I Heard the Voice of God & This is what HE said: One Woman's Journey

By Betty Holland

I retired from Fayetteville V.A. medical center later retired from Fayetteville medical center. I gave my o life to Christ in 1988. After many years of being single. I asked God to send me a God centered man (of his choosing) After 12-14 years he answered my prayers. This is my 7th year of marriage to Isaac Holland. God sent that best. I couldn't be happier. My children's father died in 2013. Before his passing, he gave his life to God. What a wonderful God we serve. This collections of writings came to be when God gave me a voice

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641403474

Book preview

In the Beginning

As I sit here almost ten years later, I can still feel the absolute silence of aloneness, the darkness of an empty life. The desperate inner cries for peace were unanswered. Much later quiet calm voice whispered, Write what you are feeling. December 1988 was the first time I attempted to write anything.

I now know this cry for help was the first step I had to take, years of endless pursuing chasing elusive short-lived happiness. I could have rewritten this, corrected the grammatical errors, given it a more appropriate title and all, but that night, I was writing everything that came into my head exactly as it came. It’s important to hear and perhaps feel the raw, bitterness of an empty, Godless life, a verbal landscape of my pain.

A Bit of Humor

Some of you probably have wondered, what is that silly section, A Bit of Humor, all about? My answer is twofold.

1. Proverbs 17:22 states, A merry heart doeth good like a medicine…

2. Doctors are beginning to discover all the benefits of laughter.

Laughter makes us feel better. It’s a way of dealing with stressful situations. It lowers blood pressure and triggers the release of the body’s natural painkillers (endorphins), which produce a sense of well-being. So biblically and medically speaking, laughter is a very good thing.

Sonnet of Despair

Oh my, how the tears overflow tonight. How utterly alone I am. How utterly lonely I am. Why am I feeling such an unfathomable death of despair? When I think of my future, why is the landscape windy, bleak, desolate? Why are the colors gray, brown, and beige? My present blue, my past red? Can this possibly be all there is? Please God, give me bright happy colors.

Night…dark, cold, quiet. The silence of night. Once, I welcomed night to gain the quietness I need. Now it encompasses me, sleep evades me, innermost thoughts run rampant, and I cry for relief. I pray for brightness.

And alas! The sun rises, and the façade begins again. The sun rises, and the night crouches in waiting, just waiting to overpower me and force me to succumb once again to the ravages of loneliness.

The healing power of the body is phenomenal, but the ruins of heartbreak were merely covered scar tissue. Beneath the scar lie deep open wounds trying to expunge putrid remains of deceit, dishonesty, distrust, lies, cruelty, and pain—memorable pain.

For me, why is there a tomorrow and a tomorrow and another tomorrow?

Is there a purpose for me, my Father? Was I meant to be? Do I need to be? Will I be? Can I be?

There must be a release for this anguish, an end to this canvas of nothingness, a resolution to this inner turmoil.

I’ve climbed life’s rope of survival, and though I’d succeeded, I continue to slip back…step by step by step. I’ve been climbing so long that the rope is getting worn and threadbare, but perhaps a new, stronger rope has been woven for me, perhaps, tomorrow

I’ll get my new rope…tomorrow…tomorrow. Please, God, tomorrow. I just missed another step.

Should I talk to someone? Of course not. No one can understand the verbiage of another’s soul. My complete self-absorption is impregnable. My quest for being is continuous. My journey has become impassable. Weaving, exterior weaving intertwining, hampers my passage to self-realization.

Negative tendrils are constructing my feelings of self-worth. I need the key to release my anguished soul. That elusive key. The key that can open up that kaleidoscope of bright, sparkling colors.

One should always live a life of bright, beautiful colors. Perhaps tomorrow or tomorrow or tomorrow…

Amazing Grace

How does one explain the meaning of grace to a young Christian? One of the definitions Webster gives is this: the freely given, unmerited favor and love of God.

That sounded wonderful, but I needed a description of his grace. A very simple story was divinely given to me, and I’ll share it with you.

Palena’s Story

I had a dream, and in this dream, I found myself sitting under a scrawny tree in a dry, dusty courtyard, and a very old man was sitting beside me.

He was pointing to an area on the opposite side of the courtyard. I saw a table and a pitcher; leaning against the table was a sign that read, Free Water.

Puzzled, I looked at the old man. Keep silent, he said. Just watch.

Weary-looking travelers entered the courtyard, and seeing the sign, they hurried to the table and drank from the pitcher. This procession continued for quite a while as I gazed on in disbelief.

Questions flooded my mind. What was happening? Where was the water coming from? No one approached the table to refill the water pitcher.

I had to examine that pitcher for myself. I asked the old man if I could get a drink. Certainly, it’s free to you also. Drink as much as you want and as often as you need to, he answered.

Rushing to the table, I peered inside. It was full. I lifted the pitcher, and seeing nothing amiss, I kneeled and looked under the table, searching for a logical explanation for this phenomenon.

Hesitantly, I took a small sip; nothing bizarre happened to me, so I drank my fill. Returning the pitcher to the table, it again remained full.

Not understanding but eager to share this miracle water with my parents, I looked for a container. Seeing none, I returned to the old man. I need a cup or a glass. I want to carry some of this water home and try to explain all I’ve seen.

