Repositioned

It's been fun this week, exchanging hilarious stories on Facebook after I've shared the latest ditsy things I've done. Sunday, I  grabbed a bottle of Downey Wrinkle Release from the hall cupboard. I sprayed my oatmeal-colored sweater several times, smoothing over the wrinkles with my hands. It wasn't working as well as usual, I noticed, so doused the sweater again and again. The smell of bleach reached my nose, and I looked at the bottle's label to find I had really been using a foaming bathroom cleanser with bleach! Stories like this must be shared, so I instantly posted a picture of my newly tie-dyed sweater to Facebook, where I enjoyed being laughed with and hearing of other people's foibles. 

This morning, Tuesday, I made myself coffee from my Keurig, like I do most mornings. Unlike most mornings, I placed the mug under the spout, pressed the button, and immediately the mug started overflowing, spilling coffee over the countertop.  Upon closer inspection, I saw I had placed the mug under the spout upside down, as in bottom side up. Another Facebook post, more LOLs, more stories shared.

I've done some funny accidental things in my life, from wearing two different shoes in public, to being affectionate with a man I mistook for my husband in a crowded elevator. He was much more gracious than the ballcap-and-windbreaker-wearing bearded man in the self checkout at Wal-Mart, who after my accidental hug and sincere apology, refused to laugh with me and ran from the store, not looking back.

While on the outside, I am laughing, after this morning's coffee mishap, I keep having this not-funny conversation in my head: If you want to feel, "ept," just hang around me. I'm so inept.

That is harsh, is it not? 

Why am I exceptionally scattered this week? The calendar reminds me that five years ago I saw my mom alive and well for the last time. She walked into my house with a friend, without knocking—again. I stayed in the kitchen, fuming over her violating my well-defined boundaries, while my daughters doted over her near the front door. I hugged Linda, the friend she brought, and withheld a hug from my mom. Before she left, we discussed when we would have time to bake pumpkin bread together, and I pointed out to her a Mother's Day card on the counter I hadn't given to her. "I finally found it," I said, having misplaced it after purchasing it in May. "It's the prettiest one I've ever bought you, but I haven't signed it yet, so I will give it to you after I write something on it."  

Two days later she fell while walking to the church bus during a senior field trip. Her walker got stuck in a crack on hilly pavement, and she flipped, landing on her head. The impact caused a catastrophic brain bleed that within a few minutes led to her being unconscious. She was helicoptered to a hospital and attached to life support, which kept her breathing the next couple days, until family could all arrive to say goodbye. I whispered in her ear before the medical team unplugged her, "I forgive you. I hope you forgive me, too."  I did keep my promise and gave her the pretty Mother's Day card, signed, setting it next to her in her coffin.

This is the week each year I am spacier than normal, less aware of my surroundings, slogging through life in a fog. Grief disorients me, and these anniversaries of loss always sneak up on me unaware. 

"Give yourself grace," people say to me, and I have said it to others. But I'm not the source of grace and can't seem to brew up enough for myself, or for anyone else. Yet I know—how I know—a softer gaze is needed, on myself, and on my mom, who sometimes scooched her way through my front door and over the well-meaning fences I'd built. A nicer rule-breaker you've never met!

The ache feels like a hollow longing in my chest, and my eyes leak off and on throughout the day. But I'm not turning away from letting myself feel the regret of the withheld hug, not this year.

I sit and move through the day with Jesus, this grieving heart facing toward Him, exposed, empty, not upside down, like my coffee mug. Here, His grace pours into me. My cup is being filled, not resisting what Christ is offering. I sense His softer gaze upon me. Repositioned under the fount of grace, I am full to the brim, even overflowing. 

I'm letting my regret usher me into a place where I am re-greeted by grace. There is no room for harshness, here.

Is there an area in your life you need Christ's gaze upon you? Something you've refused to acknowledge before God? Perhaps you, too, see the need to reposition yourself under grace's fount. 

It's Time

Amazed, I am
at the wretchedness
of man—of me
Stunned, I look on
then look away

Amazed, I am
at grace overflowing
to man—to me
Stunned, I look on
then look away

Perhaps the time has come
to, with courage, linger
and look a little longer
at what is.

