amy’s siblings, all except the youngest, also came to know the Lord over this time. The entire church prayed for Amy’s mom. Her aunt consulted a Christian lawyer who told them it was a difficult case. Sandra had a chance to get out of jail during the first 19 days, but if she didn’t get out in that time, she would have to stay in jail for 4 years. The church prayed, and on day 19—not a day before or a day later—Sandra was released. The whole church rejoiced. 

Amy’s uncle encouraged her mother to leave for the States. “God can help you over there,” he said. They started selling some of her mother’s most expensive items to fund the move. However, legally, Sandra was not supposed to leave the country. That had been one of the conditions of her release. 

Amy’s mother and her aunt and uncle hatched a plan for Sandra to go through airport security while a certain friend was at the gate who would let her through. Amy flew on a separate plane so as not to arouse suspicion of her mother’s intent, since Amy was an American citizen. But when Sandra got to security, the friend wasn’t there, and she was denied boarding.

“It’s too difficult,” he said later.

Amy was already in Miami, staying with a single aunt while she waited for the rest of her family. The situation seemed impossible, but through a strange turn of events, Pablo offered to help. He had been back to visit several times, asking to see his children, though none of them wanted to see him. Now he took Sandra and the children to El Salvador, put them on a plane and flew them to the U.S, his connections and an appropriate amount of money slipped into the appropriate hands making all the difference. 

In the U.S, Sandra found an apartment near her brother and his Cuban wife. “Please don’t tell Pablo where we are,” she said…but in spite of her, her brother told him. Pablo appeared a few weeks later, and Amy was devastated. That evening, when she saw him lift his hand to hit her mom, she spoke up loud. “Listen! Here in the United States you have no say-so. I’m an American citizen. You put one finger on my mom, and I will deport you right now!” 

That stopped him. The next day while he was gone, Amy’s single aunt and a wealthy couple she worked for loaded up the family’s belongings and took them to a different apartment, without telling Amy’s uncle or stepfather what they were doing. A Christian church in Miami had promised to help them, but that first night, they had no heat and no beds in the cold winter weather. Amy and her mom managed to tuck the children into the luggage so they could get enough warmth to sleep. 

The next day, church people brought them some needed items, and they were able to start a new life, away from Pablo. They worked hard, Amy’s mom at cleaning jobs and Amy at numerous eating places: Burger King, McDonalds, Baskin Robbins. She was going to school at the same time and found herself so sleepy, school became incredibly difficult. 

They learned to depend on God through those difficult years. At one point, the refrigerator was completely empty and they had no money to pay rent. Amy remembered a story she had heard of God’s provision. “Mom, let’s just pray,” she said. “God is going to provide.” 

So they did. “Lord, we know you brought us to the United States, and we know you can provide because that is your way.”

Not too long after their prayer, the wealthy woman who had helped them move stopped by. “I was thinking so much about you today,” she said, “and I was on my way to do something and just thought I’d get you this.” She carried in bags and bags and bags of food. And then she said, “Here, Sandra,” and gave them money—plenty enough to pay the rent. 

“God was showing us we can trust him,” Amy says now. Similar stories happened many times, building their trust in a Provider. 

Times got easier. Some of the younger ones grew older and got their own jobs. And one day Amy met a young Christian man, the manager in the Ponderosa restaurant where she worked, who didn’t take no for an answer….but that is the subject of a different story. 

Today, Amy is happily married. God has blessed her and her husband with three children, a daughter-in-law, and a granddaughter. She and her husband are also licensed foster parents who took one special child into their home for six months. In the future, God may call them to more. Amy works with a church group to prevent abortions, offering lonely or desperate young mothers the services, support, and counseling they need to keep their babies or place them for adoption. 

In addition, she volunteers as an advocate of children with Court Appointed Special Advocates, or CASA. She works with children who have been put into foster care, acting as a link between a displaced child and the legal system. She enters foster homes, talks to biological parents, and becomes the hands, ears, and eyes that report to the courts where the child will receive the most loving care and stable environment. It is a job that brings her full circle, where she can use some of her own childhood hardships to understand a hurting child’s needs and perspectives.

Amy looks back on the suffering of her past with joy, seeing how God has redeemed her pain for good. Though her life still carries difficulties and disappointments, seeing his work in the past gives her hope for the future. She desires to serve God however He wants to use her but especially, she says, “my heart goes to hurting women and girls.” 

She says to you, the reader of this story: “We have a great God. No matter where we’re from, whatever our culture or background, God has come to save us.” Though we all suffer, we don’t have to stay in that place of suffering. Whatever difficulties people face, Amy says, “their problems will be resolved by coming to know Jesus.” 

