Chapter Twelve

GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN

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Margie and I had a standing date for lunch every Thursday. We would meet at various restaurants and treat ourselves to a couple of hours of revelation and shop talk. Before the menu arrived she said, “I have a problem, Donna, a really big problem.”

“What is it?”

“This person I know really needs help bad. Professional help. How would you suggest that someone get help, who doesn’t realize that they need it?”

Oh, oh! I thought. My face must have gone beet red. Margie would have nothing to do with the Christian side of my life and didn’t even want to hear about it. Now she thinks I’ve gone mad.

“That all depends on the problem and how close you are to the person.” I tried to keep from showing I suspected she was referring to me.

“Oh they’re very close. It’s serious. It’s ruined their life. It looks like it’s getting worse.”

What could I ever possibly have said to make her think my life was anything but ecstatic bliss?

“You would definitely have to do everything you could. A true friend would admire you for your concern, even if they didn’t agree with you that anything was wrong.”

“Not once they’re fanatical.”

That word really bothered me, any time I heard it. It’s only the long form of the word ‘fan’. Baseball fan, hockey fan, all meant fanatic, but the whole word was used only to describe Christians. It was acceptable to be a ‘fan’ and rearrange your whole life and everything on your calendar to sit in front of a boob tube for six hours on a Saturday, ignore your family, drink yourself into a stupor, then jump up and down, screaming and yelling and shaking your fists, if the opposing team scored a goal. You were a fan and completely normal, but if you spent six hours a week in church and spoke to God in a normal tone of voice, you were a fanatic and needed psychiatric help.

“Maybe a person is a fanatic in your eyes, Margie, only because their lifestyle and yours conflict.”

“I should have used the word alcoholic, not fanatic. What kind of a lifestyle is it when you’re drunk 75% of the time?”

“What are you talking about?” I didn’t know if I should jump up and down with relief or reach over and throw my arms around her neck when I realized this conversation had nothing whatsoever to do with me.

“Well, I’ll be honest. It’s my boyfriend. They’ve just fired him for being drunk on the job and he doesn’t even think he’s anything more than a social drinker.”

My temperature back to normal and my heart again beating in rhythm, I suggested she take him to church.

“Forget it. The only time he’ll come to a church is if we get married but I doubt that will ever happen. I’ve never known an alcoholic and I am not prepared or in the mood to be a nursemaid to anyone.

“But God can change people and their problems overnight.”

“Hold it. Hold it. Don’t start that. You promised you’d never preach. Okay?”

By the time I got back to my office, I was, you might say, ‘itching to preach’, especially since I had spent the afternoon discussing a major calamity in someone’s life, that didn’t need or want God’s intervention.

My opportunity soon became available. An agent came skipping into the office, all excited because she had just been to a psychic that foretold marvellous things for her future. She formed a small group of agents around her to repeat, detail by detail, the wondrous events that were to take place in her life.

“Susie, (not to be confused with Sue or Susan) don’t say another word. Stop right there! Guys, excuse us but we have to leave right away to discuss something of top priority.” I tugged at her arm. “Come to McDonald’s for a coffee, I have to talk to you right away.’

She obediently followed, presuming I had a hot real estate transaction for her and babbled about the psychic all the way down the mall.

I got right to the point. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. Do you believe in God?” My question stunned her more than if I had asked “Is the world round?”

“Well, sure!”

“If I told you the Bible was the infallible word of God, the mind of God and an accurate account of history, past and present, what would you say?”

“Well — I’ve never given it much thought, but we have this 400 year old Bible at home that has been passed down through our family and we consider it ‘holy’ and a book to be respected. I’ll have to invite you over so you can see it. It’s written in the old scroll with ‘these’ and ‘thous’. It’s terribly difficult to understand. Anyway, why? Are you religious?”

“Not one bit, Susie. I’m a Christian.”

We sat for hours while I explained the hazards of the occult and the alternate route. I think I scared her half to death once she realized where these people were getting their unique powers from.

“I just went for fun.” She continued to name the various agents at our office who had been going for years and who had sparked her curiosity. I wasn’t even aware that this office had become preoccupied with this, too.

“Exactly my point. Look at their lives. The people you have just named, are the three that are almost pathetic. One’s as nutty as a fruit cake, the other is living hand to mouth and couldn’t sell a house even in the boom and the third one is sick 90% of the time. That is not mere coincidence. I thought it was just a lot of hogwash too, until things started to slide downhill while they were all talking of greener pastures, all promising the same prosperous outcome. Except that near the end, all three had said I would be a widow by the time I’m thirty-six.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five. I’m not worried though, I’ve renounced my involvement with it and rebuked that negative destiny.”

She went on to tell me that she had been secretly watching Jimmy Swaggart each Sunday morning, and that what I had just told her about Jesus Christ and salvation was exactly what he has been saying. She wanted to become a Christian, since, as she put it, “it doesn’t look like it’s hurt you any. Just don’t tell Margie, Okay? She doesn’t go for that stuff.”

“I won’t tell anyone at all. That part’s up to you.”

“By the way, why did you say you weren’t religious?”

“I’m not. Religion is a man-made philosophy of man trying to work his way up to God. Christianity is God reaching down to man and having a personal and intimate relationship with His children, through Jesus Christ. Read Ephesians 2: verses 8 and 9:

‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast!”

“I had no idea you were — I mean, you’re really a nice person and so honest and lovable, but I’ve never heard you talk like this before. I know whenever anyone in the office would curse, a dozen heads would peer over the partitions and say, ‘Is Donna here? Don’t let her hear that,’ but I thought it was just some funny little quirk of yours. There is no one worse than me when it comes to four letter words, and you’ve never said anything to me.”

I laughed. I had noticed the commotion many times, especially the older agents, jumping up to see if I’d get ruffled whenever someone cussed.

“You know the only thing I say and ONLY when the curse pertains to God is ‘You’re talking about the Lord that stretched out his arms and died for you’. There’s never any reply, it just stops them dead in their tracks and they scratch their heads wondering, What brought that on?”