Diane Mann, 2020

But Goldfinches

A cousin—was it the one in Pittsburgh or the one in Germany? I've never met either but enjoy hearing from them through social media—woke up to a gray day.  Her eyes must have lit up when she noticed two yellow birds—goldfinches—perched in her garden. She snapped a picture of them with her phone and posted it to Instagram. “A gloomy day but goldfinches,” she wrote. No exclamation point or emojis, no explanation of what this meant to her.

I've carried this image in my mind for a couple of weeks now, and equally the words “but goldfinches.”

Wednesday morning I was assigned to a job in Pasadena. The commute was shorter somehow than expected, and I arrived early. I parked my car in front of the office building then did some shopping on my phone. I ordered a yellow beaded necklace and earrings from Amazon to go with some shoes I have.

I got out of my car, went to the side passenger door to retrieve my computer and steno machine. The place where I always put my equipment was empty. I looked again then checked the very back and the front of the car to see whether I might have put the equipment in a different place. But no. I arrived to my job without any way to report the legal proceedings. I've done this before, but only in my worst dreams.

This was real, though, and not a dream. Hands shaking, I called the agency I work for and spoke with Jenn. We brainstormed and came up with a plan for her to grab a court reporting machine she used in school that was stored at her home and drive it to me. Her ETA would be 10:45 a.m., forty-five minutes past when the deposition was scheduled to begin.

I didn't want to go into the attorney's office. I didn't want to face the people whom I'd inconvenienced by my forgetfulness. The girls at the court reporting office tried to calm me via nice texts, assuring me all would be well, and encouraged me to go in. Something in me alerted me to this: I can be sorry and say so but not grovel. I don't know what in me shifted with that thought. But that thought, the idea to apologize, leave it there, and do my best and go forward with my day, helped usher me into the office building (along with the fact that I needed to use their restroom; that helped too).

I met the receptionist and asked to borrow a legal pad. Upon entering the conference room, I met opposing counsel and his clients, a couple from Iran who had moved to America in 1962, the year I was born. They were kind to me and told me about things they had forgotten, times things have gone wrong for them. The attorney who hired me came in and met me, and I let him know we were waiting for delivery of a steno machine. I read a book that was in my car and visited some more with the deponent and his wife. Such gracious people they were.

Jenn arrived with her steno machine, and we had to fiddle with the cord to get the equipment to charge. On a break I visited with the deponent's wife, letting her know I had recently visited Israel. She had also been there. I told her I missed eating falafel and various things I enjoyed about the Middle East, and she shared what she loves about living in America. And when the job finished, I chatted with her and her husband in the parking lot, about their health, jobs, life, children, grandchildren.

If I had taken my normal behavioral route of groveling when I inconvenience someone else, my eyes would have been so entirely fixed on my own inadequacy that I would have missed the kind and interesting interactions with the people around me.

But I didn't miss it. I didn't necessarily walk into the office with my head held high, but it wasn't slung low either. It was just medium, where I could see the people neither above, nor below, but across from me, people who assuredly also had been the recipients of grace, who were able to extend some to me.

When I was almost home from my hour-long drive, I glanced down at the seat next to me. On it rested the brand-new yellow legal pad I “borrowed” from the receptionist. I had neglected to return it. The yellow paper stood out against the gray seat on which it sat. The gray, glum seat cover, the cheery yellow paper.

A perfect picture of my gloomy day— 

but goldfinches.

Three

Glen Pass, Kings Canyon National Park

"That river is like God's grace.  It is abundantly flowing," or, "Look how God covered the ground with pine needles.  That's like grace cushioning a fall!"  These are a couple of tiny glimpses into my mind as I hike.  In fact the trail name I've given myself is "Grace Seeker."  I am on the lookout pretty constantly for how God is revealing Himself through what He has made.  My eager mind can translate anything into something filled with meaning and spiritual application, but sometimes I find myself on inspiration overload and my heart cannot quite catch up with my head and its racing thoughts.  Imagine a tree branch so hungry for snow to land on its branches it tries to reach further into the sky to grab flakes of snow.  That is how I am by nature, especially in nature.  The tendency in me is to strive to receive and respond rather than wait on God to turn my head, to show me what He wants me to notice then let it settle in and on me.

