South Africa
She was larger than life. People either loved or hated her. Vivacious, energetic, creative, loud, volatile, quick to forgive and forget, and oh, so giving.
As a young girl, Olga Eisner rebelled against her father’s drinking, which was always followed by abuse, and she left home to board elsewhere for high school. She became a teacher even though her heart yearned to be a social worker. She was good with the children, being firm, consistent, and caring. Her classrooms had enchanting nooks where children’s poems were created in art forms. Many were drawn to her lively dance classes, and she orchestrated the best school concerts.
Her first marriage was a rebound, which she said should never have happened, as he was such a kind and gentle man who didn’t deserve that. Having been told she’ll never have children, it was a surprise when she had her only child. As she was a creator of children’s stories that played on the radio, with all the creatures having the most interesting names, of course, she created a name for this creature of hers and named her Emra. She remarried when this little girl was a few months old, leaving her with her father, and reclaimed her three years later. Little Emra fearfully watched her mother’s explosive spirit rise up towards her new sister, the daughter of her stepdad.
It wasn’t long before the bonus dad, Pappie (Afrikaans for Daddy) Dykhorst, got a brain tumor with not long to live. Olga prayed and said “God, if you heal this man, I will search for You till the day I die”. That instant he came out of his coma and was healed. A miracle.
Emra became the witness of seeing God make what seemed impossible, possible. Not just the healing of Pappie, but in the decades that followed, the transformation of Olga’s person. She kept her promise to God, till her early death at age 65. She studied every religion and developed a relationship with God that seemed like breathing, it was so natural. You could see her up in the early hours of the morning, walking and talking with Him in the garden. Her restless nature, arguing with Him, questioning, pondering. Then into The Bible, digging for answers, debating with theologians. “Fanatical”, she was labelled. She didn’t mind – she was all in, had made a promise.
God healed her spirit from its hurts and pain, broke down her pride, tempered her anger, quietened her voice, gave her the gift of poetry and a passionate love for Him. When she unexpectedly left this earth, in 1996, Olga Dykhorst no doubt was worthy of the welcome, “Well done My good and faithful servant”. She pioneered the way for her child to love and live for God, to create for Him – how could Emra not be this, having seen the reality of God so tangibly.
Emra
United States of America
I have this painting of Indian women picking mussels on Durban beach in South Africa, which has always been part of my mom’s art collection. For many years, I was not too joyful when it was handed down to me. Now, it is a treasure that speaks to an impossible story God made possible. One of the most powerful stories to me is how He changes our hearts!
As a telephone counselor in my early twenties, many calls came through from Indian men using it as a sex call line. Added to this, many of the sweet young women I worked with in my bookstore shared their hurt and pain from such men using them, deceiving them, deserting them with the gift of various diseases. My blood curled with anger, and without my knowing, a bias toward this culture’s men developed.
In time, we moved to the USA, and I rarely met up with anyone from the Indian culture. All I had was my mom’s painting, which I’d tuck away in the guest room. Until I met Shaillee. Once again, doing work to empower women! We became soul sisters. Two women with hearts of kindness, purpose, and the joy of giving.
And then . . . the invite to go to speak and receive awards in New Delhi, India! Shaillee’s mother was there at that time, in the very home she grew up in. I was to stay with her right there – in the heart of the culture!
What an experience! We served at three underprivileged schools, rode the racing tuk-tuks, and ate her mother’s authentic handmade dahl and roti. Her mom had a sari made for me and dressed me up for our awards ceremony. Together we marveled at the Taj Mahal. I was awe-struck at the customer service wherever we went! An experience never to forget.
God sent this beautiful woman I call my sister and healed what was hidden my heart. The bias uncovered and redeemed! Only God!
Emra Smith
United States of America
Exposed
Could you still love me if I exposed the darkest secrets of my life…..
All of the past mistakes, embarrassing shame, inner turmoil and hidden strife….
What would you say if I told you that I had 3 abortions….
Because fear gripped me due to what I could not foresee…
Would you say that God could no longer love me…
I mean, because technically, I was on a killing spree…
Would you ask me how is it that I could take life away and yet still get up each morning to live my life day by day….
Would you judge me if I told you that I once was an exotic dancer for 6 months?
Would you crucify me to that stripper pole,
and change the way you view me as a whole
just because I did something I felt was out of my control?
Yes… Yes.. I did take off my clothes and dance to pay for freedom of a jail cell of abuse
Because getting beat bloody by your beloved husband leaves you lost and confused
Feeling like there’s nothing left to lose
And those suicidal thoughts becomes the only voice that youre listening to
Now, let me set something straight
I’m not trying to justify my wrong doings
Just doing what it takes now to learn from my mistakes
Cuz at the end of the day, I realized I had lost myself somewhere along the way…
Or wait…. Maybe I never had myself to lose in the first place
Because so many times, I had given my soul and body away
In exchange for love that was misrepresented…
that became a cycle that was repeated,
And the results was a broken heart , shattered and depleted
It deleted the truth of what real love looks like and feels like
And it’s like
All of these dark mistakes from my past is trying to overshadow this joyous light
That is shut up in my bones,
But overcoming condemnation is as easy as realizing that you without sin can caste the first stone..
