MY PROFILE--updated & revised
My spiritual journey began at the age of seven, a moment indelibly etched in my memory. Kneeling on the cold concrete floor beside a steel bunk bed, a child's heart embraced faith, a decision as profound as it was simple. This was the genesis of my relationship with God, a path less traveled, echoing Robert Frost's famous lines: "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."
Reflecting on my life, I'm struck by the transformative power of seemingly unfortunate events. What once appeared as setbacks have shaped me into the person I am today, a journey still unfolding. YES, STILL UNFOLDING!
Alexander Maclaren's words resonate deeply: "Each of us may be sure that if God sends us on stony paths He will provide us with strong shoes, and He does not send us out on any journey for which He does not equip us well."
God's timing, while sometimes perplexing, has always been purposeful. He propelled me from the familiar nest, perhaps sooner than I anticipated, but He equipped me well.
He didn't send me forth unprepared, vulnerable, or ill-equipped. Instead, He provided the unwavering support of His Word, the guidance of a devout teacher, and the profound peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7).
His presence, as promised in Exodus 33:14, became my constant companion. He armed me with the truth, a two-edged sword, and the comforting embrace of a merciful Father (2 Corinthians 1:3).
My journey has been punctuated by moments of joy and sorrow, times of solitude and companionship. The years spent pursuing my education away from my parents were often bittersweet, a blend of independence and longing. Each experience, each challenge, has contributed to the rich tapestry of my life, strengthening my faith and deepening my understanding of God's unwavering love and guidance.
My childhood in Mexico was a vibrant mix of exhilarating adventures and terrifying mishaps. The landscape itself – the trails, hillsides, and sprawling rainforests – fueled a spirit of boundless exploration. I reveled in the outdoors, finding indoor confinement torturous, except during the welcome respite of rainy days. Yet, this adventurous spirit often led me into trouble.
One rainy afternoon, around the age of ten, I disregarded my mother's warnings and ventured out to gather branches from castor bean trees. My plan was to fashion them into flutes. The slippery slope proved treacherous; I slipped, and the machete I carried sliced across three fingers of my right hand. This injury marred the start of my school year, forcing me to rely heavily on oral participation – a far from ideal situation.
My first year of school in 1955 is etched in my memory. My journey began with a grueling 22-hour trip with my father in our Willy Jeep, a journey complicated by Hurricanes Hilda and Janet, which ravaged the Gulf Coast of Mexico. Flooded rivers interrupted our travel, forcing my father to leave me with another missionary family while he continued the journey. Six weeks later, I finally arrived by airplane, landing on a makeshift airstrip in a cow pasture, with no one there to greet us. My formal schooling began in October in a one-room schoolhouse with only five other students.
My adventures, however, continued beyond the classroom. At about eight years old, I got hopelessly lost in the vast rainforest surrounding the home where school was held. Ignoring the instructions of an older friend, I took a shortcut that led me far astray. The fear of being lost was overwhelming, but eventually, I found my way back. Overcome with relief and fear of the consequences, I hid under the bed, silently celebrating my safe return.
Another incident, around the age of ten, involved a baking mishap. I was allowed to use the butane-powered stove and oven unsupervised to bake a cake. The stove required a match to ignite the burners and oven. After lighting the oven, I noticed it wasn't heating up. I opened the oven door, smelled gas, but foolishly attempted to relight it without first clearing the gas. The resulting explosion singed my face, hands, and arms, leaving burns on the back of my fingers.
Reflecting on those and other experiences, I recognize the remarkable protection and grace that guided me through these perilous moments. Each incident, though frightening, shaped my understanding of risk, responsibility, and the unwavering presence of God.
My Mexico life, though cherished, ended with a bittersweet farewell. The year was 1962, and I was embarking on a new chapter – another year of school, this time thousands of miles away in Oregon.
My brother and I, accompanied by our father, boarded a bus for the long journey to the US border. The reunion with relatives there marked a transition from the familiar warmth of home to the uncertainty of a new life in Salem Oregon , where we would live with our paternal grandparents.
Leaving my mother, sister, and younger brothers behind was a profound loss, especially given the lack of homeschooling options at the time.
That year prior to leaving Mexico, also marked a significant spiritual milestone. At thirteen, I was baptized in the Sempoala River – a river aptly named for its many bends, mirroring the twists and turns my life had taken and was about to take. Being baptised was a powerful moment of faith, preceded a period of intense challenges. It was when my real spiritual growth began.