As Brent and I prepared to backpack at Rae Lakes Loop in Kings Canyon National Park one summer, I decided to approach the time traveling through the California wilderness differently.  I sensed God nudging me to be open to letting His Spirit point out what He wanted me to notice.  There was a new trust that said, okay, God.  You show me what You want me to see; You let me know what You want me to know.  I experienced a new freedom and playfulness in choosing to leave the inspiration totally up to God.  

There were three head-turning truths He revealed to me over the four-day journey -- truths I carried with me far beyond our summer vacation, the depths of which continue to unfold in me.  He showed me these truths in some creative ways.

1)  The power of the waterfall.  I've always been inspired by the strength of what rises from creation -- mountains, flowers, trees pointing to the heavens, a person having been beaten down by illness, hardship or depression who stands once again.  But what God turned my head with when I saw and sat with a waterfall was power rushing down.  Immediately I recognized what in my life needed to see this about God and His ability, quickness and willingness to extend grace.  Someone I loved deeply had much hurt at the time, and I had become fearful and worried.   The waterfall was a display of God's rushing-down-from-above power and love pouring onto His children. I wrestled with Him a bit during my break.  "If you can reach down this powerfully, surely, surely you can reach the one for whom I am praying.  Please, God, please reach her.  Reach me.  Pour over me, dislodging the fear and doubt in my heart."

2)  The bigness of the mountain.  Inclines have always been strenuous for me, and I imagine they always will be.  Yet each time I am climbing toward a peak or a pass, I am surprised by my struggle.  Springy, shiny-faced, eager hikers in magazine pictures look nothing like how I feel while ascending.  I walk with heavy steps and an even heavier-with-condemnation heart for how strong I think I should be.  As I slogged toward Glen Pass, the highest point on Rae Lakes Loop, a thought floated by I knew I needed to hang on to:  The mountain is much bigger than I.  Of course it's hard to climb!  The word "yield" was threaded into this new thought.  Hm.  What would it be like to yield to the truth that I am way smaller than the huge mountain?  Can I rest into and accept rather than reject my own limitations?  Something in me immediately flipped.  "Big mountain, little tiny me -- of course it's difficult!"  I said to myself.  I became more able to rely on God's strength somehow by embracing my own weakness.  

Post-hike as I navigate through illness, through seemingly impossible days at work, through relationships needing healing, I remember what was revealed during the steep mountain climb.  Yes, this problem, like the mountain, is much bigger than I. Of course it's hard; of course I'm tired and in need of rest and strength.   

3)  The kindness of my husband.  On night one we arrived at our first backpacking campsite with a greeting from a bare-bellied wet man who'd just come out of the river.  His name was Roy.  Roy and his two buddies, Lou and Brian, had hiked the loop every year for decades.  His grandfather used to ride a mule over the pass in the early 1900s.  We knew much about gregarious Roy before our tent was even set up.  Our journey intersected with this team of hikers many times after this first introduction.  Roy actually hiked slower than I did, and I stayed back with him while he took many rests while approaching the trail's highest point:  Glen Pass.  Remember, this is where I'd just learned to yield to the truth that I am so much smaller than the mountain.  He introduced me to some yummy energy chews as I sat with him while he caught his breath. 

Back to the kindness of my husband.  We stood in victory at almost 12,000 feet above sea level on a narrow, high, rocky pass taking turns photographing each other in this glorious moment, when Lou took a misstep and fell onto a sharp rock, splitting his knee open. Without pause Brent came to his aid, providing water, gauze, bandages.  Ignoring the expansive view of High Sierra ridges he'd worked so hard to see, setting down his binoculars and focusing on the need of another, he with tenderness and skill attended to Lou. In this act, I saw God's kindness and eagerness to care for me.  

I love thinking back to how God let me see this part of Him in my husband's actions.  When I am hurting or praying for someone who is hurting, He often brings to mind the picture He provided which expressed so clearly His kindness.

