It looked like a box of chocolates. A fancy ribbon held the contents secure but the receiver was hesitant to open the unexpected gift and gently pushed it aside. It was three days before Christmas 2007 and although I was the one who delivered the box, I was not the one who packed it.

The receiver, Lois Johnson, was the author of the book that was hidden inside the box. I called her that morning to ask if I could come over to get her signature on some paperwork related to her copyright, so she was expecting me. She wasn’t expecting me to bring a gift, thus her hesitancy to open it in front of me.

I didn’t catch on that the reason she didn’t want to open my ‘gift’ was because she didn’t have one for me, so I prodded her to open the box. Her daughter, Jackie, also goaded Lois into opening it. It was all just a fun way Jackie and I cooked up to surprise Lois with the first copy of her new book.

As much as I wanted to see Lois’ face when she first set eyes on her new book, I too couldn’t wait for that box to open. You see, I’m the co-author and this is the first printed book with my name on the cover. Naturally, you can see that I really wanted that box to open!

The author’s free copies had arrived at Jackie’s house the night before so in the morning, she called me and we created this unique way to surprise Lois. Jackie had an empty box of chocolates and said she would put one book inside, wrap it with a ribbon and leave it on the front seat of her car. She would arrive before me and I would grab it from Jackie’s car and present it to Lois as a Christmas gift before discussing paperwork. It all worked fine, after some coaxing.

Lois was indeed surprised to hold her book in her hands, but for some reason she put it right back in the box, I’m guessing because she didn’t realize that it was real. We quietly told her to look at her book and gingerly she picked it up again. She seemed confused as to why it came in a chocolate box and it took some time to convince her that it wasn’t a conspiracy. When all was clear, we autographed a copy to each other and one for Jackie, dedicated the book to God through prayer, then took care of the copyright paperwork for the Library of Congress.

My visit ended up being several hours and after Jackie left, Lois and I sat in awe of all that went in to writing her story. Four years in the making! Within those four years we had both suffered unexpected, severe medical challenges along with many other circumstances that threatened to bring the work to a halt. But we kept plugging away and there we were, holding our newborn baby.

We marveled at the cover and spine and flipped the pages, turning it around and around until tears swelled up in our eyes. Together we bowed our heads and thanked God for all he did to bring this dream to fruition and for all he planned to do in the lives of its readers through the message within its pages.

You see, the story is about her son, Gary Johnson, who drowned in the lake pictured on the cover. It was Lake Santa Fe in Germantown Hills that claimed Gary’s life. He was a star athlete at Metamora High School in 1976 and his sudden death shook the community. Lois purposed in her heart to write about her son’s life to bring hope to those who lose children to sudden death. She also felt that teens should make sure they know where they are going after they die and so she began typing her story. Thirty years later, her daughter Linda, my personal friend, recommended my writing services to make that happen.

For me, it is more than just my name on the cover. As the ‘ghostwriter’ of this incredible story, I became the mother whose son was suddenly yanked from her life. I was in the lake drowning, struggling for air. I was on the beach with those who watched a beloved friend and neighbor disappear from sight. I walked into the home of a mourning family surrounded by friends and family as their hearts broke into pieces; I was there through the long years as those pieces were put back together.

I never thought my writing career would lead me down this path, but telling Lois’ story was one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had in my career. I can only imagine what the Disciples of Jesus must have felt writing their accounts of his birth, life and death.

How do you capture a life on paper? How does one reveal the essence of a human being in mere words? I see the answer in the Bible. Through dozens of ghostwriters, God captured the story of his son on paper and protected it through centuries from libel, copyright infringement and sheer annihilation. His son’s story will never go out of print - and it can never be contained in a box.

As a girl I spent a lot of time in church. My dad had a key to the building and we often arrived early so he could check the sound system and set up mikes. During those seemingly endless hours, I explored every crevice of the sanctuary, participated in races under the pews (the sanctuary was 3/4 of a city block long) and learned how to say “test, test, test, test 1-2-3″ in a microphone until my voice boomed from the rafters.

I loved being at church so much I began hiding under the pews when it was time to go home. If it wasn’t for the fact that I had a kid brother who kept blowing my cover, I believed I could’ve stayed forever.

I soon found myself praying, “Please God, let me live at your house.”

I don’t remember how many times that request formed in my little heart, but somehow it got buried under the hundreds of thousands of prayers I’ve uttered since. In fact, I forgot all about it until just last month when God chose to answer my childhood prayer.

Now, let me state that I honestly never thought that a prayer like that would ever be answered. I mean, children don’t really know what they’re asking for, and their prayers can seem pretty silly. After all, church is not a real “house” that we live in. It’s a metaphor, right?

Of course it is. That’s why my prayer wasn’t answered in the way my juvenile mind had perceived. Instead, the answer came in an inconceivably, unbelievably incomprehensible way - in other words, God’s way.

It all started with a job interview in 06 for a church secretary position. I wasn’t hired, but the position was only part time so I couldn’t have accepted even if it had been offered. I thought that door was closed for good, but in God’s prayer-answering department, a silly, childhood wish was about to come true.

November 07 was falling off the calendar when God set in motion a series of unique circumstances that culminated in a full-time job offer with that church - my church. The moment the offer came, God brought to mind my little prayer and I realized something that I had been taught all my life but never quite believed: God knows the desire of my heart and he takes it very seriously.