The transition to American public middle school was jarring. I faced relentless bullying and ridicule, while my brother struggled with debilitating migraines.
My grandmother, a woman of unwavering faith despite her limited formal education, became my anchor. Her unwavering support, prayers, and godly influence provided solace during a difficult time. Her presence offered a refuge from the harsh realities of school, fostering a deep connection that shaped my understanding of caregiving. The insecurity I felt amidst my peers solidified a nascent desire to nurture and support others.
High school offered some respite. Attending a Christian school for two years provided a more supportive environment, though the daily school rituals remained a source of anxiety. The long drive home on the bus offered a much-needed decompression period.
Academics remained a struggle; while I applied myself diligently, I consistently fell short of achieving high grades. English was my saving grace, and my brother's assistance in science and math classes was invaluable.
My physical development lagged behind my peers, contributing to feelings of insecurity, inadequacy and self-consciousness. Yet, my grandmother's love and my growing faith provided a steadfast foundation.
Our attendance at the Salem Christian & Missionary Alliance Church further strengthened my spiritual life, anchoring me amidst the emotional turmoil of adolescence. God's Word became an unwavering source of comfort and guidance during a period of significant personal growth and adaptation.
I do not recall the reasons for my next move however, I embraced it with a stoic attitude. Again, I packed my meager belongings. This move found me in Springfield, Ore. in the home of an uncle and aunt with three young girl cousins.
Here I attended my senior year at a public school, however, I was much more prepared as well as having three good friends from church to share experiences with. I found myself caught up in the many activities of a young person, losing some of my fervor for spiritual things. It was difficult to find a quiet place to nurture what I did have.
It was here that I was introduced to living with the mentally challenged and stressed-out parents. The kitchen became my friend and it was here that I experimented with meals as the rest of the family struggled to cope with daily living.
For two years I assisted the family as well as completing my senior year of high school and later taking classes at Lane Community College in Eugene to transfer later to a Bible College.
A childhood friend had been killed in a car accident around this time just upon graduating. This incident spurred me on to renew my spiritual commitment. The Lord led me to Multnomah School Of The Bible (Multnomah University now)
The next four years were spiritually exhilarating, emotionally devastating and physically exhausting. The demands on my life sent me on a roller coaster of emotions and mental exercises I had never experienced before.
I had just come from a summer of working at the Alliance Convalescent Hospital in Glendale, Ca. as a nurses aide where I had just got my on-the-job training. I recall with horror of some of those first experiences. Upon returning to school, I secured another job, at The Manor, also as an aide, juggling classes and work.
For a time, I reveled in the fact that I was engaged to a wonderful man or so I thought and began making plans for the future. On Thanksgiving Day, 1970, he broke that promise. .
I was completely devastated and an emotional wreck, however, these were times that I had to totally depend on God to help me work through this time, at times doubting the validity of my relationship with Him. I had many dark days and it took all effort to stay out of depression. (I go into detail about these dark days on my blog)
I immersed myself in my studies and pressed on to graduation that same year. I had also quit my job at The Manor due to some difficulties. God in his graciousness opened up an opportunity to live-in and help take care of a lady with Alzheimer's. When that ended, I was provided another position as a companion for an elderly lady not far from the school. God continually proved that He was providing for me and taking care of me in a way I had never been cared for before and this was to continue till the present. Jehovah Jirah, the Lord provides...
My move to Southern California in July 1972 marked a significant turning point. Leaving behind the challenges of the previous year, my sister and I embarked on a new chapter, filled with optimism and the promise of fresh beginnings. We settled into a charming apartment in Glendale, a location that would soon be overshadowed by the burgeoning Glendale Galleria. I secured a position as an aide at Broadview Convalescent Hospital, a role that provided stability while I explored my new surroundings.
My involvement with the Church of the Open Door proved transformative. Through connections made there, I was introduced to Gospel Recordings, a ministry where an uncle and aunt were on staff.
A summer internship blossomed into a two-decade career, where I contributed to their shipping and ordering department. This period wasn't just about work; it was where I met my future husband. Our journey wasn't without its challenges; a temporary separation preceded our eventual marriage on December 13, 1975, at Montecito Park Union Church.