“I really appreciate you being so frank and telling me all this. Not many people would open up like that and stick their necks out. I’m really touched. Thanks.”

Following that one ‘coffee break’, she would often approach my desk to share something she had heard on Christian TV, or read in the Bible. She was well on her way.

My lunches with Margie were always a little more than intriguing, but today, she especially looked like she was up to mischief.

“What would make you quit Joe’s office?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing!”

“How about a subdivision?”

“Nothing — but a subdivision, I stand corrected.”

“Well go pack your things and tell him quick ‘cause tomorrow you and I have 23 homes to sell.”

A real estate agent’s dream come true. Twenty years, people wait in this business to get a subdivision and now she’s telling me we start tomorrow.

“Joe, I love you like a brother. You and Ben and at least a dozen agents in this office are like family to me — but — Joe — SEE YA! BYE!”

“I’ll get her for this. I’ll get that Margie. She takes my most promising agent. She’s been a pill since the day I laid eyes on her. Why me? Why does she do it to me?” he stormed.

“Keep it up, Joe. My head will swell so large I won’t be able to get out through the door. You know I’ll be back. I always come back. Oh, by the way, do I still get to go to the Bahamas even if I don’t work here?”

“Of course you get to go. I’ll kill that girl for taking you away. I’ll beat her to death with your ticket. Go to your sub, Donna, get it out of your system, it’s not all you think it is. You’ll starve. You’ll see. I hope you don’t, but the market’s slow and you belong here. Your desk will be waiting anytime you decide to come back.”

Margie and I agreed to split the six days at the sub in this fashion. She would work, Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays, and I would work Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. A nice gesture on her part, knowing I wanted Sunday off.

It was going to be a piece of cake! Clients coming to us instead of us chasing clients. An opportunity of a lifetime. Eight hours a day, three days a week, to do the things I did not have time for at home. I read a book a day, I crocheted a seven foot bedspread and I would even take my household bills and bookwork to do there. I was afraid one day, I’d get to the point where a customer would walk into the model home and find me ironing.

I soon became preoccupied with reading. I never dreamed Christian books could be so humorous and entertaining, as well as educational. I read many autobiographies, such as Dr. R. Eby’s book, ´Caught Up Into Paradise´. It´s his account of how he died and spent more than half an hour in heaven. Betty Malz had a similar experience in her book, ´My Glimpse of Eternity´. I would run out and buy ten more copies and distribute them to people I knew would benefit and be interested in the contents.

´Sexual Maturity for Women´ was so hilariously funny, yet hit the nail on the head on so many topics ranging from taking everything including your kitchen sink with you on his camping trip to blubbering over soap operas through sixteen boxes of Kleenex, to the “I’ve got a headache syndrome’, that I bought 25 copies and decided to give them out as Christmas presents.

´The Happiest People on Earth´, by Demos Shakarian, hit very close to home. ´More Than a Carpenter´, by Josh McDowell, was the one book I thought every agnostic and athiest should read; it would surely make them sit back and seriously question their beliefs — or rather ‘lack of belief’.

I bought a copy of Joyce Landorff’s, ´Tough and Tender´ just before my trip to the Bahamas and planned to read it on the plane. That book in itself was the one ‘opening factor’ to a conversation that changed the life of yet another stranger.

I was seated in the aisle seat, when a size five (I’m a twelve), blonde (I’m a brunette), about 22 years old (I’m almost old enough to be her mother), indicated the window seat was hers. Darko had been married to me long enough to know that unless he wanted me to ruin his vacation, he’d better offer to switch seats with me, but PRONTO. We did it very cleverly. We both stood up to let her in and then I went forward first, now in the middle’ seat position. A much better arrangement, as far as I was concerned. By the fifth page of Landorif’s book, I was giggling noticeably.

“A comedy?” She initiated the conversation.

“No, a Christian book. It’s hilarious.”

“What can be even remotely funny in a Christian book?”

“I can see you haven’t read any.” I stopped right there knowing I had aroused her curiosity.

“Are you a Christian?”

“Uhhuummm.”

“You don’t look like a Christian.”

“I’ve got my long robe and sandals in my suitcase. I’m traveling incognito.”

She laughed so hard she spilled her wine all over the front of her white suit.

“OH NO! I saved for months to buy this outfit!”

“That’s why I wear the dress I’m the most fed up with on planes, the one I wouldn’t cry over if someone burnt a cigarette hole in.”

“Why didn’t I think of that? By the way, that’s a lovely dress anyway. You look nice. Who’d suspect it’s your reject. I should have done that.”

She wasn’t silent for more than half a minute, and this had been the longest I’d ever kept quiet in years. I sensed that she had to talk. She ordered another glass of wine asking, “I hope you don’t mind if I drink.”

“No, no. Feel free.”

“You’re sure, now? I’m going to have fun, really live it up.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, I’ve been saving for a long time and I’m really going to let my hair down.”

“Uhhuumm.”

“You don’t approve of that do you?”

“What? Listen, it’s your vacation.”

She ordered her third glass.

“I don’t always drink like this, but I want to have fun. Right?”

“I guess. Are you having fun?”

She was bouncing in her seat. “Yeah. . . this is living.”

I resumed reading without making a comment. Not like me at all. I could have been at least a little bit sarcastic and said something like, “You could have fooled me”. Someone knew when to button my lip.

“I’m really a ‘NICE’ girl, you know.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I’m not loose or anything.”

“Listen, please. . . why are you apologizing to me? Am I making you uncomfortable?” I couldn’t figure out why I would. I had long red nails, hair down to my waist, wear lots of makeup and look as ‘with it’ as anyone else, but I felt like running to the john and taking another look in the mirror.

Next thing I know, she’s got her head on my shoulder and she’s bawling like a baby. She doesn’t wear waterproof mascara EITHER and here I was worried about being drenched by wine.

“I’m so miserable. I’m so lonely. My live-in boyfriend and I don’t get along. I really took the trip to straighten out my head.”