Shaking his head, the old man spoke. Each person must come to drink for him or herself.

Well then, can you explain what I’ve experienced? I asked.

Pointing up, the old man spoke. You’ve witnessed the supernatural work of God to illustrate to you the way his grace works. You see, his grace is like that water in that pitcher. It’s limitless, can’t be measured or depleted. You can return time and time again to receive this unmerited favor. It’s free to all his children, and he keeps the pitcher full and waiting for all who will come.

In a revered voice, I replied, God is awesome, and his grace is extraordinary.

The old man stood up and nodded at me, and with a smile that said, Now you understand, he said, His grace is simply amazing.

He faded from sight, and I awaken with the words amazing grace resonating in my thoughts and comforting my soul.

Introduction:

Here I Am, Jesus

Have you discovered God’s purpose for your life? What method has he gifted you with to tell others about him? Are you allowing that little light to shine to guide others to Jesus?

All of those questions plagued me for a long, long time. After much praying, seeking of courage from his Word, prayers, and encouragement from my friends and family, and the never-ceasing prayers of my Christian family, I’ve made this giant step—tell others about Jesus through writing.

He has called others to minister by teaching, preaching, caring for the sick, etc. We can’t be pigeonholed into man-given modes of service. We have to follow God’s calling, not man’s.

No matter what area of service he has chosen for us, he expects us to perform lovingly, willingly, unselfishly. We are to be good disciples.

In order to understand the uncertainties and doubts I’ve had, I believe God had chosen me to write about all his goodness. I’ll share some of my self with you.

It has taken this long, ten years, for me to understand that God takes ordinary people like myself to do extraordinary things. It’s taken me this long to understand that before he would exalt me, he would humble me. It has taken me this long to understand that I had to depend on him completely instead of self-reliance.

It has taken me this long to submit myself completely to him, to allow him to strip the layers of feelings of worthlessness, feelings of inadequacies, and self-pity away. And this is important. If I am to be all that he want me to be, I have to shed character flaws that are not of God. God stripped the sin of envy from my soul.

Some of you reading this will know exactly what I’m saying and can relate to it. You know what I’m saying: envying the ones with the perfect backgrounds, who attended the perfect colleges, who belonged to the lettered sororities, who married the perfect mate with perfect children and with the perfect homes and all the perfect trappings and perfect attendance in the church they’d helped build.

Perfectly unreal? Of course.

Every family has problems. Most find it necessary to show others a facade of perfection, but we know none is perfect except one.

Oh, it’s not completely eradicated. Once in a while, envy raises its destructive head, but I quickly call out, Father. My Lord answers and conquers.

Oh, I brought me so much baggage to God, but he took it all as I learned gradually to let go. He taught me stop comparing the work he gave me to do with that of literary giants such as Angelou and Toni Morrison. These are brilliant people whose writings target a certain caliber of people. God helped me to see and be a voice of his choice.

These words came to me one day and aptly describe my service to God. Simple words simply stated for everyday people.

Who’s everyday people? They are people working hard to make ends meet, some (like me) living from paycheck to paycheck, some working two jobs to keep their heads above water, some physical laborers, single head of households, those without extensive formal education, those without the time to decipher a complex poem or book—just average every day people.

Another character flaw I have is arrogance, and God is still working in me to eradicate this sin. Arrogance was a protective coping mechanism I’d used since I was a young kid. Some of you can relate to what I’m about to share because you’ve experienced many aspects of my testimony.

You see, this method God is using with me brings realness to where I was, where he’s brought to. Many of you can relate to me, a living-willing-to-share testifier. I received this message as a young child of when my mother abandoned me, messages stating that I was unloved and that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t belong anywhere, I was unsure of who my father was, and I lived on the wrong side of town.

I remember always being an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. Whether with relatives, at church, or in school, I was always on the outside looking in. I remember visiting friends’ homes, and I can still feel that terrible wordless feeling of wanting to live with the love I thought I saw.

I can’t remember ever being bullied as a child or a teenager. Even in high school, I was as an honor roll student, a lead in my school choir, a homecoming queen, and my only remembrance of acceptance and love came from my French instructor, Ms. Medley. She sort of took me under her wing and groomed me into a young lady with pride.

I must digress a little right now. Parents, if your children don’t run into your loving arms, they’ll seek love from Satan’s servants. It might be drug dealers or the slick, pseudo-love message from street predators.

They will be vulnerable to these spawns of Satan because of their need for love, acceptance, and a feeling of belonging. They’ll end up looking for love in all the wrong places.

Growing up in the ’50s, the only drug I came close to was a cigarette made from rabbit tobacco wrapped in strip of paper bag.

I remember when I was about sixteen years old, I drank some corn liquor and got so sick; that was my last drink of anything until I was twenty-one.

But I didn’t grow to adulthood unscathed. My first and only boyfriend would slap me around once in a while because he was jealous of me. He migrated to Chicago, and that ended that relationship.

In my senior year of high school, I met and married a soldier who promised to love me forever. I believed him. I forfeited a four-year scholarship to North Carolina State Agricultural and Technological State University. My mentor, Ms. Medly, had arranged this; she was very disappointed in me, but I opted for love.

After seven years of an abusive marriage, I finally get enough courage to leave (for the third time) and stay away. I