Taking a Leap of Faith When the Lord Says, “JUMP!”

By Laurie Walz

Have you ever stood at the edge of a precipice about to make a monumental decision, and you don't have a clue what to do? We have discovered some strategies for making those decisions. Come along on our journey as we have taken that leap of faith when the Lord said, "JUMP!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781105771682

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Taking a Leap of Faith When the Lord Says, JUMP!

Copyright Laurie Walz 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other except for brief quotations, not to exceed 400 words, without the prior permission of the publisher.

First published in 2021

by Lulu Press Inc.

627 Davis Dr. Suite 300

Morrisville, NC 27560-7101

United States

www.lulu.com

ISBN: 978-1-105-77168-2

First Edition: 2021

Printed in the United States of America

Introduction

If you’ve ever been to Waimea Bay on Oahu, Hawaii, you would notice the 33-foot rock that sticks out of the water—Jump Rock. It’s usually crowded with young people jockeying to get to the edge and leap into the aquamarine water below. My first time climbing up the rock, I thought I was prepared to just launch myself into the air without a second thought. However, when I was standing at the edge, 33 feet high, I felt the same waves of excitement and fear I had felt when I had stood at the high dive in the Mililani Community Pool. Inside my head a war was going on, but the predominant voice that said, Don’t think, just jump! won. I launched up and out and seconds later landed feet first in the bay, coming up sputtering, proud, and ready to do it all over again.

One time when I was with my cousin Carrie and some friends, one of the guys thought it would be funny to push me off the rock right before I took the leap. I didn’t have time to right myself and land properly, and my body slammed down flat on my back on the cement water. As I willed my shocked and nearly paralyzed body to rise to the surface, I had visions of not making it to the air and not ever having use of my arms and legs again. When my body surfaced, I thought for sure my lungs were broken because my brain said, Breathe! but my lungs would not cooperate. Eventually, my wind returned, and I recovered enough to race back up the rock and exchange some choice words with the boy who thought he would be a wise guy.

There have been so many situations in my life when I have stood at a precipice, looking down, considering how stupid what I was about to do was, and yet I’ve taken the plunge. When I was younger, I jumped because I craved the adrenaline rush, and as I have gotten older and just a little bit wiser, I still jump because I recognize the loving voice in my head directing my steps and giving me the nerve to be obedient, even when the outcome looks uncertain and scary. Sometimes it’s tricky to figure out if the voice inside your head is the voice of reason and truth, or it’s the equivalent of a kolohe (rascally) teenage boy who is up to no good. Sometimes I’ve gotten it right, and the outcome has been great. Other times I acted presumptuously and have had to deal with the consequences of my foolishness. Hopefully by reading this, you will be able to learn from my good choices, and from my mistakes. I hope you will laugh with me and not at me, and that you will come away with the overwhelming sense of confidence that God loves us, warts and all, and has a unique plan for all of us. The adventure begins once you say, Yes! to Him.

Each chapter is titled after a song that is an inspiration for the events that took place during that particular season of our lives. If you have the digital version of this book and click on the underlined title, you will be taken to the song in YouTube. I hope it will bless you and provide you with faith-filled inspiration.

Chapter 1: Wahiawa Is Calling

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old, he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6 ESV

I was born in the small town of Wahiawa, on the island of Oahu. Wahiawa means Place of Noise, (Wahiawa, par 1) because long ago before the town got too big and cars filled the roads, people could hear the distant sound of crashing waves from the North Shore. It’s hard to imagine that now, because the town has other noises that mask the sound of the ocean.  Besides the sound of traffic, there is the whispering of the breeze blowing through the paper tree forest, the sound of families laughing, dogs barking, chickens cockle doodle doing, and the sounds of the military practicing their drills. Wahiawa is located in the middle of the island of Oahu, towards the north shore. It became a bustling town when the military established Schofield Barracks nearby. The service men would find their way to the bars and strip clubs that sprang up near Ojai Street on the main road, Kamehameha Highway.

For much of my childhood I lived in a small house up the Heights on California Avenue. The property had an ohana (family or second) house in the back where my Nana lived, and then later my uncle and cousins joined her. My parents, brother and I lived in the bigger front house. Across the street behind a tall wire fence was a eucalyptus tree forest that was owned by the U.S. military. They used it to practice army maneuvers. We children weren’t allowed to go into that forest, but we could hear the rustling of the leaves when the breeze blew the minty smelling coolness of the trees and mixed it with the fragrant gardenia bushes that lined our gravel driveway. Whenever I catch of waft of either of those smells I’m instantly brought back to our house in Wahiawa and Nana.