There have been situations following that summer hike where it was clear God had gone before me and had seen what I would need to get through what lay ahead -- times I specifically needed assurance of His reaching power, times I would need to accept a difficult, way-beyond-my-abilities situation and times I needed to depend on His attentive kindness.

Five days, forty-two miles, one bear (yes, really!)
and three truths
still changing me.

Diane Mann, 2015

Grace like Snow - Jammin' with the Overtones

The Overtones in Blue Pantsuits

The Overtones with Snow Falling (Janice is in the furry hat)

My High School Choir in our Checkered Long Dresses

I was raised in a church with a strong music program.  It seemed everyone, whether musically inclined or not, was in choir.  Each group of singers sang sometimes on Sunday mornings, had their own musicals and tours, and all combined at Christmastime for our huge "Round the Table Carol Sings," eventually outgrowing our sanctuary and moving the show to the LA County Fairgrounds, where over a weekend we offered seven performances of our Christmas extravaganza.  In 1977 the Carol Sings program was even televised.

Over 800 voices, a handbell choir, living Christmas cards, soloists, an orchestra all surrounded the audience, who sipped wassail, ate figgy pudding and joined in to sing many familiar carols.

At the front of the building was a stage on which the Overtones performed.  In my eyes, there were two kinds of choirs:  the Overtones and the non-Overtones (the Undertones?).  This group consisted of 12 or so super amazing, microphone-holding singers.  They toured internationally and even produced their own album. 

While we other choirs stood in rows on bleachers  around the building's edges, the Overtones, front and center, slid down slides, rode in sleighs, performed advanced, seamless choreography and even had snow falling on them as they sang.  Most memorable and creating the most envy in me was what they wore.  The checkered dresses adorning me and my fellow high-school singers seemed so "square" when compared with the slick baby-blue polyester pantsuits worn by the Overtones.  They were just all-around groovy.

I did enjoy choir, but my finding the right note was a little like searching for my car in a parking lot.  It's not that I couldn't find it; I just had to wander around a few places to get there.  Martene, our director, during rehearsals would pick a note and sing out the words "Today is a beautiful day" while pointing to a lucky chosen person who was to sing back the same words (no problem) on the same note (a problem).  My sister Susan was smart and learned to run to the restroom during this part of rehearsal.  But I sat and suffered through our leader's repeatedly trying to get me to hear then sing back the proper note.

Needless to say, I did not ever hold a microphone, and I was quite envious of the soloists who could produce such beautiful sounds with their voices.  I was in awe.  They seemed to sparkle as they sang, drawing an audience in, touching spirits, stirring souls with their voices.

I did not continue to sing in choir when I became an adult but found ways to serve more in line with my giftedness.  That itty bitty bit of envy of the performers remained, however.  I say "itty bitty," but in reality, envy has been a struggle for me for as long as I can remember.  Feeling "less than" or "not okay," often invisible, has been a struggle for me.  God has shown me lots about Him and me and how He sees me, and I've learned and am learning to live under His adoring, attentive eye, my "audience of one."

He had this super great surprise for me one year at women's retreat. I still attend the same church in which I grew up.  I had not planned to attend retreat, but someone canceled, and I was offered a last-minute spot.  Surprise of surprises, I ended up rooming with a darling past Overtone, Janice.  Thirty-plus years had gone by, but she still shined with that wide, sparkly smile with which she once graced the stage. 

We talked in our room until three in the morning.  I confessed to her my Overtone envy, and I was able to get to know her as a person rather than as a performer, a side-to-side sister rather than someone high on a pedestal (a pedestal created by envious me).  I loved seeing her heart, hearing her stories, and our just sharing with each other what it's like to be us.  We had been influenced by some of the same amazing what we call "pillars" of our church, fed by the same pastors, taught by the same teachers but because of our age difference had not become familiar with each other in the past.