I was more than aware that this seating arrangement was God’s idea. There was not one other person on that plane that should have been sitting next to me or needed to hear desperately that familiar story.

“I can see into the future. It looks okay, but I’ve been waiting for so long, I won’t be able to make it that far.”

“What do you mean you see into the future?”

“I’m a witch — A GOOD WITCH!” she quickly added. When she said that, I on the other hand, no longer needed this aircraft to fly. I was generating enough adrenalin to do the job myself.

“Do you believe in God?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you mucking with witchcraft then? Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“It’s not dangerous. I use good magic. I can even make furniture levitate. I’ll show you when we get off the plane.”

“God detests anything to do with magic or the occult. People who practice it are literally on the road to hell and I say that very seriously.”

“Why? I’ve saved peoples’ lives. Why would He mind if I used my powers to save someone’s life?”

“What you’re saying then, is that you’re playing God...”

“What do you mean?”

“Since only God gives and takes life, you’re elevating, and I don’t mean it to be a pun, yourself to the height of God Almighty. That’s exactly what Satan wanted to do; BE GOD.”

“I never thought of it that way. Oh God, I only meant it for good. You see, I’ve had three visions of death. Twice I saw someone about to die and said nothing, and they died. The third was my sister. I saw her get hit by a green truck, so I warned her. She was extra cautious and jumped out of the way when the truck would have killed her. I saved her life.”

“No, you didn’t. The first two visions were real foretastes of what was about to befall your friends anyway. Whether you warned them or not. The third vision was a lie. The truck was never going to KILL your sister, the devil added that to the vision of the ‘near accident’ so that you could run around playing God for the rest of your life. You have to renounce your power. Look where trying to be God got Satan. Hell was prepared for him and he wants to drag you along with him.”

“I have to phone my aunt as soon as we land. She has the gift too. She’s the one that taught me levitation.”

“Any time it surfaces, call on the name of Jesus. All the principalities in the universe have to submit to His name. You have all the power and authority of heaven and earth through His name. ‘Greater is He that is in you, than he (the devil) that is in the world.’”

While waiting to pass through customs she says, “Can you help me find a nice, clean-cut guy while I’m down here?”

“I’ve got exactly the one,” pointing out the only single agent out of our group.

“Forget it. Can’t you do better than that?”

“On such short notice you want I should come up with Redford?”

“That’s good. Really good. That was a Barbara Streisand imitation, right? That’s really good!”

“Barbara Streisand you got, it’s Redford I can’t do.”

The guy in front of us is chuckling, “Redford at your service.”

I could write a book on that trip alone. One day, I probably will. I only want to relay some of the highlights here. Sue didn’t even touch the tip of the iceberg when she said God had something special in store for me.

I have been battling the battle of the bulge since I was twelve years old. I had a thirty pound spread that would fluctuate with the weather. Twenty pounds was easy to shed, but the last ten I had only whittled off twice in my life, once so that I could fit into a size ten wedding dress and the other when I almost died with pneumonia. I was at my ‘just dumped twenty’ size because I knew I’d be on the beach. I started to shed two pounds a day. I ate to my heart’s content, but visibly saw the fat melting. Desserts, cream puffs, anything I wanted and as much as I wanted. The pictures of the trip showed a slightly round figure melt to a SLINKY. I thought I had died and went to heaven.

Contrary to Barbados, the islanders were friendly, happy and cooperative. No one hurried. Everyone concentrated on seeing to it that you had a vacation you could write home about.

One taxi driver took us to a remote, out of the way restaurant, and then waited an hour and a half till we finished our meal to drive us back.

“Take your time” he urged, “Relax. Enjoy.”

Another driver dropped us off at a ‘born again’ church on Sunday night and we had told him to pick us up at eight. The service didn’t finish till 8:45 and we ran out apologizing.

“No need to rush. I’m cool. I wasn’t going to drive off.”

They didn’t have their meters running either. Each time the ride didn’t cost more than five dollars.

I loved the people. I commented to one chap, “If you people could just talk slower and move faster, this would be paradise.”

“I can talk slower, but I sure ain’t gonna move any faster.”

I learn quick. I slowed down. I stopped to smell the flowers. My eyes and ears and other senses were opened to the beauty and serenity of this island, Even my vocal cords responded. Never, never, never would I allow anyone to hear me sing (except my kids of course). When we sang in church I was always ten decibels lower than anyone else. Now I was running, jogging and skipping up and down the beach singing, “Born again, just like Jesus said, born again, and all because of Calvary, I’m so glad that I’ve been born again.” People joined in.

They stopped to learn the words, even. I didn’t know if I sang on key or not and I didn’t care. By the middle of the week I had half the people on the beach singing the song.

My ‘Jesusitis’ caught on. It was contagious. By the end of the week, I was leaving behind more than 300 friends. I had a crowd of dozens around us, wherever we went.

The first night we went to the Casino. I had gambled and played cards all my life. It was our usual pastime but I had no desire to sit at a table whatsoever. It was such an eye-opening sight I couldn’t believe that I was observing. These people, although making noise and merriment, looked pathetic. They reminded me of corpses sitting around a grave yard. No life in their faces, no joy in their life. Each face as blank as the next.

A perfect place to drop innuendoes, maybe shake someone into reality that was obsessed with the momentum and speed of this environment. My Barbara Streisand voice surfaced again. Something I had never done or even been capable of before. Along with all her mannerisms and a sense of humor to match. I even stunned myself. People were visibly jolted and would turn when they heard me speak, expecting to see Streisand.

I asked if I could get a coffee. “Coffee? Sure, but you have to drink it out of a cocktail glass.”

The hostess brought me a glass wrapped in a napkin so I wouldn’t burn my fingers. I stood in the middle of the casino with the steamy brew. Hundreds, and I do mean hundreds of people, came up asking what I was drinking, thinking it was some new ‘hot concoction.’

“It’s coffee. Try it, you’ll like it. Probably won’t lose as much money either, drinking this stuff.”

