Giving Thanks for a Wonky Seatbelt

A lot of folks give thanks for financial rewards, new vehicles, new clothes, vacations, trips abroad, dining at fine restaurants. I thank God for a wonky seatbelt.

When the seatbelt first malfunctioned—I was irritated. The tongue no longer stayed at the top where it belonged, but instead, dropped down to the floorboard. Since our car is so small, this means opening the door—almost always into blinding rain and punishing wind—to reach down and retrieve it. It’s difficult to be thankful for uncomfortable and awkward situations.

There are many things in my life for which I am thankful. The wonky seatbelt is a new addition.

My dream since childhood has been to write to write books. I have now written 49, and I am extremely thankful. Before my first book was published I was privileged to write for several different newspapers. I am extremely thankful for that. The situations I faced and the characters I met live again inside my 49 books.

I am thankful to have been born in Texas. I am thankful for the different states I have had an opportunity to reside in or visit: Georgia, Alabama, Nevada, California, Montana, Arizona, Florida. I am thankful for having been born in the United States, and now for my time in Scotland. Enrichment for my life. Fodder for my books.

God has blessed me with a marvelous family; marvelous memories; marvelous pets…and a marvelous life. I am thankful.

Not everything has been good. Not everything has been easy. I survived years of childhood sexual abuse and forced abortions that nearly killed me (performed by the perpetrator who had no medical knowledge or training but was determined to hide his crime). I survived an abusive, alcoholic spouse and divorce in my first marriage. I survived the cancer death of my second husband, and then an annulment from a conniving druggie who left me thousands of dollars in debt. A plane crash separated me from my wonderful son Luke. I have now spent several years as a care giver for my Scottish husband. Hard times, hard things.

Leaving my country was hard. Learning to drive on the wrong side of the road and use roundabouts; the difference in pronunciation of words like garage, aluminium, controversy, schedule, and dozens more—some of which still catch me by surprise. Different spellings. Flavour instead of flavor; programme instead of program; colour instead of color; tonne instead of ton; favourite instead of favorite.

Learning Scottish words like blether, braw, shoogily (shaky), haver (imagine), bairn (child), greet (to cry), stoor (dust or dirt), glaikit (fool or stupid) has been difficult, but these words figure richly in my books that are set in Scotland.

Learning that “tea” is the evening meal—or then again—it could just be tea. Learning that folks who ask to “clap” your dog do not intend abuse—they want to pet it.

I am thankful for all the things that have gone wrong in my life and all my unanswered prayers—which were actually answered. “No” is an answer.

It hurts to see my cancer, Parkinson’s Disease-stricken husband continue his slow decline. It’s hard. But I am thankful that I am here to take care of him.

And I am thankful for the wonky seatbelt.

When I get into the car and the seatbelt tongue is at the top where it belongs, I say, “Thank You, Jesus.” However, it is usually not in the proper position for fastening, so now I say, “Thank You, Jesus,” even when it is on the floorboard and I must fish for it.

And that is why I am so thankful for that wonky seatbelt. It reminds me on a daily basis to thank God. To thank God for the good, and to thank God for what does not appear to be good at the time.

My two favorite Bible verses are, “In everything give thanks for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you,” 1 Thessalonians 5:18, and “All things work together for good to those who love the Lord,” Romans 8:28.

The wonky seatbelt reminds me of these verses.

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Believe in the Lighthouse even when you can’t see it

A foggy day along the beach toyed with my senses. I knew we were making progress walking, knew that we were going in the right direction – yet for long minutes – the lighthouse at the point was invisible. Our local landmark was whited out with dense fog, turning every direction into an amorphous wasteland of nearly tactile white.

While the lighthouse was invisible, it was hard to believe it was there. Yet even as we were surrounded in a surreal swirl of seawater-enhanced fog, the lighthouse had never moved. That reminds me of times in my life when painful, confusing circumstances drew blinders over my life making me doubt myself and the future. Why God? I would ask. Are You there? Do You see what’s happening to me? Do You care?

God was there every time. He did see. He did care. During days of dancing fog that confused and nights of oppressive fog that chilled the mind and stole sleep, God was working out His plan and purpose – and it was perfect for me. I needed to grow. I needed to move. I needed to change. I needed to increase in faith so that I would never doubt the existence of Jesus, the Light of the world, the Lighthouse for the lost and hurting – even during the times that I couldn’t see Him through the fog.

How can one appreciate the gift of the sun without the experience of stumbling around in the darkness? How can one appreciate joy without having shed tears of grief and misery? How can one trust God to catch them without ever jumping off the cliff?

No child should face the abuse and hardships that I did. My prayer is that no child ever will.

No adult should be subjected to the living conditions I have – living under a bridge and sleeping in the back of a pickup truck. Living in an open-ended garden center in the winter with no heat, no running water, no bathroom or kitchen facilities; sleeping on planks held up by concrete blocks and sharing “home” with scorpions, birds, toads, a wild cat and a curious skunk. Yet I wouldn’t exchange the life I’ve had for anyone else’s life, no matter how idyllic. Suffering childhood rape and forced into two abortions to hide it wrote pro-life adventure-romance Love’s Beating Heart. Living in the Texas Hill Country with all its marvelous mysteries and unique hardships penned mystery-romance-suspense Bridge to Nowhere. Had I not actually lived under a bridge to escape abuse, I probably wouldn’t be writing a series of six Bridge books at all, including the first Sunpenny publication, Bridge to Nowhere.

If I had never jumped off the cliff and been lovingly caught by Jesus, I might doubt that the Lighthouse is real, even in the fog of misery and trial. Each book I’ve written (Heart Shadows, Until the Shadows Flee, Shadow Chase, Bridge to Nowhere, Love’s Beating Heart) tells a compelling, exciting story through the eyes of faith. Faith grown in the rock of hardship and watered by the confusion of swirling fog.

The Lighthouse never moves, even in the fog.