My parents had me when they were hardly grownups themselves. When I was a baby, we all lived with Nana in the front house. While my parents were at work (Mom at the bank downtown and Dad at First Hawaiian Bank then later at Nabisco) Nana would take care of me. She had a friend named Loretta who would come to visit. Loretta and Nana would talk story while I played with my dolls. Loretta introduced Nana to Jesus, and soon Nana spent much of her time listening to preachers on the radio and reading her Bible. She and Loretta would get together and talk about verses in the Bible and pray for their families.

One day when I was just about three years old, Nana decided that it was time for me to ask Jesus into my heart. She didn’t do much of an introduction. I guess by being around the conversations I had learned about Jesus through osmosis. Her approach was direct and brought me to my very first precipice, filled with fear and excitement. Nana simply said, Laurie, you need to accept Jesus into your heart so that you can go to heaven and not end up in hell when you die. That’s it—no flannelgraph board explanations, theological teachings on the cross, Jesus dying for my sins, or any of that. Just, do it or die. I remember the moment when I looked into my little preschool heart and said, Jesus, I don’t want to go to hell when I die. Please come into my heart. I jumped.

I don’t remember feeling any differently. To be honest, time has erased a lot of my early memories. However, Nana told me that I would often line my dolls up and preach to them. I would lay hands on them and speak in tongues. To this day I do not have a recollection of the exact moment that I was baptized in the Holy Spirit. It’s almost like I got saved and filled all at once. I do remember Nana bribing me with a trip to the candy store if I would speak in tongues to her. She wanted to make sure that I had my prayer language. Now I know that my salvation and baptism in the Holy Spirit experience does not follow the nice formula that we like to use in church. However, I do recall sensing God’s presence in my life. Jesus was as familiar to me as my family was. When I would play on the swing set in our back yard, I would loudly sing, Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so!

Nana began going to a church off the Likelike Highway named Grace Bible Church. It must have been a time of revival, because I have memories of being in church several times a week. Because the services lasted for hours, I would often crawl under the pews and entertain myself by looking at the backs of legs of the people sitting above me. I could tell which ladies were wearing knee high stockings and which ones actually had real tights on. Often those legs would be dancing all around me as the music during the worship service got lively and the people would dance in the aisles. Back in those days, the Spirit was allowed to move without restriction, whether it was during worship or when someone received a prophetic word and loudly shared it with the folks in the room. As a three-year-old, most of it was confusing. However, I remember at that early age sensing God’s presence in the room and receiving comfort and reassurance that He was pleased when His people expressed their devotion to Him.

I remember we used to visit a lady in Wahiawa that had a baby boy—I think it was her grandson. Anyway, I used to love holding this baby boy and pretending that he was my little brother. I got it in my mind that I really wanted to have a brother. I started praying, not knowing that my parents were taking all the precautions necessary so that they would not get pregnant. Maybe a year later on November 30, 1966, despite using two forms of birth control, my mom gave birth to a baby boy. The wonderful thing about Paul’s birthday was that it landed on the same day that the Santa Claus parade was going to happen in Wahiawa. I remember Mom and Dad dropping me off at My mom’s brother, Uncle Jr., and Aunty Bev’s house. They took me and my baby cousin Darla to the parade, where Santa Claus, riding his sleigh (I think it was a fire truck) was throwing candy to all us kids. Yup, merry Christmas to me! I got my little brother AND Christmas candy all on the same night. What more could this Wahiawa girl ask for? Life was definitely good.

When Paul was born, my Mom got to stay home with us. She would tell me that we may not have a lot of money, but we were rich in love.  My Dad worked part time at a shoe store then drove a cab in addition to his full-time position at Nabisco.  Thankfully, about two and a half years after my brother was born Dad transitioned to a better paying position with Bristol Labs, a division of what is now Bristol-Myers Squibb, as a pharmaceutical sales rep. His career took off from there.

We were still living with Nana, so she decided to build the little ohana house in the back of the California Avenue property for herself. Loretta would still come to visit Nana, and during one of her visits she decided to tell my mom about Jesus. I don’t recall being there, but the end result was my mom asked Jesus to be her Lord and Savior.

When my Mom got saved, she and Nana decided that they would have a Good News Club at our house on Friday afternoons for the children in our neighborhood. Mom and Nana would plan out the lessons, purchase and make the flannelgraph figures, and have our meetings every Friday after the children came home from school. There was singing, stories, snacks, and playtime. Fridays became one of my favorite days of the week when our house would be filled with dozens of kids. Years later, some of those kids became missionaries. All who attended met Jesus and walked away knowing that Jesus loved them and had a purpose for their lives, including me.