By the third night I was not the only one at the casino holding a napkin wrapped highball. There had not been ONE COFFEE VISIBLE IN THAT WHOLE PLACE TILL MINE. People only needed direction. Everyone’s drinking FREE BOOZE, so they’re drinking free booze.

“Do it my way and your whole trip might be a FREEBIE.”

The second night we came, I made certain I was dressed to the teeth, my makeup perfect and loaded on the jewelry (within taste) to make it obvious that I could afford to be there, because people asked, “Lose your shirt? Can’t play anymore?”

“Not at all. It’s a lot more entertaining watching you lose your shirt — and CHEAPER TOO!”, still in the Streisand voice.

Darko roamed from table to table as if he was at a fleamarket checking out the antiques, leaving me alone most of the time. I don’t have to tell you that the men are on the prowl at a casino.

“Can I place a bet for you lady?”

“Sorry, I’m the bouncer, management won’t allow me to pay.’

“You’re really different. Drinking coffee, not playing, what are you doing here?”

“Actually I’m not the bouncer, I’m a ‘Bible thumping’ Christian and this is the best place on the whole island to round up converts.”

After three nights, I was a known regular. Even the dealers were saying, “That’s it buddy, you’ve had enough. Why don’t you go talk to that lady and have her talk some sense into you?"

“Watch it, I’ll want to start drawing wages and Streisand DOES NOT come cheap.”

I had the time of my life and my audience not only enjoyed it but would get very serious.

“That’s the attitude to have, lady, you’re the only one in this place that’s sane.

Encouraging stuff!!! I got bolder and braver. I never actually walked in with a Bible under my arm, but everyone knew where my chips were laid.

The finale, the ultimate special blessing, came when I was standing by the pool, gazing into the refreshing, inviting water, at the nine foot mark.

“Jump in,” a voice inside my head urged. “Oh, oh. That’s not God. I don’t test God. Sorry, I’m not jumping off any tall buildings yelling, ‘God save me!’”

“I taught the animals to swim. I taught you too, before you knew what fear was.”

IT WAS HIM!

I dove in. When I surfaced I realized I had shortened Darko’s life.

“GET OUT, GET OUT OF THERE. What are you doing? GET OUT OF THERE! GET A ROPE! SHE CAN’T SWIM!”

I wasn’t swimming in the water, I was DANCING. It was almost a ballet. People had gathered. “She’s a swimmer. What are you yelling about?”

I was doing a leisurely back crawl.

“She’s afraid of water. She’s never been in a pool past her knees. Donna, GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW!”

Then he realized what I was doing was not natural. Divine intervention! He sat down and started to cry. I was laughing and crying and diving to the bottom and crying some more.

“Look, Darko — GOD’S TAUGHT ME TO SWIM!”

My arms were propped under my head and I was propelling myself back and forth by wiggling only my toes. I knew that even the best of swimmers couldn’t do THAT.

“Thank you. Thank you for teaching me to swim.” My only last hangup.

By the time I got out of the water, Darko was convinced I would be walking on it next.

“Don’t do that to me. Why didn’t you warn me? You want me to have a heart attack?”

The next night, six of us were packed into one of those long limousine taxis, including a couple we had met at the hotel and two agents from the company. They were teasing, “Well, why couldn’t she walk on the water? Didn’t Jesus walk on the water?”

The taxi driver threw his head back with: “You could too, mister, if you had the faith He did.”

“AMEN BROTHER, AMEN!” I chorused, “YOU TELL ‘EM.”

What do you say when you go home after a trip like that and people ask, “Have a good time?”

“IT’S BETTER IN THE BAHAMAS” just sounds too blase.

Again our plane was the last flight in. I sat in church a few hours later, my eyes droopy, half asleep.

Someone tapped my shoulder just before the service started.

“Hi, I’m Carol. I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Nice tan. We’re stuck for a Gal Pal. Can you come at seven p.m. on Tuesday and bring a plate of sweets and a Christmas ornament to exchange as a gift with your gal pal? Her name’s Lisa.”

“Fine. I’d love to.”

I had Monday to get all my affairs in order and the boys settled back home. Tuesday, I was really running late and ran into a store to get an ornament. What do you get? Think quick. A white and gold angel caught my eye. Beautiful. Oooops!, were angels okay? It’s funny, after three years how much you still don’t know. Well, they must be okay, I figured. We don’t worship them or pray to them, I’m not buying this as an object of any significance.

I ran through the cashiers.

Not until I got to my model home did I realize I would need a box, scotch tape, a card and wrapping paper. Now what do I do? I’m going straight from here and closing down early to boot.

I can’t leave it till the last minute.. . . IMPROVISE!!

This 2,500 square foot home only contained one desk. PERIOD. The house was vacant and empty and if I didn’t find anything in this desk I was really stuck. I rummaged through the drawers.

A large SNOOPY bag and a pair of scissors. Great, that’s a start. That was going to be my wrapping paper. No scotch tape but I did have nail polish. It took some doing but I got the paper to stick to the box. It didn’t look too bad, kind of cute with the large snoopy cartoon on the front. What else? Dig.

I found transferable stencils. Super. I won’t need a card. I stencilled the name LISA under snoopy.

Keep digging.

Some gold, stretchy, elastic, kind of cord. I tied a bow. It took me most of the afternoon, but I ended up with a work of art. I flew over to the church only minutes before seven.

“Hey where’d you get that great Snoopy paper?”

“It was a big bag. Honest. The whole thing’s held together with nail polish.”

I was introduced to Lisa. Her eyes were wide with anticipation.

“I’ve got the nicest package here. How’d you get my name on like that?”

I was exhausted to the point where I thought my legs would just give in but I picked up momentum playing the various games and chasing the kids back and forth. We weren’t sitting more than a few seconds at a time before we were back to another game, and scurrying to win some prizes.

I suddenly stopped in my tracks. There on the wall, hung a huge calendar. DECEMBER 7TH, 1982.