***

In the story above, names have been changed to protect privacy. The story joins a series of posts I call In Every Life a Story. I publish a new post in this series every 6 -10 weeks. Do you have a story or know of someone who has a story to encourage and inspire others? Contact me at lucindajkinsinger@gmail.com. Although many stories will feature Christian themes, I hope to hear from people of many faiths and persuasions. Whoever you are, please get in touch.

The post The Story of Amy: How God Redeemed One Child’s Pain (Part 2) appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

The following story is true, as Amy told it to me. Names have been changed to protect privacy.

When Amy was in her mama’s belly, her mom—a young, unmarried, and terrified Catholic girl—almost aborted her. As a schoolgirl, her stepfather told her repeatedly that she was stupid—mental abuse that hurt far more than any physical abuse he gave her. Today, Amy advocates before judges for children from broken homes and also works to prevent abortion. Listen. Let me tell you her story. 

Amy was born in New York City, but when she was 5 years old her mother, Sandra, moved back to Guatemala City to be near her family. Life for a single mother in Guatemala was almost impossible, and since Amy was illegitimate, her grandma refused to help with her care. When Sandra met a man who “promised her everything, the world, the stars,” she agreed to move in with him. Pablo, son of a wealthy El Salvadoran family, promised to love her daughter as if she were his own, and she had no reason to doubt him.

In 1976, when Amy was 6 years old, a 7.5 magnitude earthquake struck Guatemala, killing 23,000 people and injuring 76,000 more. Thousands of people, including Amy’s family, camped out in the street for days, fearing the tremors that might follow. Life in Guatemala City grew even more difficult after that, and Sandra and Pablo decided to move to El Salvador where they would have more opportunities to get ahead.  

Pablo had grown up a spoiled child, used to getting whatever he wanted. As the years passed, he moved his family from one house to another—beautiful houses with shining floors and large courtyards. However, wealth can’t buy a happy home, and Pablo frequently lost his temper: throwing glasses, breaking windows, beating Amy’s mom, throwing Amy to the floor. He taught Amy an English song naming the parts of a house, and whenever they drove into the city, he would stop on a certain bridge and threaten to throw her over if she didn’t sing that song correctly. Whether or not he would have, the threat traumatized her. 

School, even though it was a strict, nun-run Catholic school, became a refuge for Amy. Worse than her stepfather’s physical abuse were the many times he told her she was dumb and wouldn’t amount to anything. In the early years of school, she had two step-siblings, a brother and sister, but Pablo didn’t give them the hard time he gave Amy. Often, when they got in trouble, they would put the blame on her. Even though the school days were long—from 7:00 in the morning to 7:00 at night—she was just glad to get away from them all. She believed she was worthless and wondered sometimes why she’d been born. 

In 1980, Civil War came to El Salvador, a brutal battle that was to stretch on for 12 years. Guerrillas took over churches and schools. Amy could see soldiers walking past her house when she looked out the window. One of her teachers was killed. “You can’t be here,” her mother told her, and sent her to Guatemala to live with her maternal grandmother, an uncle, and five girl cousins—teenagers—whose parents had abandoned them. During Amy’s 6-month stay, the teen girls often touched her in her sexual parts, violating her childhood innocence—though at the time, Amy thought it must be normal. Thankfully, her parents moved to Guatemala after she’d been with her grandma for six months, and Amy left the teenagers to live with them. 

However, as Amy’s body matured, she soon felt unsafe with her stepfather. “Lock the door at night,” her mother would tell her. “Don’t even go out to the bathroom.” Many nights, Amy heard someone trying to open her window, but by God’s mercy, her stepfather never got in. Often now, he would hug her, crush her to him, feeling the shape of her body. “I love you, Amy,” he would say. One terrible moment stays vividly in her memory: her parents coming out of a locked room together, Pablo zipping up his pants, her mother with an expression of fear on her face. Pablo looked at Amy. “This is what love is,” he said.  But she knew it was not. She sensed, deep in her spirit, that there must be something better. 

Sandra, concerned for Amy’s safety, sent her to Miami to stay with a brother. The visit served a twofold purpose. Since Amy had been born in the U.S, she could claim her residency now, before she was 18, and become a United States citizen. However, Amy soon found out that her uncle’s Cuban wife practiced witchcraft. Even though her Cuban aunt claimed her magic was “white magic,” Amy watched one seance which scared her so badly, she wrote to her mother and begged to go home to Guatemala. 

In retrospect, Amy believes the Holy Spirit was already directing her conscience. A short time before traveling to Miami, she’d attended an evangelical Christian event and asked Jesus into her heart. Though she barely understood what she was doing at the time, “God works in mysterious ways” and had already placed his light in her spirit before she traveled to the U.S. 