Our early married life was humble, beginning in a modest home in a Los Angeles back alley. A year later, we discovered Grace Community Church, a vibrant congregation that quickly became our spiritual home. We purchased a house just a mile away, raising four children – three daughters and a son – within its walls. The joy of home births and homeschooling filled our days. Tragically, we experienced the profound sorrow of losing three of our children to miscarriage.
In September 1994, I transitioned my ministry focus, joining the staff at Grace Community Church to work in the nursery, primarily caring for two-year-olds. This role, punctuated by periods of rest, had become a significant part of my life
. It represents a continuation of my commitment to service and faith, reflecting the growth and evolution of my journey since that initial move to Southern California.
My experience in home care in 2002 profoundly shaped my understanding of the challenges and rewards of the profession. A friend's request led me to a three-month position that proved to be the most demanding and humbling of my career. The work involved a wide range of tasks, from the mundane – meticulously cleaning artificial flowers and plumping pillows – to the unexpectedly complex, such as learning the nuances of organic cooking and creating what became known as “Stephanie Stew,” a recipe born from the unique demands of the situation.
The emotional toll, however, was significant. My employer's constant criticisms and unrealistic expectations, often expressed with biting remarks about my perceived shortcomings as a caregiver, left me feeling deeply undervalued. Her frequent complaints about cleanliness, even after repeated attempts to meet her standards, pushed me to my limits. I recall one particularly difficult day when, after being berated for a third time over re-washing dishes, I found solace only in prayer. Her disparaging comments about missionaries, suggesting they were lazy and only interested in soliciting funds, were particularly jarring given the selfless nature of my work.
The situation was further complicated by her constant reminders that I was merely her maid and servant. One particularly memorable task involved preparing large Tibetan carpets for visitors, a task that brought to light her unsettling experience witnessing children using her table cloths and curtains as tissues in Nepal.
Despite my best efforts, her dissatisfaction remained unwavering. She frequently threatened to replace me, and despite my initial commitment to a six-month stay, I ultimately gave a two-weeks' notice due to the ongoing emotional distress. Even then, she pleaded for me to stay, highlighting the intensity of the situation.
Our parting was acrimonious, marked by accusations of betrayal and a harsh judgment of my character. The finality of leaving, symbolized by the forceful disposal of her trash, served as a powerful emotional release. I took comfort in hearing the thump as it landed 7 stories below.
The experience, while intensely difficult, provided invaluable lessons. Following this, I transitioned to a position with a friend who suffered from arthritis. This role was considerably more positive, primarily focused on domestic tasks and, of course, requests for my now-famous Care Giving Stew. However, emerging health concerns forced me to end this position after four months. This led to a temporary break from senior caregiving, during which I was on staff in our church nursery, allowing me time for reflection and recovery. The entire experience underscored the profound emotional and physical demands of caregiving, while also highlighting the importance of establishing clear boundaries and self-care in such roles.
My journey as a caregiver continued on May 4, 2006, when I embarked on a deeply rewarding, albeit challenging, path of caring for the woman I affectionately called "My Lady." Her battle with Alzheimer's disease profoundly impacted our lives.
As her needs intensified, I left my position in childcare at church to dedicate myself fully to her care for five years—five years that remained the most significant and profoundly moving of my caregiving experiences. (Further details on my experiences with My Lady can be found on my blog),
Following My Lady's passing, I returned to my part-time role at the church nursery and took on a respite care position with an agency, providing support for a gentleman facing developmental challenges of Alzheimers for seven months. This was followed by a three-week period assisting a woman recovering from knee replacement surgery.
Subsequently, my husband and I had the privilege of providing care for Gary Price whose needs we addressed twice a week, and occasionally more frequently. (Sadly, Gary is no longer with us.) Due to personal health concerns and a desire to refocus my energies, I concluded my work at the church nursery. While my formal role had ended , continued offering occasional assistance. My commitment to supporting others remains strong; I continue to actively participate in the church's Alzheimer's ministry and contribute to the encouragement of those who attend.
Another significant chapter began when my 90 plus father moved in with us. Providing him with the care he required was a source of immense joy and fulfillment. (With deep sorrow, I share that my father passed away after three and a half years with us.)
Reflecting on my experiences, I've come to understand the universal need for respite care—both for those providing and receiving it. The importance of utilizing respite time effectively, for both physical and mental rejuvenation, cannot be overstated. My prayer is always for guidance in choosing beneficial activities during those periods, ensuring that they truly serve to restore and refresh mind and body.
I find solace and strength in the promise of renewed strength and clarity. rjs