Now isn’t that something? The Lord knew that with the trip and preparation for Christmas I would have completely overlooked that date and then hated myself for not stopping to cherish the memory of my first little darling. Here He had arranged for me to be at a party, with about twenty-five little girls, celebrating. That realization hit me hard, but not as hard as when I opened Lisa’s package and found the angel she had made for me, I became too choked to speak. How appropriate. I hadn’t even known at that store how that angel would reach into my heart and stir my emotions, especially since Lisa made one for me.

"Lisa, I don’t think I’ll soon forget this party.”

My motherly instincts were stirred and I could have said a lot, lot more. I could have told her about a little girl I once had that went to be with Jesus. But this was a kid’s party and not for sentimentality. I just smiled at her and I could see in her eyes that she saw the love in mine.

“Thank you Lisa, for a lovely evening.”

Joyce called everyone to sit down. “We’re going to end the evening by having Jane read a story. This is a secular story, girls, not from the Bible, but so beautiful that I thought it would be appropriate to read it tonight.”

It was a fifteen minute story and half way through I was shaking, trying to keep from weeping. It was story about a little crippled girl who went to Bethlehem to see Jesus and she stood by his manger and started to grow big and strong and straight.

‘How can it be, that Thou my Lord, should care for me? Heavenly Father, I, — I, — I don’t know what to say.” The sides of my cheeks were aching. I was not going to spoil this party by having twenty-five little girls and their Gal Pals wonder why tears were welling in my eyes.

Susan was sitting across the room and said, “We’re going to close in prayer and I don’t know why, but I sense a burden in my spirit to pray for Donna Martonfi. I don’t even have my glasses on and I can’t see where you are Donna, but the Lord impressed on me to pray for you tonight for some reason.”

In a voice choked with emotion, I shared what the Lord was doing for me that evening. When I had finished, I was not the only one to have tears streaming down my cheeks.

All the way home, in the dark, and through healing, cleansing tears, I sang worship songs to the Omniscient One. `Why me? Why do you always do these things for me?’ I went to my bedroom and took my Bible and opened it. My eyes fell on 1 Corinthians, Chapter Two:

‘Dear brother, even when I first came to you I didn’t use lofty words and brilliant ideas to tell you God’s message. For I decided that I would speak only of Jesus Christ and His death on the cross. I came to you in weakness — timid and trembling. And my preaching was very plain, not with a lot of oratory and human wisdom, but the Holy Spirit’s power was in my words, proving to those who heard them that the message was from God. I did this because I wanted your faith to stand firmly upon God, not on man’s great ideas. Yet when I am among mature Christians I do speak with words of great wisdom, but not the kind that comes from here on earth, and not the kind that appeals to the great men of this world, who are doomed to fall. Our words are wise because they are from God, telling of God’s wise plan to bring us into the glories of heaven. This plan was hidden in former times, though it was made for our benefit before the world began. But the great men of the world have not understood it; if they had, they never would have crucified the Lord of Glory.

‘That is what is meant by the Scriptures which say that no mere man has ever seen, heard or even imagined what wonderful things God has ready for those who love the Lord. But we know about these things because God has sent His Spirit to tell us, and His Spirit searches out and shows us all of God’s deepest secrets. No one can really know what anyone else is thinking, or what he is really like, except that person himself. And no one can know God’s thought except God’s own Spirit. And God has actually given us His Spirit (not the world’s spirit) to tell us about the wonderful free gifts of grace and blessing that God has given us. In telling you about these gifts we have even used the very words given to us by the Holy Spirit, not words that we as men might choose. So we use the Holy Spirit’s words to explain the Holy Spirit’s facts. But the man who isn’t a Christian can’t understand and can’t accept these thoughts from God, which the Holy Spirit teaches us. They sound foolish to him because only those who have the Holy Spirit within them can understand what the Holy Spirit means. Others just can’t take it in. But the spiritual man has insight into everything, and that bothers and baffles the man of the world, who can’t understand him at all. How could he? For certainly he has never been one to know the Lord’s thoughts, or to discuss them with Him, or to move the hands of God by prayer. But, strange as it seems, we as Christians actually do have within us a portion of the very thoughts and mind of Christ.’ (TLJB)

I was again in His presence as on that day many years ago, only now I knew ‘Who it was that I have believed, and am persuaded, that He is able ...´

That evening He explained His first words to me; ‘I did not do this — but I will show you how great I am!‘

I often wondered what He meant, ‘I did not do this — who else could? He took me back to my pregnancy, to a night when Judy and I had picked up a OUIJA board and wanted to know if I was having a girl or a boy. We pressed for an answer over and over. Fright filled my being when it answered and spelled out:

GORDANA’S BABY HAS A BAD HEARD

We could not figure out if it meant h-e-a-r-t or h-e-a-d. But we were both convinced we had reached the spirit world. She had never known or heard my real name. Only my parents called me and had christened me GORDANA; a name which was changed to Donna, by the time I was eleven.

“I did not harm your daughter, I only stood back and allowed you to suffer the consequences of your foolish actions. I allowed what you had gone searching for, to show you the magnitude of the depth of darkness you were flirting with.”

Then in my mind’s eye I saw Jesus standing, holding my baby girl in His arms.



The New Year ahead really stumped me. Margie and I were not making any money. I don’t mean hardly any, I mean none at all.

“Lord, what’s wrong? I’m putting in the hours, I’m using them constructively. Am I not supposed to get paid for work I do? I don’t understand, TALK TO ME.

SILENCE.

April, Margie threw in the towel.

‘Sorry Donna. This was all a mistake. Who would know the market was going to be so bad.”

“Don’t quit before spring. Spring is always good. You’re pulling out just before the windfall.”

Spring came and went. My new partner and I sold O-N-E house. To make matters worse, he had our company thrown off the sub for saying, in front of a client, while the builder was standing there yet, “I learned at the seminar not to trust builders.”

“NOW WHAT LORD? WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE?

Am I supposed to go back to Joe’s office. Is that it?”

One word: “NO.”

I was soon offered another subdivision and would have to start sitting on the site in July.

“I’m not giving up my summer with the kids, Darko.”