After only a month or two in Miami, Amy returned to Guatemala. She had four step-siblings by this time. Her stepfather was making a lot of money. He bought the latest cars, expensive models like Mercedes Benz and Porsche, and hid them behind locked metal gates, as is common in Central America. Frequently, when he took the family to visit El Salvador, he would start the trip in one vehicle and return with a different one. 

That year, Amy’s mother planned a huge celebration for Amy’s 16th birthday, since Amy had been in the U.S. on her 15th birthday and missed the traditional quinceañera. Pablo was away from home at the time and arrived unexpectedly while the party was in full swing. When he walked in and saw the huge celebration going on, the house filled with people, he exploded in anger. That night, he beat up Amy’s mom badly with his fists.

“Mom, you can’t live like this, anymore,” Amy told her mom afterwards. She was 16 now, and rather than being a scared child who froze when Pablo abused her, had learned to think for herself and to express an opinion. “You’ve got to get out. I will help you. We’ll do whatever it takes, but you don’t have to be with this man.

Shortly afterward, Pablo told Sandra a business partner had threatened to kill him over a business deal, and he needed to leave. “Stay with the neighbors, because he’s going to come here,” he instructed. Sandra and her children stayed with the neighbors a few nights and then returned to their home. 

“Mom, we’ve gotta get out,” Amy told her again. “This is terrible.” Sandra agreed.

The next morning, when they opened the door to go grocery shopping, policemen and FBI agents stood on their doorstep. 

TO BE CONTINUED…

Read the rest of Amy’s story next week! Her story joins a series of posts I call In Every Life a Story. I publish a new post for this series every 6 – 10 weeks. Do you have a story or know of someone who has a story to encourage and inspire others? Contact me at lucindajkinsinger@gmail.com. Although many stories will feature Christian themes, I hope to hear from people of many faiths and persuasions. Whoever you are, please get in touch.

Feature photo by Lavina Martin.

The post The Story of Amy: How God Redeemed One Child’s Pain (Part 1) appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

Ten years ago, you wouldn’t have wanted to get on the wrong side of Paul Lansing. An ex-Marine who’d trained for 35 years in martial arts, he was a hulk of a guy with a demeanor that said, “Don’t mess with me.” Nowadays, if you were to see him with his neighbor’s children cuddled up to him while he reads Amelia Bedelia, you would hardly recognize him as the same person. This man who once lived for fighting and combat now considers himself a nonresistant follower of Jesus. So what changed? 

Paul was born in rural Nebraska to a German American father and a Mexican mother. “The first time I got sent home for fighting I was in kindergarten,” Paul says. “I had been beating up kids smaller than myself and my dad told me, ‘If you’re gonna fight someone, fight someone bigger than yourself.’ A week later, I was sent home for fighting a 6th grader!”

Paul found out early in his school career that being half Mexican singled him out for mistreatment. One day his first-grade teacher, Mrs. Blankel, asked where his mother was from. Paul, too young to understand countries and states, told her he didn’t know the planet. While many people would chuckle a little at such a statement, Mrs. Blankel laughed derisively. “She had the other students join in, laugh at me,” Paul says. “I still remember that day.”

From then on, things got worse. Groups of kids ganged up on him several times a week, and someone would want to beat him up almost every day for the crime of being Mexican. “At first, you’re kinda scared,” says Paul. “But I found out if you cried or if you begged for mercy, it only got worse. Around the time I was in 2nd grade, I swore I’d never cry again or ask for mercy. So I fought.” 

He remembers one instance when a whole group of kids lined up beside the school bus, taunting him and telling him they were going to whup him. Paul looked to the bus driver for help, but he just leaned back in his seat with a smirk on his face that said, “I’m going to enjoy this.” From that experience and others like it, Paul learned he couldn’t count on anyone for help. He was alone. 

His reaction? “I went out swinging, and I went down swinging,” he says. “It happened so many times, I started getting good at it.” By the time he got out of high school, Paul figures he’d been in three to five thousand fights.

Paul enrolled in a military academy for high school and college. While in high school, he saw a bully who was second in state wrestling beating up a slim junior high cadet. As Paul tells the story: “I went over there and said ‘Knock it off.’ And then he attacked me. He took me down, and I threw him, and then he got on top of me, and I told him to get off. He wouldn’t do it, so I decked him. One punch and he was knocked out. His eye was shut for a couple months and from there on I had a hero status. Everyone would come up and just thank me.” 

Paul hated seeing the “little guys or girls” get beat up and soon became known for beating up the bullies. The other students started calling him “the bully of bullies.” “Eventually,” Paul says, “some of the girls I knew…I guess they just wanted to tell me their story, you know, talk to somebody. I heard from them horrible stories—much, much, much worse than anything I’d gone through. And I realized I didn’t have it too bad.”