So God, Take this stony heart out of my chest
And cast it into the sea of forgetfulness
And please help me to see that the sins of my past is not what my future holds for me
Take my present, and let it evolve my past into a mouth piece
That will become so loud and goes forth to set other people free
And those who have ears to hear, let them pierce their earlobes with earrings of freedom
That rings with peace
To forgive themselves and release
Because you are not your past, and the things that was done to you….
You’re so much more and there’s a bigger picture to hold on to
The strength that has formed over time on the inside of you
Is now like a pearl necklace on display for the whole world to view
Your struggles were not meant just for you,
They were put in place for you to overcome
In order for you to help the next person come through…
The Artist
United States of America
In 1961, a five-year-old boy was ushered to the pulpit in his home church in Savannah, GA. His pastor, Rev. Forman, said, “Bucky, would you pray for us this morning?” Without response, headshake, nod, or a “Yes, sir,” I launched into a prayer like those I prayed in the backseat of our family car, or in my bed at night after Mom or Dad turned off the lights and the shadows were stark.
Simple faith. Works every time.
I’d learned to pray at church as much as at home. My mother always said God wanted to hear our prayers whether they made a whole lot of sense or not. While she was what I would call a practical Christian, most of her conversations included memories of the depression she survived with her two brothers and disabled parents. In my ears I interpreted these stories as my own way to conquer my pre-adolescent challenges. If God could provide for the poor then he could probably handle my young issues, if I was willing to tell him. I did.
Throughout my juvenile journey through the teenage years I, like my school and church teenage cohorts lost my mind. I didn’t stray too far from the farm but my college years were more of a schizo Christian freak show. Even when I began theological courses I was still more than part-time crazy. The demon behind all of this was a performance based religion. I resented a God who required perfection especially when he knew it was impossible for human-beings without a surname of Jesus Christ. Simple faith became angry faith. Never worked.
After more alcohol than the law allows I called out in desperation. God listens to desperate prayers. I couldn’t do this if it meant being by myself. The idea of Grace was just another excuse for not being perfect. Not only was I not perfect, I didn’t want to be perfect, if for no other reason than to prove God wrong along with all of his Sanctified Stiff Shirts.
A very short while after my drunken prayer I met my wife. After two weeks of dating I knew (and she knew) we would spend the rest of our lives together. My wife, who is attractive in so many ways, was and is an attractive Christian. She didn’t worry about being right, just right with her Savior. Grace filled in the gaps. While my gaps were more than plentiful, she made me realize God didn’t keep score. He only wanted my heart. Grace handles the rest.
For the last 41 years, Kathy and I have made a life of serving the Lord, sometimes in very simple ways and sometimes in the most complicated of ways, when nothing made sense except for His Call. Let me be very clear, my wife is not my Savior, but like Andrew said to Peter, “I got a guy. His name is Jesus Christ. He understands.”
Simple faith. Works every time.
Bucky Burnsed
United States of America
You shall not die, but live! God’s strength in illness
On December 23, 2002, I laid in a hospital bed in the Breast Surgical Unit of the Greater Baltimore Medical Center, after a complete right breast mastectomy with axillary node dissection. My chest bone ached from where the surgeon had dug down into it, trying to scrape breast tissue off the bone, as she knew the initial excision of the tumors returned no clear margins. In fact, she said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Your entire breast tissue is full of cancer cells. And all nine lymph nodes removed were positive for cancer, two of them containing several tumors indicating possible metastatic breast cancer.”
I froze in a state of shock, tears suddenly gushing from my eyes, down my cheeks, staining her pink Jimmy Choo pumps with quicksilver splotches. I had prayed fervently! The pastors and the Church had prayed that the cancer would not be there, that the Lord would remove every single cancer cell. That the root of the cancer’s curse would be ripped up and thrown into the deepest parts of Tartarus. That no weapon formed against me would prosper. That I would be healed and made whole. That any sins I had committed, which may have opened the door for this evil invasion of my body, would be lifted. That any curses laid against me would be broken. And if I had bowed down to idols as the tumor-stricken Egyptians had in the book of Exodus, then this was the fruit. And I should repent. Utterly repent.