“Take it. All the homes sell by September and you’ll be able to take the winter off, until next spring.

I argued, “The kids go back to school in September. I don’t need to be home then.”

“Donna, you’ll be missing out on a small fortune. You can make thirty thousand dollars by September.” he added.

I still wasn’t convinced, “What if they don’t sell like the last bunch?”

“They will. They have to.”

I reluctantly spent my summer sitting in a trailer. No water. No plumbing. To make matters worse, my new partner wanted every other weekend off. I would zoom to church every second Sunday, directly from the subdivision... dirty, dusty and grubby.

Not only did none of the homes sell by September, when the builder saw how slow the market was, he didn’t even BUILD the houses.

“Lord, something’s wrong. Talk to me. I’ve never been big on patience and now it’s been nine months since I’ve had any income except what I’ve made at court. . . that’s patience, right? I now have patience.”

Even though He was silent, I felt deep in my spirit that there was something I was supposed to be doing. WHAT? I didn’t understand. He was silent; yet still working miracles in every other aspect of my life.

Uncle Tom was advised he had cancer throughout his whole stomach and would have to have immediate surgery to have his stomach removed. We figured he wouldn’t last till Christmas. He was not a believer. I asked the church, now blossomed to a large congregation of about 700, to pray on the day of his operation. When the doctors opened him up, half his stomach was raw flesh, but it was definitely not malignant.

I told him we had prayed for him after he had recovered. TODAY, he’s a believer!

I witnessed with greater power and to more people than I had ever before. A waitress in the restaurant that many of us went to after Sunday morning service, came over to me and asked, “What is it about you people? You don’t get upset if we spill things. You don’t hurry us. You are all smiles and happy faces. We want to know what kind of ‘happy pills’ you’re taking.

“We’re hooked on Jesus. It’s guaranteed to put a smile on your face.”

She was now sitting down with us, “I don’t care if I get fired for this but I’ve got to hear this. . . It’s true. You should see the people that come in here, shouting and pushing their kids, growling at us. You people are phenomenal. What church do you go to?”

“Mississauga Gospel Temple.” Since her job was in jeopardy, I suggested she come over to my house the next day and I’d fill her in. She came and I led her to the Lord.

Everything but real estate was running smoothly and according to God’s purpose.

At times I could almost reach out and touch the answer and yet I could not grasp it.

“Lord, I’ll just lean and rely on you as long as it takes. I’m willing to go anywhere and do anything, but I have to know what that is. Show me. Please.”

With school starting, the hustle and bustle to prepare for my boys’ first year in high school, and Steven starting at the new school for gifted children, (we had recently found he had a genius I.Q.), I planned to phone Darko at work and tell him not to call me at midnight. The company went on twelve hour shifts so that he left by eight p.m. and would generally phone around midnight when he could catch a break. Twice he called to ask why I hadn’t prayed for him that night.

“I can always tell when you forget to pray. It’s different. Everything goes wrong. Nothing goes right. When chaos breaks out, I know you’ve forgotten to say a prayer for me.”

He was right both times. I would get preoccupied with someone else’s need and forget.

“Honey, don’t call tonight. I’m going to bed early.”

“Are you okay? It’s not even 9:30. What’s the matter?” he sounded worried. I explained that I was just burned out and needed the extra sleep.

“OK. See you in the morning.”

My head hit the pillow and I was out like a light. I thought I had only been asleep a short while when the noisy ringing of the phone disturbed me. It was daylight. I peered at the clock. Nine a.m.

RING. RING. RING.

Go away. I’m not going to answer it. If it’s the court calling for a last minute bail hearing, I’ll have to go in. I just can’t, not today.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

The phone had rung so many times, I knew that whoever it was, knew I was there. Now more fully awake, I realized it must be Darko, otherwise he would be home already.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Martonfi? Your husband’s had an accident at work.”

“You must have the wrong number, my husband’s already left work. He’s not there.”

“Mrs. Martonfi, your husband has been hurt, do you understand what I’m saying?”

My mind continued to reject what was being said. He’s no longer on machinery, doesn’t work with tools, the union won’t let him lift a finger. How could he get hurt?

“It can’t be him. He’s already left the plant.” I desperately argued.

“He’s at the Burlington Hospital. He’s in surgery. Do you understand?”

“NO! NO!!! LORD! NO! HELP!!”

He kept talking but I couldn’t even hear the words.

“I’ll be right there.”

The room was spinning one way and I was spinning with PANIC.

I dialled “0”. “Operator, please find a number for me — connect me, please.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, we cannot assist you.”

“I can’t see. I can’t find my glasses!” I was crying into the phone.

“I’m sorry ma’am I cannot assist you, call information and write the number down big.”

“P-L-E-A-S-E, I have to talk to my pastor.”

She must have thought someone had died. “OH! I’ll connect you, what’s the name?”

HURRY! - HURRY BEFORE I FALL APART.

“Hello, M.G.T.” the voice answered.

“I HAVE TO TALK TO PASTOR FRED,” my voice was so frantic the youth pastor replied. “RIGHT AWAY.”

The phone went dead. He disconnected me.

NO LORD, HELP! I would have to start all over again.

I got the same operator. One chance in a thousand. As soon as she heard me she had me reconnected within seconds, and without asking for the name of the church again.

“PASTOR FRED, DARKO’S BEEN HURT. I CAN’T EVEN PRAY.” With those words, he started to pray and a peace and calmness engulfed me that cannot be merely explained with ‘a peace that passeth all understanding’. I was completely coherent and coordinated and knew that everything would be fine.

I JUST KNEW.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I was too upset to listen, something about his arm.”

“What hospital is he in?”

“I don’t know. Some name in Burlington. Why would they take him all the way to Burlington?”

“I know which hospital it is. J. Brant Memorial. Would you like me to come over and drive you there?”

I was so calm and thinking logically that I surprised even myself.

“No, thank you. I won’t have my car with me to be able to get home then. Could you give me the directions?”

I wrote them down on a piece of paper.