Another thing my mom did that has served me so well is she taught me how to hear God’s voice. Even though she was young in her faith, she was passionate about the Lord and gobbled up all the teaching about the Bible that she could. She also wanted to see me grow in my faith, so she would read Bible stories to me and have me pray out loud. Often, she would have me kneel by my bed and tell me that we were going to practice listening for that still small voice which was the voice of our heavenly Father. I never doubted that God would speak to me. My faith at that time was as natural as the air I breathed. My mom started me off by praying that God would give me a Scripture to look up. Then she would instruct me to be silent and listen for a small voice inside my mind that will tell me a Bible verse to look up. At seven years old, I had already memorized the order of the books of the Bible. After waiting for a minute or two, I would hear a Bible book, chapter, and verse number to look up. I would tell my mom what I heard, and we would look it up together. The crazy thing is that it was always a real verse! Never, did that voice, which I came to learn was my heavenly Father’s voice, steer me towards a verse that did not exist. Years later, my mom confessed that she had doubted that God was actually speaking to me. She kind of suspected that I was making up the verses to look up. However, she said that the Lord rebuked her and reassured her that He was actually speaking to me.

I’m so thankful that I learned to hear His voice so young. Little children have so much trust. If an adult says that something is true, then children don’t have a reason to doubt them. I was blessed to have parents that guided me in the truth, and it has helped me to stay fairly grounded as an adult.  In Matthew 19:14 Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these’ (NIV). As one of those little children who was encouraged to go to the Lord, as an adult when the storms of life blow, I know where to run to receive comfort and wisdom.

While Mom and Nana were avid church attenders, my dad used Sundays to go snorkeling and enjoy some time for himself. He wasn’t interested in hearing about God, but he didn’t restrict us from going to church. However, we began praying for his salvation. It would be many years before I would see this prayer request answered.

One particular event that has been seared into my memory happened some time when I was between three and six years old. I was out in the backyard by the rose bushes behind the garage, and I was leaning in to bring a particularly beautiful deep pink rose to my nose to smell. I was not paying attention to what was right in front of that rose bush, which was a large garden spider right smack in the middle of its orb web, zig zags and all. I looked down when I felt something sticky on me, saw what it was, and tried to jerk away while screaming hysterically. The problem was I had a hard time pulling away because the web was so sticky, and when I finally did manage to pull back it was attached to the front of my dress. There are very few moments in my life when I have felt such icy fear that it was nearly paralyzing. That was one of those moments. I ran screaming into the house to have my mom help me. When she saw what was on me, she started screaming. Eventually she jerked the dress off of me and grabbed something to wipe me down. By then I had been thoroughly traumatized, and arachnophobia had completely surrounded me in its clutches. To this day, whenever I am anywhere near a spider web, including the strands that often hang between trees or trail off from branches, I go out of my way to duck away from them. If I do inadvertently walk through one, I am instantly transported back to that moment of icy, paralyzing fear. 2 Timothy 1:7 says, God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind (NKJV). As far as I’m concerned, the Apostle Paul never got caught in one of those large Hawaiian spider webs. He might have been singing a different tune otherwise. But seriously, I have asked the Lord to deliver me from that irrational fear. I want to have faith that is strong enough to overcome; but I acknowledge that short of threatening me with loss of my eternal salvation, there is no way that anyone is getting me to voluntarily touch a web or a spider.

When I was four years old, Nana and Mom enrolled me in a Christian preschool program at King’s Schools, now called Hanalani. I, and eventually my cousins and brother received no nonsense Baptist training in the Bible as well as the other regular school subjects. Once, when I was in fourth grade, my mom tried to put me in public school. In fact, we had moved to Mililani by then, and I was in the very first class at Mililani Waena Elementary School. There, I learned about Michael Jackson and the Jackson Five, The Osmond Brothers, and other secular singers. My induction into the world had begun. Soon, I began repeating the cuss words that I heard from the kids on the playground. I could tell my mom was really having a hard time seeing her kids change so much. She tried to discipline my brother and I, but we didn’t understand why we couldn’t just be like everyone else—until I overheard a phone conversation my mom had with the principal of our previous school—King’s Schools. I heard my mom begging Mr. Sugimoto to allow my brother and me to attend King’s School. She described the change she saw in me since I had spent fourth grade in public schools. She was adamant that I needed to be in a Christian environment and the clincher was when she said, I don’t care if I have to scrub floors at your school in order to afford having my kids attend! Hearing the pain in my mom’s voice broke something inside of me. My nine-year-old self realized that I had caused mom’s grief. In my heart, I vowed to never use another cuss word again. That phone conversation is seared on my conscience. To this day, my language has been filtered through the lens of my mother’s love for me and my brother. She loved me enough to be willing to sacrifice financially in order to help me get back on track. Needless to say, Mr. Sugimoto not only took my brother and me back into Kings, but also gave us a discount since my parents were on such a limited budget. I was able to attend fifth grade with Mr. Babbs as my teacher.