Janice led a small group during retreat, and I was in her group.  We would share after meeting times about what God was showing us that weekend.  Two of the women in Janice's group, I learned, were ex-Overtones!  I had shared with them how God was meeting me in simple songwriting, helping me to find my voice while I learned guitar (I can hear notes better when playing) and what a gift that had been to me.  After our group dismissed one evening, the Overtones ladies, now all in their sixties, remained.  I'm sure they got a kick out of how still in awe of them I was!  We together sang songs.  They listened to me sing and play on the guitar a simple song I'd written then learned it and sang it with me. 

Jill sitting behind a desk drumming away, Addie singing and tapping her foot, Janice smiling and singing loud enough for me to at least feel like I was sounding just like her -- all a bit too wonderful to take in.  So I didn't take it in; I just went with it.  We sang more songs while passing the guitar around.  Just four people, not 800, no stages, no costumes or choreography -- and no disco ball like the one glittering in the center of the fair building for Christmas shows, but we all shone like stars to each other.

In the morning, Addie gave me a letter she had written to me expressing what a gift it was for her to share our souls through music the evening before.  We together ate breakfast, and I told her how our time touched, and even healed, some hole deep inside of me, something invisible, inferior and uncool - like something previously blue checkered transforming for just a time into a baby-blue polyester pantsuit. 

If grace falling can be like snow falling, I'm pretty sure I felt grace flakes gently landing on me the evening I jammed with the Overtones.

Diane Mann, 2014

Here's a link to a video of Pomona First Baptist Church's 1977 Carol Sings

My Part

Mine is not to strain harder to believe
     but to lean in,
            rest upon
                   and receive.


diane mann, 2013

Treasures from the Trail, Part 7 - Trail Names

In the book “Wild,” a woman's recounting of her hike along the Pacific Crest Trail, I learned that through-hikers typically receive trail names, monikers given to them by others or thought of by themselves.   My friend Carla, who went on a High Sierra adventure just weeks before I did, reported back to me that she had given herself a trail name, MeadowLark!  So hiking along, I kept my mind open and searching for what my trail name would be.

John Denver in his song “Rocky Mountain High,” sings these words, “seeking grace in every step he takes.”  This song was replaying in my mind, singing in me as I ventured, helping me realize that I, too, with each step am watching for grace.  I tried a few names on for size before I adopted the name “Grace-Seeker,” not the grooviest of the names I'd conjured up, as I was hoping for something with a word about nature in it (Grace Blossom for example), but “Grace-Seeker” settled in me as the most fitting.  I felt funny about sharing my new identity with Brent, pretty certain he would find it silly for one to give oneself a trail name.  But I did inform him of my new title, which led to a really good talk between us as we made our way over a couple-mile portion of the John Muir Trail, leading us past several lakes without a climb, trails that meandered a little up, a little down and a lot across -- the way I think every trail ought to be (and life itself, for that matter)! Wildflowers of dizzying brightness and variety sprinkled the mountainsides, granting us lovely views as we conversed.

“What is grace to you?” he asked, inquiring more about my new name. 

The mist from a waterfall when I'm miserably hot, 
a flat spot in the middle of a steep climb, a splash of beautiful color from a flower that speaks life and energy into me when my eyes are weary from viewing miles of gray granite rock and dust, 
a made-for-me-boulder offering a place of rest, the sound of a rushing river in the distance growing closer with each step. Sometimes grace is found in the next breath, then the next or that couple of seconds when the right foot is holding my weight and the bottom of my left receives rest and vice versa. 

One thing is for certain: I'm always on the lookout for grace!

We talked about what that is in everyday life, where when things are difficult, I am seeking out where is God in this and anticipating what surprising way He is going to show me His goodness, sometimes in unavoidably clear ways, other times in ways that harder to discern, bringing me courage, even rest, for the journey of life. God has the universe at His disposal with ways to bless His loved ones, so the creative ways He reveals His goodness really are without limit.  

Grace is described in Scripture as being given lavishly by God.  It's God doing for me what I could not possibly do for myself -- and bestowing it gladly upon me. By golly, if it's around me in such abundance, I want to notice it, depend on it, lean into it, absorb it, to splash in it and let it change the who of me.

Brent is an awesome listener. He tuned into my heart as we walked and asked questions here and there. I can't say that we came up with an amazingly precise definition of grace, but the beauty was in our exploration and reception of it together.