“Call me as soon as you’re able to see him and I’ll come right over. And don’t worry, we’ll be praying. The Lord is in control.”

I knew the Lord was even in control of my car. I was not driving that car. I have no sense of direction and once got lost just walking to a mailbox to post a letter. Anna lived in Burlington and although I had been to her home dozens of times, I never found it on my first try. I’d miss the signs and drive back and forth wondering if I was traveling north or south. The car knew exactly where it was going even if I didn’t, and took all the right exits.

I arrived at the hospital by 10:30 and was informed Darko was still in surgery. The surgeon would see me as soon as he could. I was told his arm was almost cut off.

“When did it happen?”

“He went into surgery about five a.m.”

“Five a.m.” It’s almost eleven. The nurses in the intensive care ward were more than considerate, running back and forth bringing me coffee after coffee from the cafeteria so that I wouldn’t miss the surgeon when he came out.

I informed Pastor Fred that I still knew nothing, and that I would keep him posted. I phoned my parents asking if they would get the boys after school and take them home with them and feed them, since I would probably be there all day. Darko’s parents were vacationing in Yugoslavia. I called Darko’s sister and my office.

At noon I rapped on the door of intensive care again. “Sorry, he’s in the recovery room and they won’t allow you in there.”

One of my friends had a baby just a few days before and they let her BOYFRIEND in the labour room to watch, yet they wouldn’t let me in to see my husband in recovery!

“I’m sorry, that’s the rules.” She replied in a soft voice, sensitive to my frustration.

A few minutes later I was advised he would be brought down from recovery as soon as the staff was back from lunch at one o’clock. Each minute that ticked by was now an eternity. I started to worry for the first time since I prayed with Pastor Fred. Why won’t they let me see him? Has his arm been amputated? He’ll be coming down from recovery so he must be okay.

I saw a stretcher being wheeled toward my direction, I ran to meet it. My face broke out in a grin from ear to ear. He was all there. A cast, three times the size of one they put on broken arms, showed the tips of all five fingers.

“Thank you, Lord.”

In the time we waited for Pastor Fred to arrive, he told me what had happened. At about two in the morning, he was crossing the conveyor when it started up and threw him off balance. He went flying, shooting his arm forward to break the fall, only he had slammed it on a jagged trunk frame, and cut it to the bone; cutting through the nerves, the tendons, everything, including both arteries. His pant leg had caught on the conveyor belt and he would have been crushed to death had a worker not seen him from the cat walk and ran and pressed the STOP button.

Holding his own wound, which was squirting blood in every direction he was driven in a plant vehicle to one of the main entrances. The buggy had so much blood on the floor that it seemed he had bled every drop he had. It took the ambulance almost 45 minutes to find him. The factory is the size of a city, with many gates and entrances. By the time they transported him to the first hospital, the doctor advised that he had been without blood and the nerves were completely severed for so long that the only alternative would be to amputate. If they could find someone to reattach everything, it would probably have to be amputated at a later date. Too much time had elapsed.

He prayed with all his might, harder than ever in his life. Finally, a young surgeon in Burlington was willing to try to save his arm and they transferred him there.

“And so here I am,” he says.

“Why didn’t anyone call me till 9:30? You could have died.”

“I insisted they not call you till then.”

“WHAT????”

“I knew you were tired and didn’t want you driving around at night chasing ambulances.”
“Don’t you ever do that again, you hear?”

When Pastor Fred arrived, just a matter of 45 minutes or so after Darko was wheeled from recovery, he was STUPIFIED to see Darko babbling a mile a minute and me with absolutely nothing to say, just sitting there.

“Darko, I haven’t heard you say this much in all the time I’ve known you. You look fine, too. Donna, you look awful. Darko get up. . . Donna lay down.”

You would never suspect that he had just undergone five and a half hours of micro surgery. Had I seen the doctor before he began to operate I wonder if I would have allowed him near my husband. He looked like just a young kid and wore more jewellery and gold than Mr. T. I couldn’t even imagine that this man was a genius in his profession, but he was!

He was very pleased to see the results a few days later. “Looks like I’ve done a pretty good job.”

“You might be a great surgeon, and you might know how to stitch and sew and mend, but I know the HEALER himself and I’m sure He was looking over your shoulder.”

“It’s going to take about a year for the entire healing, if things go well," this young doctor reported. "Nerves grow back at an inch a month or a millimeter a day. Since the cut’s about twelve inches from the tips of your fingers, I figure about a year. Also I don’t know yet if I’ve hooked up the right tendons to the right fingers. We might need additional surgery. I hope everything goes okay. It’s going to deteriorate before it gets better, the skin and muscle will atrophy.”

The entire time Darko was in the hospital, we could FEEL THE PRAYERS of our dedicated family of God. We knew the origin of each and every prayer. They were almost a visible element you could see and reach out to touch.

His peace was constantly evident and present through this period which otherwise could have been an ordeal. His promise states: ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’ (Hebrews 13:5) WHAT A PROMISE!

TWENTY-FIVE DAYS later Darko was back at work. He progressed at a phenomenal speed, months ahead of where the doctor predicted he would be. All of the tendons connected properly and the nerves were already regenerating in most of his fingers. His employer and the compensation board admitted that some people take more than twenty-five days off when they merely stub their toe.

Shortly after he was released from the hospital, we had Pastor Fred and his family over for Sunday dinner and spent most of the afternoon discussing all the blessings the Lord had bestowed on us in the past three and a half years, most of which they had not even been aware of.

“I’m so grateful the Lord decided to let me keep him a while longer. I guess He’s not in need of an electrician as badly as I am of a husband.”

When Pastor Fred moved to the piano and asked for requests, I pointed out that I was not even aware that he could play. Mickie, his wife, was the Sunday organist, and I thought his only gift was preaching and singing.

“I so envy people that can sing, but people who can both play and sing, get my undivided attention and admiration.”

A silent voice said, “You can type.”

I laughed to myself; so can Stevie, big deal!

The following Tuesday night I was in the ladies’ room when a girl asked if I was there for choir practice.

