Purchase it now at: http://tinyurl.com/zoyfdka
In honor of the release and as a Christmas present for my viewers, here is one of my stories from the anthology.
One Woman Makes a
Difference
By Janet K. Brown
Vicky Hopkins waited in the restaurant for the interviewer to arrive.
She crossed her arms and tucked her trembling fingers into the opposite side.
Why would anyone want to tell her story? She wasn’t anything special, just a wife and
mother led by God.
The interviewer flew in with a flourish. “Thanks for talking to me.” She
shook Vicky’s hand and sat across the table. “How in the world did you ever
think to start a wonderful organization like Women in Need all those years ago?”
Vicky squirmed. She gave pretense at studying the menu but instead
sorted through memories. How indeed? “I
always wanted to make a difference, but I suffered from low self esteem and
feelings of rejection.”
The friend studied Vicky with questions flicking through her eyes before
she formed them into words. “How did you overcome that?”
“When I was twelve-years-old, I gave my heart to Christ.” Warmth settled
on Vicky’s shoulders like a heater vent had been aimed at her. “I couldn’t do anything without God.”
The woman closed her menu. She must’ve made a dinner choice. “I agree
with that. I’m amazed how God has led me into writing stories. When I heard
about yours, I knew I wanted to tell it.”
Both ladies gave their orders to the young man serving them.
A dry mouth threatened to choke Vicky. She sipped her water. “Life
wasn’t always kind. A good couple
adopted me as a baby in a time when the world considered the term adoptee
derogatory. I wasn’t good enough for the woman who gave me birth. Cousins and
schoolmates teased me. Even my new grandfather rejected me.” Never call me Grandpa.
You’re not blood kin. Vicky winced as
memories flooded through her mind. A bad taste rose into her mouth, and she
swallowed.
“That had to have hurt.”
Vicky nodded.
The woman leaned over the table. “Tell me more about your childhood.”
“My adopted mother’s mother lived with us. She taught me to pray.”
Electricity zipped Vicky’s spine and caused an increase in heart rate. How she
loved the evening prayers with Grandma, and the music. She loved the music that
provided therapy for her wounded heart. Vicky had listened to southern gospel
on the radio and would then sit before her upright piano and recreate the tune.
“For my twelfth birthday, my parents gave me a Wurlitzer spinet piano. I still
own it. At thirteen, I began to play at the family’s Pentecostal church. I
loved doing that.”
Their food arrived, and they ate.
The woman lay down her fork. “You play so well for church. I can’t
believe that came naturally without lessons.”
“That’s what happened.” Vicky ate a couple bites before she continued.
She wished she could leave out the next part of her life, but though it hurt,
God led her through it. “Hunger for love brought about an early marriage. My husband
was abusive. After the birth of a daughter, I determined to leave him to
protect my little girl. Now, not only was I adopted, I was divorced.” Heat
flamed her cheeks. “I might as well put a scarlet A across my chest.” Vicky ate
a few more bites and tried to swallow the shame and debilitating fear she had
faced. “Problems mounted as great as Gideon’s grasshoppers.” She quoted to the
interviewer a Bible verse that spoke to her.
And the Midianites and the Amalekites and all the children of the east
lay along in the valley like grasshoppers …. Judges 7:12.
Vicky’s voice softened, but her heart soared. “Like Gideon in the Bible, God desired to
show His power through me.”
The woman clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh, tell me, what happened
next?”
“A wonderful Christian man entered my life. His love healed my wounds. We
attended church and added another daughter to the family. Again, music saved
me. When the girls were old enough to sing, the family ministered in song at
church activities. That ended when our daughters left for college, but then my
husband and I sang in a quartet with another couple.”
After a moment of silence, Vicky
spoke, “Next to music, I loved teaching. God brought me out of hiding behind a
keyboard. I taught a Wednesday night group of girls, then Sunday school for
teens and finally young adults. God stretched me. Young people gravitated to me
and my husband. Our home was full of life and joy.”
The interviewer nodded and smiled. “So how did you get from there to
starting Women in Need?”
“In days when support groups were unthought-of, I followed my heart to
help other women bogged down with insecurity. God inspired me to place an ad in
the local paper. It read Are you a woman in need? Is un-forgiveness destroying
your life? Come and share together and be a winner.
“And?”
“ Twenty-two women filled a house next door to my church. It grew from
there. We added people and programs”
“Wow.” The woman stopped eating.
“A Christian radio station referred women to us with a history of sexual
abuse. My inadequacy reared its sparks of fear. Who was I to counsel people in
pain? My husband encouraged me to continue to follow Christ’s leading but to
seek training. I began college. Since I was older and worked schooling around a
busy family life, a full time job, and two support groups, I studied ten years
before I received my degree in social work. By the time I finished, I was
fifty-seven.”
She was rolling now and couldn’t wait to tell all about what God did
through her. “God’s goal for my life
broadened. I wrote scripts for the church’s radio broadcast. The city newspaper
published my weekly religious articles. God used my desire to ‘make a
difference,’ and ministered through me to thousands. But, the devil wasn’t
through trying to destroy my witness. My beloved church faltered, closed its
doors, and merged with a larger congregation. My precious soul mate contracted
cancer and together we faced chemo with his body growing weaker every day.”
“Was that when you stopped doing the Women in Need groups?” The woman
had finished her meal and listened with undivided attention. She waved away the
young waiter. “Tell me about that.”
“The women’s group was too big. With reports to write and grants to
seek, my work ceased to be the hands-on counseling I loved. After twenty-five
years, I handed over the reins to the organization. I told my husband, ‘I’ve
done my do. I’ll sit back and let others play the piano and teach and write.’
However, God wasn’t finished with me.”
“You and your husband started to the new, larger church?”
“Yes, and soon, I was asked to teach a
life recovery class. I did for three years. One day during my husband’s chemo,
new problems arose. His heart stopped and scared all of us. Though he revived,
I spent long hours at the hospital. While I was there, God laid it on my heart
to begin a care ministry to address the needs of hurting people in the
community. After my husband improved, I presented the idea to my pastor. He put
the reins in my hands, and the dream became a reality.”
Tears blurred her vision as she came to the next part of the story. “My
husband of fifty-one years succumbed to his illness. For a year afterward,
depression plagued me. God’s grace and again ‘the desire to make a difference’
charged me with new challenges. I returned to school and became certified in Christian
counseling. Again, I used my pain and loss to minister to those who had lost
loved ones through death or divorce.”
The woman swiped tears from her eyes. “I would say this would be your
epitaph.”
From the heart of a little girl who wanted to help people to that of a
widow who exemplifies love-in-action, Vicky Hopkins “makes a difference.”
This is based on a true story.
I hope my story inspires you to do more, despite setbacks. Our book brims with many such tales of victory, and it's available now just in time for Christmas delivery.