Paul dropped out of the military academy after the first year of college to enroll in the Marines. He became a sniper and loved it. In his late twenties, he left the Marines—just two years before Desert Storm happened—to work a construction job. He never did get to fight in a war, but at age 13 he’d joined the Army Martial Arts League, and he continued there for 35 years, eventually becoming an officer. He earned four black belts and got to know some big names in the martial arts community, where he describes himself as “proficient but not great.” Great or not, he was once attacked by 30 guys at once and was able to hold his own. 

After leaving the Marines, Paul continued his physical training. He lifted weights two hours a day, ran 33 miles a week, rode his bike everywhere, did 2 aerobic-paced martial arts classes a night, and practiced an additional 20 hours of martial arts on his own every week. Even at work—first in construction and later as data processor—he practiced his stances. 

Paul frequently got dragged into fights, though he rarely started them. “I had a fierce appearance, plus huge muscles,” Paul says. “I was one of those guys that if somebody beat me, they could count it a great victory. If they lost, they could always say, ‘Well, look at that guy!’” Paul figures he was involved in several thousand fights in his adult years, including several hundred in the ring. 

By his late thirties and early forties, the stories he’d heard and the brutality he’d experienced had worn out his spirit. He grew so sick of people, he turned his back on the world. “I got so sick of people I’d do my grocery shopping late at night because I didn’t want to be around anyone. I went to work and that was about it. I got to where I really hated people. I became a hermit. I didn’t go anywhere, I didn’t associate with anyone, I didn’t do anything. I just sat at home and thought about what a sick world we live in.” 

In his upper forties, Paul took a job as an electrician and made a new friend, Gene. As they got to know each other over the next few years, they would often sit around talking after work. Gene was a dedicated Christian, and sometimes their conversation turned to God. Paul had never had anything to do with God, believing it was just a way for people to explain things they didn’t understand. But he found Gene’s perspective interesting and thought that now and then he made a valid point. 

More than once, Gene invited him to church. “Yeah right, as if I’m going to go to church,” was Paul’s response. But one night, Gene invited him to the children’s Christmas program, and Paul thought, “What can it hurt? I got nothing going.” 

“That night,” Paul says, “I saw the hand of God, the light of God. I saw him working through the children. From that night on, I gave my life to the Lord.” That very same night, he got rid of his books, his music, his movies, and his TV and gave up his fighting and martial arts. “I dropped everything, and I never looked back. I knew from that day on that He exists and there’s nothing else that matters.” 

“Life has changed so much for me,” Paul says. “I’m doing things I would have never done.” That includes studying the Bible, participating in street meetings with his church group, treating homeless people with respect and buying them lunch, explaining the gospel and Biblical teaching in online conversations, and even reading stories to his neighbor’s children. 

Not every habit changed overnight. Smoking cigarettes was one habit he found almost impossible to break. “I decided smoking is polluting the temple of the Holy Spirit,” Paul says, “so I decided I was going to quit. I crumpled up my pack and tossed it away, and said, ‘Okay, we’re going cold turkey.’ A week later I’m smoking like a fiend. A week later I’m ready to try it again. I crumple up my pack, toss it in the trash, and a week later I’m smoking like a fiend. This goes along for a year and a half, and I cannot stop. One day Gene asked me, ‘How you doing with the cigarettes?’ and I told him. He said, ‘Let’s pray about it.’ So we prayed about it. And that night I had victory and have ever since.” 

That experience taught him the importance of depending on God. “Back when I realized the bus driver wasn’t going to help me, I learned to handle things alone, and I handled things by myself for all those years. Handing my problems over to God is a huge step for me. But I know that God wants me to, and so I do. 

“Trusting him, that takes faith. I didn’t have that. Everything was me. I was proud. I look at my old pictures, I got this stuck up look, everything was me, by me, for me… me, me, me, me. But now it’s for God. He’s the center, not me. And it took a lot to get to that point. I never bowed to anyone before I met God.”

He now lives just two blocks from Gene and his family, and they attend church together every Sunday. He loves spending time with the children he once would have ignored and enjoys watching them grow up. Along with Gene, he continues to remain active in sharing his faith, whether that’s in street meetings or jail ministry or online forums. 

“Even today if someone touches me on the shoulder from behind, I have to resist an urge not to prepare to defend,” Paul says—but he has chosen to lay aside those defense instincts and use Christ’s peaceful response instead. “I still consider myself a warrior,” he says. “But my weapons are no longer carnal.”

***

This article joins a series of posts I call In Every Life a Story. I plan to publish a new story for this series every 6 weeks or so. Do you have a story or know of someone who has a story to encourage and inspire others? Contact me at lucindajkinsinger@gmail.com. Although many stories will feature Christian themes, I hope to hear from people of many faiths and persuasions. Whoever you are, please get in touch.

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