“I thought of my trail name!” Brent blurted out the following day. Surprised that he had been in search of a name for himself, I was eager to know what it was. “PackMann!” he replied. We both found this to be perfectly suited to him, with "Mann" being our last name and Brent's super-hero efficiency at arranging our backpacks. He somehow finds a place for everything we thought couldn't possibly fit, and he is the one who is always helping to retrieve my belongings from my pack. On a subsequent hike, I gave him the middle name “MoonShadow,” because we went on a walk at night and he pointed out that we'd be able to see our shadows in the light of the moon. He notices things like that, causing me to be aware of them.

What unexpected joy we found in seeking out new names and sharing them with each other. The lightheartedness of it was refreshing and brought some levity to our steps.

Sounds like grace to me.

PackMann doing his thing.

Click on link below for video of Brent's insistence we use trail names on final day of hike.  Too fun.

http://youtu.be/uCRj9JKL9UM

Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes I forget I'm forgiven, thus forgetting you, too, are forgiven. Please forgive me.
diane mann 2011

Trash versus Treasure

I recently helped with cleaning out the condominium of a woman I know who is being moved to an assisted-living apartment.  She is presently in a convalescent home, so she wasn't there to help decide what to keep and what to box up for her new 500-square-feet living space or what to donate, save for family or throw away.  Her daughter was having to make those decisions, and I found myself often having to ask her what goes where.

Dorothy, the friend who is moving, is most likely the tidiest person I know.  There were very few items I came across that I knew were to be trashed.  However after the men disassembled her bed, I noticed several candy wrappers on the floor where the bed once was.  I didn't need to ask where to put those; they were obviously trash.

My husband and I reflectively drove home from our time helping at the 2,000-square-foot condominium, pondering what really matters in life, what we value, what role our "stuff" plays.  And for these few days as I have continued to process it all, the picture of the candy wrappers keeps coming to mind.

I have in the past cared too much about what others think of me, and I realize God has worked in me, tearing down my idols, helping lower the status of others' opinions to the under-the-bed-candy-wrapper level, when how I was seen by others used to be on my mantle, a place for things that are lovely, treasured and meaningful.  What a journey I've been on as God has dismantled more and more of what does not matter in my life and replaced it with what does.   Responding to God and His love for me.  Living my life to know and be known by Him, to love and be loved by Him.  Extending His grace and love to others.  The rest is as valuable as a candy wrapper.

"For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." Galatians 1:10, ESV

The Banner

There's something
That's been hanging
Over my head lately
More and more
It's been getting my attention
At times I look up
And gaze straight at it
Marveling at its presence
In its shadow
Which is somehow made of light
I freely dance
As though not a soul is watching
Yet closer than ever
Someone is watching my soul

When I look inside me
It is there
Even when I'm feeling things
I wish I weren't feeling
Discouragement
Fear
Anger
Despair
There it remains over me, over me
 

It reaches into me
Drapes itself around me
And carpets the ground
Beneath me
Yet somehow is
The ground beneath me

I abide and grow
As slowly I know
In the safety of this place
The works of God
Are wonderful
My expanding heart
Indeed fills with wonder
At the beauty
Of what He's made
And is making
In the world out there
And of me
In here

He beckons me
Lay down my fear
The dread that says
I'll never be
Not ever be
Who I'm made to be
I was made to be
With this banner
Called "Love"
Over me
diane carver mann 2010

I Almost Forgot

Sometimes I forget about grace
Then remember
And can breathe 
Once again.

dm 2010

Today

Today I loved you
Not like Christ loves you
Today I treated you
Like He never would
Condemnation He serves not

His fingers don't point

At where you're lacking
Or what you should or shouldn't have done

So pure and right is He!
His fountain flows with forgiveness, cleansing, redemption

A gathering back of His loved ones
To Him

"Come, all who are thirsty! 
Come and Drink!"