“What I would give if they would let me near a choir. As a matter of fact, I know I’m going to live a very, very long life; when the angels heard me sing they suggested I remain down here as long as possible.”

She replied, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, I’m certain you can do something to compensate for it.”

Again that same voice, “You can TYPE.”

That morning I felt led of the Lord to attend Dave’s Bible class, however in less than an hour, I wondered what I was doing there. The leader, Dave, was asking what we could do to reach out to the hurting world, to coworkers and neighbours that needed a touch from the Lord. Many were replying that their coworkers didn’t even know that they were Christians and they found it very difficult to share the things of the Lord with people who were not open to the subject. Some admitted that they only shared their faith with neighbours in life and death situations, and were otherwise very timid.

“What am I doing here, Lord, I’m certain that I belong in one of the other two classes where I would benefit from the teachings. I can hardly sit still and not take over this meeting with ideas about how to tune into You and then pick out people in crowded environments who need to hear the life changing message of the gospel.”

“YOU CAN TYPE.” Loud and clear, I heard the same three words again. On my way home I examined the meaning of those words. Type envelopes? Is that it? What would I mail out in envelopes? I passed the stage of typing envelopes for a living by the time I was seventeen. Why would I go back to typing envelopes with the qualifications I have to my credit NOW?

“YOU CAN REACH 100,000 LIVES!”

100,000 envelopes, with 100,000 WHAT inside? Cards reading; ‘Jesus Loves You’? A bumper sticker would be more effective and a lot less work and eventually be seen by more than 100,000 people. 100,000 Bibles would be appropriate but there is just no way I could afford the postage, much less that many Bibles.

I’VE GOT IT !!! A BOOK !!!!!! YOU WANT ME TO WRITE A BOOK! All those hours wasted at the subdivision, I could have written one already. WHY HADN’T I THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE — As soon as I reached home I grabbed paper and pencil and started writing. Darko was ecstatic.

“It’s about time. I’ve been telling you to write a book for years and years. People need this, they want to know that miracles do exist and are happening every day. The media will never tell them, YOU have to. They need the assurance that God is alive and cares.’’

At four a.m. he sat up in bed and said, “You don’t have to finish it tonight, you know.”

I couldn’t stop. Once I started, this story just poured out of me, although the whole time I kept telling myself this was just a silly notion, it could never get published, I would probably stop in the middle and not finish it for decades. The Lord had His reasons keeping me up that evening. He knew, like everyone else, that He could never WAKE me up at the ridiculous hour of five in the morning, He knew I would have to be kept awake and alert. The Jim Bakker program came on and was my confirmation that this project was initiated by the Lord.

“There is someone out there right now. God wants to use you to bless others for His Kingdom. Be willing to be used of God. Be obedient. God will vindicate those who stand up for HIM. Don’t turn your back. God doesn’t have to use you; He can use someone else. Choose to be used of God. God’s calling some of you today. Listen to this song — God’s speaking.”

A PERSONAL MESSAGE TO ME, that’s what it was. As long as I live I will never foret the words to the song that followed:

YOU BELIEVED IN ME by Guy Heath

You believed in me
Brought me back to Calvary
Thank You eternally
You believed in me;
You believed in me
You saw what I could be
While others just shook their head
And said just let her be;
But You believed in me
You brought me back to Calvary
Thank You eternally
You believed in me;
The frustration that I felt inside
Was hard to understand
I failed to live according
To the way you’d planned
But patiently you took the time
To work on me once more
To make a clear reflection of you Lord.
You believed in me
Brought me back to Calvary
Thank you eternally
You believed in me;
Now some call me unworthy
Of the trust you placed in me
They said that I should step aside
Let others work for thee
And then You said so tenderly
That I have been restored
I’m not perfect, just forgiven by my Lord.
You believed in me
You saw what I could be
While others just shook their heads
And said just let her be.
You believed in me
Brought me back to Calvary
Thank You eternally
Thank You, Thank You, Lord.


I couldn’t wait to get to the subdivision to have the eight hours of privacy I could devote to this book. Shortly after I had arrived, Marlene called to see how things were going. She was a deeply intense, lovely, spirit-filled, Christian friend. Many times over the years she had been given ‘words of knowledge’ by the Lord.

I told her about my book, and she suddenly said, “Donna, I received something in the mail today from a close and dear friend and for some reason have to read it to you. It’s a poem she wrote. Her name is Hilda Schnell. I just know there is something in it for you.”

As soon as I heard the title, I picked up my pen and flipped back to the first page I had written, and wrote ‘UPHILL CLIMB’ on the top of the page. I knew this would be the title of my book. It wasn’t catchy and I knew those two words would not bring thousands running to buy it; I only knew that was what the Lord wanted me to call ‘OUR’ book.


Your life blooms with beauty
As He etches
on your spirit
Traits of His own flawless character —
How pleased He is
To watch you grow
In His grace and knowledge,
Both through the smooth times
And the rocky ones;
Each experience, in its turn,
Brings a fresh insight,
A new glimpse of His love
and great mercy and patience —
The love that places us in His lap,
With strong arms about us,
No matter how far we think we’ve fallen,
How irretrievable we believe we are —
He longs to hear our humble cry,
Our penitent heart’s plea;
More than even this,
He yearns to restore us.
To fill our lives with His fullness
Where only emptiness has existed
And oftentimes persisted
He has set us free!
Free to be ourselves,
Only growing in Him.


‘A new glimpse of His love’, each and every day of my life. I’m not writing this book to draw glory or attention to myself. All the glory goes to the Lord Jesus Christ. I am no one special. I am certain that every Christian living the spirit filled life could write such a book testifying of miracles and ‘God-incidences’ in their lives. Intervention by God in the Christian’s life is not the exception but the norm.

Do you have a mountain you’ve tried to climb over, crawl under, go around or through? My prayer then, is that this book has shown you the way! The ‘TRUE WAY’!

‘But, also, if ye shall say unto this mountain, be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done and all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive. (Matthew 21:22)

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