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It took four states to reach our destination of Kalispell, Montana, for Aaron and Zak’s wedding. With Mike’s (husband) Southwest points we make it to Spokane, Washington. From there we rented a vehicle and drove five hours to Kalispell. Sonja and Aaron are college friends and were sorority sisters at Pepperdine. Aaron spent many holidays with our family and she is like a daughter to us. With Sonja being a bridesmaid, It was my pleasure to accompany her to stand in her dear friends wedding.

When we arrived in Spokane we upgraded our vehicle to a four-wheel drive due to the snow that we knew was ahead of us. Sonja typed in the address into the app of her phone and we were off. Neither of us had ever been to Montana. The drive was beyond my expectations of beautiful, but about an hour into trip it started to snow. At first the snow was gentle and then it turned into a steady shower, obstructing our view. Sonja was in a panic and could not find the windshield wipers, and in the meantime the other bridesmaids were texting us to make sure we were heading in the right direction. Jacque, one of the bridesmaids, was worried because she knew that we are not experienced snow drivers, so she suggested that we meet and follow her into to Kalispell. Sonja was fine until we lost contact with the free world and our Internet was down. Suddenly my position as co-pilot was demoted to scapegoat,  with Sonja yelling, “Please can you just help and tell me where we are!” I’d look at my phone but the search engine kept spinning with the notification of “no connection.” I tried to make small talk but Sonja was headstrong and wanted directions. Sometimes, because God is on my side, the Internet would kick in long enough to make sure we were going in the right direction. The bridesmaids warned us not to take the fastest route due to the road being too scary for two California women who know nothing of driving in snow. Did Sonja listen? Nope, she headed straight into that no man’s land where the deer and the antelope not only play but own the roads. As it got dark Sonja said she could not see, I had to ignore her because I sure was not going to offer to drive. Sonja almost hit a beautiful deer and accused me of not warning her. She said, ” Instead of getting your phone out to take pictures of the animal, you should tell me that you see it!” I asked why, and she said, “so that she would not hit it.”

When we finally arrived we headed straight to the beauty salon for much-needed beauty treatments. I got my nails done and Sonja got a mani-pedi, and we met the rest of the bridesmaids over cheese and wine.

The following day was the bridal luncheon, so I was so glad that we dressed up a little because all the women were in nice dresses. I wore a dress with, of course, my trusted Spanx’s black tights, with a matching burgundy coat. After meeting Zak, the groom, and Soren, Zak and Aaron’s baby, we mingled with the rest of the guests. It was about 2:30 PM and we decided to drive to Glacier National Park. We did not change our clothes, but it did not matter because the boots that I packed had no traction and I was slipping with any sight of snow. Glacier National Park was so beautiful that we had to experience in on foot.  The fear of falling guided my every step, and at every move I yelled out Sonja’s name. Sonja had made her way to the end of the dock and was busy taking pictures. She forgot I was behind her, slowly making my way with an invisible walker.

That night the bridal party was meeting for a pub crawl.  I wanted nothing to do with this but we met with the group at a local bar. We tried to sneak out but Ryan, one the groomsmen, did not allow us, and made us walk to the grand opening of a art gallery across the street. The small town of Whitefish was bustling with scores of people because it was “Ladies’s Night,” when once a year the local vendors discount their merchandise, especially for women. After the art gallery, Sonja and I did make our great escape and left the partying to the locals.

On Saturday the day of the wedding, Aaron came to pick up Sonja for hair and makeup. Our hotel was in Whitefish, which is a 15- minute drive from Kalispell. I dreaded driving in the slush but I needed to eat, and it was 2:30 PM by the time I built up enough nerve to drive. I made a dry run to the venue and wanted to walk around the quaint ski village, but my boots were too stupid and I kept slipping on the snow. I stumbled upon Desoto BBQ and Beer Grill. I texted the wedding girls and Wendy said that it was safe to eat there. I have the bad reputation of always ordering the wrong thing, but not today. My food experience at this little hole in the wall was so wonderful that it brought my taste buds to another level, adding an eighth sense of what real brisket is all about. My salad was an interracial marriage of warm brisket atop lettuce, hardboiled eggs, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and creamy ranch dressing. The meal was  like listening to a violin with the sweeting corn bread, not just any corn bread but what I imagined the Israelites experienced in the Sinai Dessert “manna.”  It was heavenly.

The wedding was the highlight of the  trip, and  it was  held in the KM Building, a historical building owned by Aaron’s family. It was transformed into romantic scene of candles and old wooden carts with the backdrop of the antique windows,  and it was stunning. When Aaron walked in to claim her spot her groom was looking into her soul. I prayed for them during their nuptials and knew that they were meant for each another. Aaron’s sister Hallie graciously did the officiating of the celebration, making it extra special. The dancing bride and groom moved to the sound of every beat and it was a delight to experience this in person.

The following day we had a 4:00 PM flight to catch in Spokane, so we needed to get on the road. Again, Sonja put the address in the navigation to the airport, but it took us on a completely different route. Sonja’s phone kept getting text messages from the girls saying their good-byes. We were about two hours out when we heard another beep but this time it was the car. We needed gas and the nearest town was still 90 miles away. Sonja looked at me and asked me why I did not put gas in the car. My reply was that I did not drive the car. Sonja’s response was, “Mom, do you see where we are? We have 50 miles of gas! Please do something!” I looked on my apps map for a gas station but the response was “no results.”  We did not have any water, and I ate the Southwest peanuts in my purse the day before. No Internet, no gas and no food or water, and Sonja screaming ,”What the hell are we going to do? We are in the middle of nowhere! I can’t believe you forgot to get gas!” I cleared my throat and said, “I’m going to pray.” My prayer was simple, I asked God to make a gas station appear out of nowhere. Five minutes later was a sign from God  that read “Happy 10 miles.” One store in the most remote location with gas pumps; yes, God did answer our prayers. We were both “Happy!”

I enjoyed every part of this trip, especially meeting all the kind faces and making new friends. Thank you Aaron and Zak for including us in your blessed event!

“No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.” Matthew 6:24

Halloween is the abbreviation for All Hallows Eve, a pagan holiday that originated with the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain. The day marked the end of summer harvest and the beginning of winter, it was also a time of year associated with the dead; part of this festival was to dress as ghost to scare away evil spirits. This is not to be confused with All Saints Day or Soul’s Days, which the Catholic Church celebrates on November 1st, and 2nd. Today Halloween has morphed into one of the most  festive holidays in the US, but Satan has tried to make it his, and with the help of Hollywood, evil is thriving.

We are surrounded by the works of Satan. God gave us free will to either serve Him or to serve the world. The world’s views have slowly shifted, and society is lost in all mindless, useless sense of the meaning of life. To each of us this could represent an autonomous nature in which needs have become so egocentric that we forget the true meaning of why we were put on this earth. When you were created it was for a specific purpose, and if you do not have peace in your heart it is simply because you have not attained your calling.

We are all accountable for our actions and even if you do not serve God or believe in Him, you will one day have to answer to Him. We all see what happened with the elections last year and the outcry of hatred that came forth on both sides, but how is it that it has not gone away? