Was it Enough to Mourn with Her?

One of my good friends had just lost her husband. It was Spring Break 2007. He had died of accidental drug overdose. Having been really sick for a while and on medication, he didn’t know what he was doing when he took too many of his pills. 

Their seven-year-old daughter and mine were good friends and she had spent the night at our house. So, I was the one my friend called when she discovered her husband. I left the girls with another friend and went to the hospital. I was there in the emergency room when they were trying to resuscitate him and defibrillate his heart. I was there in the waiting room with her when she was shaking, crying, struggling with the pain.

During the following weeks, it was a time of great sorrow and fear. Her father came into town and stayed at my house. Her two daughters also stayed with us a few nights. I was often at her house. Anything I could do to relieve some of her suffering, I was willing to do. During those first few weeks, not many people knew what had happened. There were very few of us mourning with her. I had never mourned so closely with someone before. I felt the very real, dark, and heavy weight of the burden. 

When Spring break ended, other moms from the Coyote Hills Elementary School community became aware of what had happened. They joined us in mourning and volunteered to make meals and help with the kids. My role shifted to coordinating these services. I felt the burden lifting from me as it was shared by these other women. It wasn’t just the physical tasks that they shared with us. It was that they spiritually joined with us in carrying the burden. 

Many of them called me. We talked and cried together. I was living through the experience of what Jesus meant when he said “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).

The intentions, concern, emotions, and attention of these women had an actual impact upon the way I was feeling. I had been feeling the darkness of death, but they brought in the sunlight of life. I hope that my friend's burden was lightened when we mourned with her. Because I actually felt mine lighten, I have greater faith that hers did too.

“…as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort…” ~Mosiah 18:8-9

My Epiphany

In the Spring of 2009, I was working on a writing project. I had been working on it for 3 years and it was crazy that I hadn’t yet been able to finish it. It was like being in a single college course and working on a single paper that I could not seem to complete even after 3 years. Yet, I would not give up on it.

It had been a very intense project. I had been consistently praying about it and receiving guidance since 2006. I was writing about the atonement of Jesus Christ and how that related to the central structure of story. I had taken a deep dive into the scriptures and had worked to develop my communication relationship with the Lord because it brought up a lot of questions in my mind. I was writing down his answers but was expected to organize and summarize what he was teaching me into something coherent.

It was evidently my weaknesses that were holding me back from being able to do that.  I came to the point where I felt like I needed to directly ask for help to break through whatever was holding me back. I needed to know why it was taking me forever to finish. What was I missing? Where did I need to grow or change in order to finish it?

I had read somewhere that setting a date was a critical part of the goal achievement process. After considering it for a time, I decided that maybe that was the missing piece. I needed to set a date, do my part, and leave the rest up to the Lord. 

My birthday was coming up in a month, so I decided to make that the due date. I prayed for God’s help and felt his confirmation that he would. I put my trust in him and over the next month, after taking care of my home and family, spent the rest of my time on the project. 

My birthday came. Despite hours of work, I still hadn’t come anywhere close to finishing it. But I held out hope that some kind of epiphany would come. The day was filled with the normal motherhood tasks. Additionally, my daughter had to go to a dress rehearsal for her upcoming dance recital and we were there for hours. The environment was distracting. I couldn’t write. My mind was tied up in knots. By the end of the night, I realized there would not be an epiphany and I wasn’t going to finish the project.

I was pretty upset. I cried. This was a failure. I knew I had not been negligent in doing my part both in my duties as a mother and as a writer. I went to bed still tied in knots and feeling a reaction of rebellion in my heart in response to the rejection I felt from the Lord.

Over the past three years I had developed a relationship with Him as I was studying his life and Atonement, which had brought me more joy than anything I had ever experienced. While I studied his life, he started “studying” mine in return. He spent a lot of time on me, answering my questions, retraining me, listening to me, and helping me overcome a lot of imbalanced behaviors. I could not choose to be angry with him, yet He knew that I had to deal with my pain. 

Normally, in a conflict I would allow myself to become angry with the other person whether it was someone in my community, my parents, a sibling, my husband, or a child. But He had trained me to bring this kind of conflict to him in prayer and we would deal with it together instead of my reacting to it and making the conflict worse. We had developed this pattern where I would come to him and get all my emotions off my chest. He would listen and empathize. I could actually feel this happening and hear his comforting counsel. It was always what I needed to hear. Once I felt better, I would ask him how I could have handled the situation better and we would walk through it. The next time the same kind of conflict came up, I was better prepared to handle it in a more balanced way. 

But this time, he was the person who was hurting me. 

The next day, I wrestled with my emotions. I was confused and on the edge of anger. I could sense him following me around as I cleaned the house, asking me what I was going to do about this. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t let go of the anger, but neither could I hold it against him. Letting go was basically saying, “It’s okay that you’re hurting me.” And it wasn’t okay. But holding it against him was sacrificing the relationship we had developed. I knew he was a perfect God and if anyone was out of balance, it was me. But that twisted me up even more.

It was in the afternoon that day that I decided what was most important to me.

There are a million songs that sing about love conquering all. I felt it was literally impossible to forgive the pain. It was like giving up my life, but because of my love for Him I had no other choice. He had changed me from the person I used to be and saved me from all the bitter consequences I used to live in. He had helped me to love again. He had made me sweet where I used to be bitter. I was able to love my kids and myself only because of Him. I could not and would not give up this relationship. I had to let the pain happen without retaliating. So I did. I free-fell backwards. I just let it hurt. I submitted. I forgave. I repented. And in doing this, I was a strong-willed child again, but this time for the sake of love, I used that will to voluntarily accept the pain.

There is this song called “Waterloo” by Abba. You can listen to my aerobics instructor version here: Waterloo. The lyrics go like this:

At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender

And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way

The history book on the shelf

Is always repeating itself

Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war

Waterloo, promise to love you forever more

Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to

Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you

Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo

I tried to hold you back, but you were stronger

And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight

And how could I ever refuse

I feel like I win when I lose

It turns out I did have an epiphany that year for my birthday.

My Financial Advisor

I was a junior in high school and my Grandma said she would pay for my college if I did the work to get accepted by a university.  Not long after I understood this, my grades jumped from Bs and Cs to As and Bs. Still, I got into Brigham Young University by the skin of my teeth. Once in, my grandma basically gave me a scholarship that paid for my tuition, books, housing, and food. This was a total privilege and the beginning of my freedom from years of having very little money. 

Just before my junior year of college, I went home for a visit. During that visit, I went car shopping with my friends. Before this shopping trip I had never fathomed purchasing my own car. But my friends were doing it, so why couldn’t I? I test-drove a few cars and imagined myself the owner. My car payments could be as low as $150 to $200 a month. At school, I had to take the bus everywhere or rely on roommates who had cars. To have my own would be awesome! It would increase my independence, which I was all about during those days. 

I happened to mention this to my grandma one day when I was visiting her. I was surprised at her response. She was very clear that if I purchased a car, she would no longer support me. I couldn’t believe it. This created a major conflict inside me. I wanted to do what I wanted to do. I had too much respect for her to argue with her, but inside I was writhing. Privately, I decided that I would buy my own car and support myself at school. I didn’t like people standing in the way of what I REALLY wanted. I was bound and determined to get a job when I went back to school. 

And so, back in Provo, Utah, one morning in the beginning of the Fall semester 1989, I had a dream. It was during that time between wake and sleep. I received the clear direction not to buy a car. I had the impression that I needed to humble myself and accept my grandmother’s will. She was paying for my college. This was a major privilege. I needed to realize that and submit myself to her conditions. Now, that is a no brainer for me. But back then all my brain cells hadn’t fully developed in my frontal lobe. 

In that state between wake and sleep all my pride and willfulness was down. When I woke up, I consciously knew that the Lord was directing me in this financial decision. Because I respected him so much, and he had earned my trust throughout my growing up years, I listened. I knew he had my back. I knew that he wanted to guide me along the best pathway. When he spoke to me, it was my pleasure (literally) to listen.

I treasured this experience, not just in hindsight, but that very day. As a result of listening to this and his other counsel, I graduated from college in the Spring 1992.

Fast forward 7 years to 1999. I was now married and had 3 kids. We were living in Westminster, Colorado. I was expecting Laura – our 4th child. This was too many kids for our Toyota Corolla. We needed a family car for everyone to fit. We had gone car shopping for a dark blue Toyota Sienna, their latest and greatest minivan. The van was expensive, but we figured we could make the payments. We actually signed all the papers at the dealership. They didn’t have the van on the lot, so they had to order it in. When we asked, the dealer said that we had some time to cancel it if we had second thoughts.

The next morning in that space between wake and sleep, I was counseled not to buy the minivan. I woke up and told my husband. He accepted the counsel and we canceled the deal. Not long after, we found a used Nissan Quest minivan for quite a bit less. In time, I realized that the Toyota wasn’t the best choice financially and the Lord had cared enough to help with that.

Again, I treasured this experience. There have been many times that I have received financial counsel from Him over the years. Subsequently, my family has always been taken care of. There have been tight times – times when we were very restricted in our spending and times when we lost lots of money in investments, but we have always had what we needed and have come through.

In 2006, we were living in Aurora, Colorado. We had our 4 kids and a few cats and lived on a couple of acres. I had a dream. I was at a bank teller. It was the Bank of America in San Jose, CA in the shopping center on the corner of Snell and Blossom Hill Road for those of you from my hometown. The teller was broken and lots of money was coming out of it. I got out of the car with a box and loaded the money into it. Other people were there doing the same. After I filled my box, I got back in the car and knew that I had scored a million dollars. I was so excited. I was thinking of all the ways we could spend it – paying off bills, loans, etc. 

But then I suddenly remembered that this was dishonest. I couldn’t take the bank’s money like that. At that realization I couldn’t seem to muster up the strength in me to do the right thing. I was experiencing an internal conflict. How could I possibly let a million dollars go? It was so much money and I had been thinking that it was mine fair and square. 

Then, just as suddenly I remembered that if I made the honest choice, I would have the Lord’s promise – the privilege of his guidance and riches that only come by being true to his way of doing things. Honesty. Integrity. I realized that the million dollars paled in comparison. It wasn’t worth it. We may have enjoyed the money for a while, but eventually it would come to an end and I would have traded something much more valuable for a mess of pottage (Genesis 25:29-34). I knew that what the Lord had to offer was everlasting spiritual and temporal support. I would be better off in the long run, even financially, if I took this money into the bank. And that’s what I did.

My Teenage Dating Years, My Father, and His Shotgun

We’ve all heard of fathers warning the boys who come around to date their daughters. We know about the proverbial shotgun in the father’s hands when the guy shows up on his porch. It makes us laugh, but the reality is that most fathers love their daughters so much that they want to protect them from the type of young men who have trouble actually having their daughters’ long-game welfare in mind over their own short-term needs.

Here’s an example of one father singing to the boys who will one day date his daughters: Thomas Rhett

I didn’t have a father who warned the boys who came around to date me. At least I thought I didn’t. I never knew my biological father very well and my mom had divorced my step father after a rough five-year marriage. Neither father knew what I was doing when I started kissing boys at age 14. But what I didn’t know was that there was a Heavenly Father with a shotgun standing between me and every single boy that came around. But He was facing me, not the boy. I sensed this shotgun, but I didn’t realize that was what it was.

At church I had heard about the law of chastity and I was fully on board with that. I never had any desire to cross that boundary but I wasn’t sold on the idea that I shouldn’t date or kiss boys until I was 16. And I didn’t understand the motives of some boys. I thought that their attention and kisses meant that they really liked me. So, I did what I wanted without having to report to anyone. Or so I thought. 

My first kiss was just before my freshman year of high school. It was during a game of hide-and-go-seek with some neighborhood friends. His name was Billy. He was my age, and I knew him from junior high. The kiss was brief and somewhat awkward. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The emotions I experienced were extremely intense. I found it interesting that they didn’t occur during the kiss, but only afterwards when I was alone and thinking about it. I was surprised by the depth of emotion swirling around inside of me. It was a mixture of good and bad feelings. I didn’t understand what it all meant. 

Billy wasn’t interested in developing any kind of relationship with me. I never talked to him again. 

A few months later I met another guy at a church dance, who was 17 years old. When he kissed me, it was less awkward. I enjoyed it, but afterwards I freaked. I described the feelings I experienced as gagging. It was a term that I borrowed from a popular song out of Southern California called “Valley Girl.” Gag me with a spoon was a good way to describe the Repulsion I was feeling. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was a reaction I could not control. And because I couldn’t control it, I had to get away from him when he wanted to continue with the relationship. Again, I had liked to kiss him, but the Repulsion served like shotgun vengeance.

Over the next few months I tried to figure out what this Repulsion thing was all about, not yet understanding how my Father was working with me. I decided that it wasn’t a good idea for me to kiss a boy after I had barely met him. I needed more time to get to know him and develop an attraction to him. 

A few months later when the next boy came around, I took a couple of months to get to know him. He went to church with me. We exchanged the “I’m interested” glances for a while. We danced together at the church dances. His friends told my friends and my friends told his. We exchanged notes at school (archaic form of texting). When he asked me to be his girlfriend, we both were very aware of the mutual attraction. I told him about my past experiences and warned him that he needed to wait to kiss me. But as we talked, he convinced me that we had already known each other for a few months and that was probably good enough. 

It wasn’t. He kissed me and I experienced the Repulsion afterwards. I didn’t want to feel it. I fought against it. I wasn’t aware that I was actually fighting my Father and trying to push past his boundaries. I was trying to work out my emotional problems so I could make the relationship with this boy work. But every day in second period before I would see him, I started to tremble. My teeth actually started to chatter as if I were outside in the freezing cold. 

I couldn’t figure out why I was responding like that. It seemed like fear but I wasn’t mentally afraid of the relationship. The Repulsion was some kind of automated response in me. In fact, even though I experienced these feelings, when I saw my boyfriend during break I would kiss him anyway in attempt to smother the shaking feelings.

But two weeks of this was enough for me to finally conclude that I couldn’t do it anymore. When I heard this boyfriend of mine was kissing another girl, I seized the chance to break up with him. When he apologized and wanted to get back together, I wouldn’t. That was hard because I had already bonded with him physically to a certain degree. It hurt to end the relationship.

These experiences happened within a six month period during my freshman year of high school. After that, I didn’t kiss any more boys until my senior year. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to. But I ended up unconsciously raising the bar to guys that were above my reach. These guys were good, clean, totally attractive, and had higher level values (truly Christian!). 

For many years, I labeled the Gagging-Repulsion-Shotgun feelings as my Psychological Problem. I spoke about it in jest with my friends. But it was real. I figured there was something psychologically wrong with me because of some of the abuse and neglect I grew up with. This is why I saw it as a weakness in me that I had to somehow fix.

Even so, I learned to yield to the feeling. I backed off from a relationship if I started feeling that way. I eventually figured out that if I pulled back enough and didn’t cross the boundaries, I could maintain the relationship. How much I was required to pull back seemed to depend on the guy I was dating. I remember just going on a first date with this one guy and there was no kissing, but I was already feeling the Shotgun Repulsion loud and clear.

I dated a guy my senior year who rarely crossed my boundaries. We became good friends before he kissed me and when he did, it was very sweet, short, infrequent, and respectful. No Repulsion. But there was one time, I did feel it. I backed off a little and the Repulsion decreased.

There was a guy in college who I explained my Shotgun Psychological Problem to before he kissed me. He risked it for the sake of NCMO and I wanted the NCMO in order to spite the guy I really wanted who didn't want me. The Repulsion was powerful and there was nothing but regret on my part. I should have known by then that my Father would never allow NCMOs for any reason for me. The guy tried to force the relationship anyway, deciding afterwards that it wasn’t so much of a NCMO for him. But it was too late. The Repulsion only grew more intense and sickening. I had to stop seeing him. 

It wasn’t until after I was married and had started developing a closer relationship with my Father and recognizing how he communicated with me that I realized what had been going on. It wasn’t a Psychological Problem. It was the Atonement of Jesus Christ at work in my life. Because I didn’t have a father protecting me, He stepped in and played that role for me. And He did it by influencing me internally. I was given the choice to override the Repulsion, but I chose to yield to it.

At the time, I didn’t like my Father standing there at the door with his proverbial shotgun so much. Most teenage daughters don’t like their fathers interfering with their love life. But most daughters, when they grow up, change their minds. I absolutely love Him for being there for me. To be chastised by Him has helped me realize that he values me and cares about my long-game welfare.

I Love Life Hacks!

I recently discovered a new dinner recipe that I make in my Instant Pot. It tastes so good and is healthy. It leaves me satisfied and doesn’t create an imbalance in my body. I’m pretty sensitive to my blood/sugar balance, so I like to eat in a way that doesn’t throw me off.

I took the recipe from a cookbook but then changed some of the ingredients. The first two times I made it, it was good, but I thought it could be better if I tweaked it a little more. The third time it was perfect. I was so happy with the results that I instinctively started searching in my mind for who I could share it with. The recipe made a lot so I had plenty to share. 

I texted Melody and Craig (my sister and brother in law) who I knew were really busy with the new school year. They could probably use it. I told them about the delicious meal and asked if I could share it with them. Of course they did. They swung by on their way home that evening. I told them about the ingredients I put in it - a few came from my own garden. Before trying it, Craig took a picture of the recipe. It sounded like a good way to use up some of the their garden tomatoes. When they tried it, they loved it too.

So, here’s the thing. When I find a recipe that is really good, I want to share it. I cannot help it. It’s something that just happens inside my heart. When I find life recipes or life hacks that are really good, I want to share those too. I know that’s what so many bloggers and YouTubers are doing. I love finding their recipes or life hacks when I’m searching for that specific solution. I love how so many people are making videos of the recipe preparation.

It brings me joy to share recipes and life hacks with other people. It also brings me joy to learn other people’s.

For a long time I felt shy about sharing. I definitely didn’t want it to be about calling attention to myself. I also didn’t want to come across as a know-it-all. But, I’ve had to come to terms with this insecurity. I share because I love. I love what I’m sharing and I love when it helps other people. I think I’ve been able to become more confident in my own sharing by actually experiencing how much I sincerely appreciate others who share with me what I need.

What I share and what others share solves problems. It lightens burdens. It brings greater joy to our lives. I spend a good percentage of my workday learning from people who have shared how to code things like a responsive menu, CSS Grid or Flexbox, or site migrations. I love them for their help. When I get a little further along in my coding skills, I will share the tips and tricks I have learned. 

Here's the recipe! Cajun Goulash

I add more garden veggies, puree fresh tomatoes (instead of leaving them chunky), decrease the cajun spice to 4 tsp. (it's hot!), increase the liquid and noodles (whole box), use the whole can of coconut milk, and used 1 lb. ground beef and 1 lb. ground turkey. Also, it tends to cause the BURN warning to show up on my Instant Pot screen so when that happens I switch it to WARM for about 20 minutes, which basically makes it more like a crock pot. This recipe is soo good!

I Was on a 500-mile Bike Trip to Disneyland and Had Lost my Money

When I was 16 years old, I went on a 10-day bike trip from San Jose, CA to Disneyland in Southern California with a group of young men, young women, and adult leaders from our church. For a total of 500 miles, we journeyed in increments of 25-70+ miles a day on our bicycles (not motorcycles). I still think this was pretty incredible of an adventure to have gone on.

When we camped near Hearst Castle in San Simeon, I spent a little money at the store there. That’s the last time I remember having it. When I went to look for it later, I couldn’t find it anywhere. 

I was stressed. At this time in my life I didn’t have a lot of money. Neither did my mom. She had given me a little spending money for the trip and I had spent it carefully knowing that was all I had.

That night at the camp ground in San Simeon, I zipped myself into my sleeping bag and prayed for help to find the money. The next day, we had a very long and hot ride to San Luis Obispo. I still hadn’t found it. 

We stayed there for Sunday and went to church in town. On Monday, we rode to El Capitan State Beach. Before I went to bed that night, I asked again. Everyday we got closer to Disneyland. The money was all I had to spend when we got there, so I was seriously bummed that I might never find it. Still I held out some hope in my prayers.

The next morning, during that time between sleeping and waking, I had a dream. I saw a pair of my shorts and me putting the money in the pocket. 

When I woke up, I fished around in my duffle bag for the shorts. When I found them, I checked the pocket. I felt a small wad of bills and breathed a sigh of relief. Relief. Rejoicing relief. And gratitude. I was so grateful for the recovery of my money, but there was also something else. A kind of magical feeling. A tingling inside me. I knew that God was aware of me and that I was connecting with him.

Fasting for Joy

I wrote this back in 2000 for the Friend magazine. I don't think they ever published it. I revised it a little to share it here. It's a true story from my life about fasting and praying for something I really wanted when I was 11 years old: I wanted my kitten to live.

“No Mom!”  I pleaded, “Joy’s gonna get better!”  I fought back the tears. 

“Gretchen, she needs to see a veterinarian to get better, and that costs money. Unless it’s under twenty dollars, we can’t afford to pay for it.”

I knew this was true.  Since my parents’ divorce, I had seen my mom come home every evening exhausted from work.  The bills were pilling up on the kitchen table and my mom often had a worried look on her face.

“What if I can find a veterinarian that only costs twenty dollars?”  I asked, hopefully.

“Well,” my mom said, “I suppose that would be all right.  But honey, I doubt there is a clinic that would take care of her for so little.”

Despite my mom’s caution, the gears in my mind began to work, formulating a plan to save my kitten.  I felt my mom’s eyes on me.

“Gretchen, you need to understand that animals don’t always get better. Sometimes there isn’t anything even a veterinarian can do. The vet may have to put her to sleep. That’s often the most humane thing to do for an animal who is suffering.”

I pursed my lips and wrinkled my brow. My heart hurt for my cat. I remembered Pumpkin, the tiny kitten that had died in my hands the summer before. It had been the worst thing in the world for me and I had cried for days. I shook my head. “No!  I’ll find a way.  There has to be a way to save her.”

A few weeks before, I had found my 3-month-old kitten, Joy, under the house.  Her hind legs were paralyzed. No one knew what had happened. With the use of only her front legs, she could barely drag herself around the house. I had kept her in my room, cleaned up after her, fed her, cared for her. Sacrificing for my cat like this created a deep sense of compassion and love for her that I hadn’t yet had for other people thus far in my eleven years of life. I was fully invested in her recovery. I had done everything I could to help her get better and she wasn’t improving. When my mom told me she might have to be put to sleep, I was desperate for help.

That night, I prayed to Heavenly Father, Please help me find a veterinarian clinic that will fix my cat.

I curled up next to the small, warm, fury bundle in my bed, thinking about how badly I wanted Heavenly Father’s help.  Joy’s soft purring motor relaxed me and I snuggled her closer. I remembered learning at church that fasting for something that you’re praying for shows Heavenly Father how sincere you are about it and calls down special help from Heaven. I decided that tomorrow I would fast for Joy to be healed.

The next day I woke up with Joy curled up by my legs and immediately remembered what I had decided to do. Recalling that I was supposed to begin my fast with a prayer, I knelt on my bed and told Heavenly Father that I was going to fast for Joy to be healed and that I needed his help to find a veterinarian that would fix her and wouldn’t charge us that much money.

After getting ready and feeding Joy and the rest of the cats, I walked to school. In the cool morning air, I felt happy and excited that somehow Joy was going to get better. 

But by lunchtime, I was feeling hungry. In the cafeteria, everyone else was eating pizza, sandwiches, apples, and potato chips. I fought against the desire to eat and remembered my kitten. I told myself that it was only for today. I could do that.

I walked home after school with my friend, Lisa. I told her what I was doing and invited her to come help me call veterinarian clinics to find one that might help me. 

Sitting down at the kitchen table with the phone book, we called a number of clinics listed in our area. All of them were too expensive. One clinic suggested we call the Humane Society but when we did, they couldn’t help either. 

I hung up the phone. I had it in my hand as I was searching in the directory for the next clinic to call. I heard a voice coming from the receiver and held it up to my ear and said, “Hello?”

“The Cat Hospital, can I help you?” a voice said.  

There was a moment of confusion. I hadn’t dialed the number. How did I get connected to the Cat Hospital?  I told her my story: “Um…yeah, I have a kitten and her back legs are paralyzed. We don’t know what happened to her. We found her under the house like that. She goes to the bathroom all over the place and she can only drag around on her front paws. My mom says we can only afford twenty dollars to fix her. Can you take care of her for that much?”  

The woman on the other end of the line said, “I see.”  There was a pause. “Yes, we can take care of her.”

Shocked, I asked, “You can?  You can fix her for only twenty dollars?” 

“Yes, we can," she reassured me. "Can you bring her in today?”

“Today?  Yeah!  I mean, I’ll ask my mom. Thank you! Thank you so much!” 

After getting the address and phone number, I hung up. I jumped up and down with Lisa in total happiness. Then, I ran upstairs to my bedroom where Joy was sleeping. I picked her up and squished her gently to me. It worked, I thought. It really worked. Joy was going to get better. 

Somewhere in this story it dawned upon me that God was communicating with me. He was hearing me, was satisfied with my fast, and was answering my prayer.

We brought Joy to the Cat Hospital.  The veterinarian discovered a blood clot in her spinal column. It was a condition called Thromboembolism or Saddle Thrombus. 

Receiving daily treatments of medicine, Joy stayed at the clinic for more than two months and still the final charge was only twenty dollars. 

I still remember the day when we brought her home. She could walk again! She always had a slight skip but other than that she grew normally. She had no other health problems and later, as an adult cat, she even had her own litter of kittens.