Where was Jesus now? What had I done, that He now forsook me? Old wounds of abuse as a child suddenly screamed out the shame I had often felt in my flesh as I was beaten. Surely, I should hate my own flesh! After all, it seemed everyone else did! It was my flesh that caused me to fail. Why was I not gloriously healed, and the curse removed? Why was I not spared? If I was a good Christian, shouldn’t I be? But I knew I was not a good Christian and never could be one! The chief elder had scrutinized my face, when he asked me with an angry tone, if I had committed the sins of the Egyptians by bowing down to idols. Again, my face flushed with red hot shame, for surely, I had, loving my husband and children and art more than God. I had not realized it was idolatry until that moment. Now, I was being punished. Or so I thought.
Suddenly, Dr. Gottlieb (German surname meaning “a heart that loves God”) smiles down at me and gently says, “All is not lost. This is where chemotherapy and radiation come in.”
I close my eyes, continuing to cry, and start once again to pray. Later I called my closest Christian friend to tell her the news. She says, “Maybe this is your time to die, Denise. Maybe you should lay your husband and children on the altar and release them to the Lord. You need to prepare for what the Lord’s will is. After all it is not our will, but His will that we must submit to. No matter what you desire, it may be best for you to die. You do trust the Lord, don’t you?”
Immediately, I hung up the phone and unwrapped myself from the swathe of sheets and blankets. I struggled to sit up and get down from the bed in the cold evening air. It was nearly 10 p.m. The twinkling lights decorating homes scattered across the hills around the hospital lit up the dark window. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. My children were alone with their father at home, so far away from me. The white linoleum floor was hard and cold, but I knelt at the edge of the bed, precariously hanging on to the rails.
“Lord, thy will be done in my life! Please forgive all my sins! Forgive my idolatry! You know the family I came from, the abuses there, and how desperately I want to have a good family for my children. Please help me, Lord! Please let me live! But if this is my time to die, please Lord, take care of my children and my husband! Watch over them! I give them back to You and trust You to take care of them. I have loved them so much! It is so hard for me to let go of them, but thy will be done, Lord. I trust You!”
I struggled to get up from my knees, thankful that no nurse came in to see my plight. I laid back down in the bed, with a renewed sense of peace, and curled up with my back to the dark window where the unknown future lay. The room was dimly lit. Suddenly, I felt a Presence full of light and peace in the room. I could not see anyone, but I knew the Lord Jesus was there, His hand on my head, my heart. “Denise, look up, “I shall not die, but live,” He said. “Lord,” I thought in answer, “Don’t you mean, ‘You shall not die, but live’?”
I had never heard of this verse before, so I looked in my Bible’s Concordance under “die,” where I could not find the phrase. Then I searched for the phrase under “live” at the back of my Bible, and located the phrase, which led me to Psalm 118:17, “I shall not die, but live to declare the works of the Lord.” I read.
His words were illuminated on the page, burned, emblazoned into my heart. I looked around and could not visually see Him, but in my heart, I knew He was there, a light in this darkness, bringing an overwhelming sense of calm, peace, and love. He was sealing His Word into my heart. I was on my deathbed, so to speak, and He came, knowing the turmoil of my heart, and bringing peace and comfort as no one else had. I laid back down in the bed, feeling a great and fresh peace, as if I were laying in the palm of His hand, knowing that I was laying in the center of His heart!
And He sat down on the throne of my heart, having won it with a simple declaration of HIs love for me. So many times, after that night when He came near to me, He once again reminded me of the verse. During chemo, I walked near my brother-in-law’s house in Kentucky and saw a huge, tottering wooden barn, decrepit, standing out in an uncut pasture, ready to collapse. I sat down on the curb, unable to cry, unable to gather strength to return to the house, thinking, feeling how near to collapse was my own frame. Then, when I finally returned to his house, I picked up the book I was reading, “Prisoners of Hope.” At the top of the next page was Psalm 118:17! “I shall not die, but live to declare the works of the Lord,” I read again.
Another time occurred when I made the daily pilgrimage for 26 doses of radiation. In the Central Maryland Center for Radiation Therapy, I lay alone in a dark room, under an intense bright light, as if under interrogation. Blue light beams lay across my naked chest tattooed with “X’s”, like a prisoner marked for execution. The hung metal arm of the MagneTron Radiation Unit swung slowly into position over me, emitting a deep metallic rumbling sound. I held a card in my pocket that a friend had sent me. She had not known that Psalm 118:17 was the verse He spoke to me. “I shall not die, but live to declare the works of the Lord,” I read once again.
I pray for all you who face possible death, from cancer, or other afflictions, that you will know that He loves you! He will carry you all the way home, into His Kingdom, where He has a house prepared for you! Let Him do this for you – for this is His joy, that You accept HIs friendship and love!
All of us are prisoners in this life, facing the eventual execution of our bodies! And He has provided a way of escape for you! This was not His original plan! He came and died on the cross, so that the sins of the world can be forgiven. He came to redeem you back to Himself! He is real! He will speak to you! He alone knows all about you! He loves you, as no one else on earth can! Trust Him and be freed! Jesus loves YOU!
Denise
