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January 30, 2002 - My Anchor Holds Welcome to 2TheHeart!
"You may be sorry that you spoke, sorry you stayed or went,
sorry you won or lost, sorry so much was spent.
But as you go through life, you'll find -
you're never sorry you were kind."
~Herbert Prochnow
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Karen's story is a shining example of the ways God reaches out to us, sometimes through the love of another, sometimes through the words of a song.
"My Anchor Holds"
by Karen Harper DeLoach
Have you ever had "one of those days?" Sure, you have. We all
have. And then along comes ONE OF THOSE DAYS! Not a
hectic, "everybody's trying to irritate me--I had a flat tire on the
way to work--and now my loaded-down-with-dirty-dishes dishwasher has conked out" day, but a truly bad day.
Last Tuesday was such a day. The sun rose on a crisp autumn day that progressed normally and included everyday obligations, with minor irritations strewn along the way, and a few laughs sprinkled in here and there. But by day's end, everyday situations were set aside, irritations forgotten, and laughter a dim memory.
A friend phoned, and I shared that my nephew, the father of ten
children, had lost his job. She promised to pray for his family.
Then she told me her news. I had expected to hear that her twenty-one-year-old son Cale, who has endured almost two years of battling cancer, losing his leg and hip in the process, was going to be released by his doctors, as planned. Instead, I heard they found a small spot on his lung.
A beep interrupted our conversation. Thinking it might be her husband with more news of their son, she put me on hold. She came back on line with the worst news of this "bad news" day. The twenty-six-year-old son of our close friends had been found dead, brutally murdered, beaten to death, his body dumped in the landfill. That such a horrific thing could happen in our lazy little Southern town was mind numbing. That it happened to a young man I had known since he was a curly-headed toddler, whose family I dearly loved, was heartbreaking.
The days following were a blur of phone calls, tears, hugs, comfort food, visits with the family, seeing old friends, the wake, and
finally the funeral. I sat in the chapel, gripping my husband's hand
on one side and my oldest son's on the other, and watched a video presentation of Scott's short life.
My stomach churned, as my mind tried to grasp some reason in the midst of senseless situations - my nephew's struggle, Cale's
seemingly never-ending battle, Scott's brutal death, personal battles my own family is fighting, our nation's pain and suffering since September 11th. For a moment, I lost my spiritual bearings. Then Scott's uncle stood up and sang -
"I have journeyed through the long dark night, out in the open sea, By faith alone, sight unknown, and yet His eyes were watching me.
When darkness seems to hide His face, I rest on His unchanging grace. In every high and stormy gale, the anchor holds within the
vale.
The anchor holds, though the ship is battered. The anchor holds,
though the sails are torn.
I have fallen on my knees, as I face the raging seas. But the anchor holds, in spite of the storm." ("The Anchor Holds" by Ray Boltz)
As my tears flowed, peace was restored. I regained my bearings. I still had no answers; the storm was still raging. But I knew that
God, the Anchor of my soul, would hold strong "in spite of the
storm."
Karen Harper DeLoach
dms4@frontiernet.net
Karen is a businesswoman and the mother of three sons. She's written a book entitled "Thirty-one Years and a Stumble," which is a testimony of God's healing of her marriage. She heads up "KD and Kompany," a constantly-changing drama group that has presented plays in her community, as well as children's programs in subsidized housing projects. She and her husband, Bill, reside in Statesboro, Georgia. Karen's story "Snapshots From My Memory Album" can be found in our archives.
http://karendeloach.tripod.com - Karen's own web site!
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The Letter Box:
Oh Charles, (Firefighting) what would we do without a sense of humour. Doesn't it just help us get through everything. When my (first) husband had one of his heart attacks, he said 'I always knew I was a clot!' When he was terminally ill, the doctor would call once a week, out of courtesy I suppose, as he couldn't do anything, and we would tell him jokes about illness and death. He never liked to laugh, but it kept us going.
Here's one :-
'He hasn't long to go' said the doctor 'give him anything he likes'. 'Is there anything you fancy?' asked his wife. ''Yes, I'd like a bit of that boiled ham' qauvered the husband. 'Oh, you can't have that, I'm saving that for the funeral' she replied.
~Margaret Drysdale
m.drysdale@lineone.net
Dear Cori,
Thank you for "Little Shoeshine Boy". I was having a bad morning and your story put things into perspecive for me. It made me realize how silly my problems are in comparison to the little shoeshine boy, and also to remember what a difference a small act of kindness can make - to both the receiver and the giver!
Thanks, Bonnie
Dear 2theheart,
Little Shoeshine Boy was a beautiful story that brought tears to my eyes. This little boy will continue to bring out acts of kind deeds in other through your story. We all need little reminders of reaching out to others.
~Theresa District
Washington State
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