God has called me to be a vessel

Of healing love and much-needed grace

To His children

To you

Today I saw you through eyes of fear

And offered my anger

My hurt and resentment

Trying to make you feel as though

You've missed the mark

My actions looked nothing like

The life-giving love

That Christ so freely pours on me

And you

How I hope you'll forgive me
As Jesus forgave me
Today

Diane Mann 2010

Unequally Yoked -- A New Little Thought

Jesus married down (but never makes me feel that way).

Scammed

My son and his wife recently moved into a new apartment, and I was surprised at the cost of rent. Before they moved, I did some research just to see if I could find them a fantastic deal. They actually did fine on their own! But I responded to an an ad from Craigslist for a lovely townhome advertised at $800 a month. A "pastor" from San Dimas represented himself as one who had been called to the mission field in Africa, was very grateful for the chance to serve overseas, and wanted to rent his property to a Christian family who would take good care of it.

I am still surprised that it took me some time to figure out he was not being truthful. I Googled the address he finally gave to me (along with professional photos of the property he provided) and found the very property offered for rent from a reputable company at double the price he was asking. He wanted me to give him first and last month's rent, which would have totaled $1600.

Here is a copy of our last exchange after I found out I was being deceived. I felt God gave me the words to say to him. My pastor is always emphasizing that God is a perfect balance of love and justice, and I pray that came across to the man who tried to deceive me. I sense it did. Forgive his expletives.

(My e-mail to the man who represented himself as Rev. Drotman)

Apparently the home you claim to own is owned by someone else and is being rented out at the rate of $1600 a month.

I'm so thankful truly to God for allowing me to recognize your lies before I told my son and daughter-in-law about the property and before I gave you $1600! Wow. I wonder what you think of Americans. Do you think $1600 is nothing? That would be more than a month of my income that I would give to you hoping for a rental property, and I would receive nothing. You would then have $1600 that you had to lie and cheat to obtain. Also my son and his wife would have been so excited, only to be disappointed right when they were having their baby. They would have given up their other apartment and been left w/out a place to live. Sin always affects more than just one person.

I contacted the FBI, who told me to contact my local police. We have been unable to talk, and I realize there is not much they can do to you for breaking our laws because you are neither in nor a citizen of this country.

I notified the owner of the website that you stole the information from. And I will notify Craigslist as well.

Bottom line is that I do not know whether there will be any consequences to you for being found out.

Please keep reading, as I need to say this: While I am angry and surprised that someone would do what you have attempted to do here, I have concern for you as well. Is there not an honest way to make a living in your country? Do you really believe in God? He will take care of your needs if you trust Him to do so. He offers so much forgiveness and cleansing. He has had to forgive me of much in my life. He restores me and helps me to walk in ways that are pleasing to Him. I don't know where you got all the right words about God and His mercy, but if you have any knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ, His Spirit will convict you in your heart, forgive you if you confess, and make you whole! Maybe He loves you so much that He allowed you to get caught to steer you out of living your life like this.

More than wanting to see you punished, I want to see you receive God's forgiveness.

Please write if you have any questions or any way I can pray for you.

As of now, no police have your phone number or your e-mail address. I wanted to nail you when I saw you were misleading me, but I believe God wants me to tell you the truth about Him, about how right and true and just He is but also about His huge mercy and love.

Diane Mann
HERE IS HIS RESPONSE TO ME:

Hello Diane,

Thanks for your message. At this point, i guess i have to tell you what the truth is. Life here is so hard for us and we are looking for away to sort ourself out. A friend of mine initiate me to this s**t.......... i beg you for your forgiveness and i want you to help me to pray to God for forgiveness. I'm a student and a citizen of Nigeria. My real name is Oluwaseun. I only some amount of money to pay my bills and school fees. I only need help and no one is ready to help. And i went to a friend and he promise to help me. He posted the craigslist ad and the stuff. At this point, i promise you that i will quit this s**t. Thanks for your time and care. I hope to read from you soonest.


Thanks.

Oluwaseun.

What I Learned on My Face

It's not about who I am or what I can or cannot do.
But it is about Who GOD is and What HE can do.
It's not about my insufficiency.
But it is ALL about HIS sufficiency.

His grace is indeed enough!
When I am weak
I become strong
In Him.