As a child, I thought that physically staying in the church building meant that I would always feel good and always make God happy. Now I know that my desire was not for a building, but for a relationship. I wanted to always be with, and work with, those who love and seek God with their whole heart.

This long-time desire has been sustained through the years on several scriptures that I’ve always loved, but never realized until now that they became the pillars that have held firm this desire my entire life.

“For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I’d rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in tents of wickedness.” Psalm 84:10.

“Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 37:4.

There are so many, many more verses like those, but this column could not stretch far enough to contain them all. Suffice it to say that the pew races were the humble beginning of a deep and enduring love for God’s house.

Editorial note: the author does not endorse pew racing as an acceptable form of church behavior; please do not send this article to her parents.

Heaven was buzzing with excitement. The time to save the world from sin had finally arrived. Angels gathered from the four corners of the universe at the throne of their Creator to watch the mission commence. “I wonder how He’s going to do it,” one angel sang in excitement. Several fluttered around to marvel at the thought. Soon, a huge chorus broke out from anticipation.

“We’ll march in like an army and destroy Satan and all his minions from the earth in the name of our God most high!” they shouted.

But their battle cry was interrupted by a trumpet blast. Michael, the Arch Angel, hushed the legions as all eyes fixed on the Son.

As always, His splendor filled the skies, but to their shock, he stepped off his throne, laid down his scepter and took off his crown. His eyes were filled with pools of tears as He and His Father embraced. Confusion began to permeate the heavenly chambers when He draped his robe over His Father’s arm.

“What is this? The Son of God, without a crown?” His servants whispered in disbelief.

The starry curtain was opened and all could see God’s chosen people crying out under the oppression of Roman rule.

“Surely He will smite their enemies and restore their kingdom,” another angel concluded.

But no call was made for assembling troops. No plans for war were discussed. Instead, the Son stepped to the edge of the clouds, disappeared, then silently tucked Himself into the womb of a young Hebrew girl. Instantly, the angel Gabriel had his orders and was standing in the virgin’s bedroom to announce the King’s arrival.

Mystified angels stood in the atmosphere watching the entire advent. How could the King of kings, the Lord of lords put Himself in such a vulnerable place? Why would the Master of the Universe, Maker of all creation put Himself inside the flesh of a mere mortal? What kind of strategy uses poverty to conquer evil? What type of plan calls a ruler to submit to his subjects in order to save them?

The One who the angels worship day after day, the epitome of love, was now in the hands of sinful flesh. And, although they closely watched each moment of His earthly birth, they still could not fathom the reason for the Father’s permission of such an unthinkable tactic to save the world. Who would sacrifice their only son to pay the debt of those who hated him?

Regardless of God’s reasons, these angelic messengers were not going to miss an opportunity to praise Him. To them, the reason was irrelevant. He is worthy of their worship whether He was on a throne or in a manger. And so, on a silent night, while the Christ child slept in swaddling clothes lying on a bed of hay in a cow’s trough, the angels burst through the stars and joyously proclaimed His birth to a small audience of humble shepherds - not knowing that God’s plan to save the world would lead their precious King to a cruel cross.

The scriptures say that angels desire to look into God’s mysterious gift of salvation to mankind (1 Peter 1:12). If, then, the very angels who stand in the presence of God should marvel at such a gift, why is it so difficult for us to accept it? Could it be because we, as the Israelites, reject the concept of love being laid in a nasty manger - of salvation coming not through an infiltration of weapons, but through a humble death on a cross?

Hark! The herald angels are still singing - listen to their proclamation: you will find Him … lying in a manger.

Welcome to the penultimate month of a year that slipped right through our grasp! Thankfully, November ushers in a time of gathering and feasting on the fruit of our labor – a time when joy and cheer are, at the very least, manufactured. I guess you could say that’s a good thing – it’s a respite nonetheless. Read the rest of this entry »

The Set-up Crew arrived at 4 a.m. Their energy alone could power the sound system that was to accompany the host that would arrive at ten.

For hours they labored laying cable, setting up speakers, cameras and mikes. But this team is not the typical ‘roadie crew.’ They relish the relationships they’ve built over the past year just from setting up and tearing down our portable church; one would never know these guys were working.

My husband and I arrived around eight to our first view of the new Peoria Civic Center addition. Wow. It’s incredible! We rode the double escalators up to the balcony area where our tables were already set-up, skirted and waiting for us to begin preparations for our role in the program.

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Excuse me, but wasn’t it just Christmas? I’m a little hazy on this but I could swear we just exchanged gifts.

Seriously, am I the only one who’s trying to remember when January happened? I honestly feel like yesterday was February and while I was sleeping last night someone ripped March through July out of my calendar. And, I think I missed August.

OK, seriously. What is going on here? I know it’s not just me. I’m constantly hearing folks ask the same question – and not just those who are on the downside of the proverbial ‘hill,’ but by 25-year-olds!
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Oh say, can you see?  I am still waving at you - raised to represent the freedom for which you live. I boast of your unity as I fly proudly over your Capitol, your courthouses, schools and homes. I bring hope to the captive. I cover your fallen.

My red stripes are the streams of blood, shed by your brave who now lie under me. My stars are the twinkle in your children’s eyes. My white stripes are the bandages you’ve wrapped ‘round your wounded and my patch of navy is the sky where One beyond the stars is holding you accountable for the freedom for which I stand. Read the rest of this entry »