That year became pivotal as it helped me to get ahead academically and also put the fear of God in me spiritually. I think the most memorable Bible lesson was the one that featured playing some Rolling Stones songs backwards and showing our class how there were satanic messages planted backwards in them. That lessoned served to make me feel extremely guilty whenever I listened to secular music. It took me many years to work through the horror of potentially losing my faith if I listened to secular music. During my teen years I ignored the guilt because man, the music was so good! I grew up when classic 70’s rock was in its prime, disco was making everyone shake their booty, and New Wave was a fun sound that was beginning to become popular. One of the very few concerts I went to when I was a teenager was the Pretenders, with the Kamikaze Clones as the warmup band. Good times!

In 1973, my parents moved us to San Jose, California. I think there were several reasons. Living in Hawaii was expensive, so this move would help us to increase our standard of living. Also, it would provide more opportunities for my brother and I to grow up with a bigger world view. Up until that point in my life, Oahu was pretty much the only place I knew. I had been to California a couple of times to visit relatives of both my mom and dad, but my whole world was basically the forty-four-mile long and thirty-mile-wide island of Oahu. As we were leaving, my Grandpa Moses had a chance to sit down with Paul, me, and my other cousins. He would often tell us stories about the war, but this time he talked to us about our family. He told us to never forget our roots, meaning who we are as a family, where we have come from there in Wahiawa and how much people have sacrificed so that we could have a good life. As if I could ever forget the scent of eucalyptus trees, gardenias, and Nana’s cooking in that little white plantation house where Grandpa had planted my cherry tree when I was only three years old. How could I forget the sound of cousins squealing as we played our silly games and grownups laughing as they slapped Sakura cards down? This Wahiawa girl had a rich heritage of family love that she would not ever want to forget.

1. Laurie’s Mom and Nana taught Laurie how to pray and hear God’s voice from an early age. Name two things you could do to be more intentional with your children to foster their relationship with God.

2. Is there a special event you remember from your early childhood that you would like your family to know about you?

Chapter 2: Sweet and Innocent

"Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction, and do not ignore your mother’s teaching;

For they are a graceful wreath for your head and necklaces for your neck." Proverbs 1:8-9, NASB

I remember the summer of ’74 as being so fun. We stayed in an apartment in San Jose while my parents looked for a house to purchase. That apartment had a swimming pool! My mom had a strict rule that we could only go swimming if the temperature outside reached 80 degrees. She didn’t want us getting sick. Oh, how my brother and I prayed for that thermometer outside to reach the magic number! The pool was the place where we met the other apartment kids. I felt I had been missing out all my life. Apartment living, with its high concentration of people, meant that friends were just steps from our front door—all the time! My brother and I had a blast meeting all the other kids.

That summer, my mom focused on keeping my brother and I busy. She signed us up at the parks and recreation for the summer fun program. Paul and I made masks out of ice cream tubs and Pinewood Derby racing cars. We were down for whatever craft project happened to be on the schedule, and we would often bring them home to work on in the apartment. My mom also introduced us to the thrift store down the street. There, we purchased a second-hand record player. Mom let me choose an album at the record store, and I promptly picked out one by Donny Osmond. The slippery slope of listening to secular music had begun! One of our neighbors loaned us a handful of Beatles’ albums, and I spent many happy hours discovering songs like I Want to Hold Your Hand. This was also the summer when my mom bought me my first bra—not that I needed it. I could have gotten away with wearing undershirts for another year. I remember it would constantly ride up and I would have to pull it down. I kept thinking that growing up sure is inconvenient. Little did I know!

My Uncle Richard, Aunty Mel, (Mom’s sister) and cousins Reona and Larry lived in Sacramento, which was only a two-hour drive from San Jose. That summer we drove back and forth, enjoying time with our ohana. We knew we were within twenty minutes when we passed the Milk Farm with its big sign of a cow hopping over a crescent moon. Aunty and Uncle’s house was one of my new favorite places to visit. They had a swimming pool, and my cousins were there—kid heaven. My cousin Reona is six months older than me. When we were kids, she was always a year ahead of me in school, and she was always much taller than me. That meant that I got her hand-me-down dresses. When I outgrew them, Mom sent them to Darla and Carrie, my cousins in Wahiawa. My Aunty Mel’s investment in Reona’s clothes really did go a long way. Even though Reona was basically the same age as me, I always looked up to her. She was so sure of herself, and it seemed like she knew how to do everything really well like playing tennis and doing the butterfly stroke in the pool. I was always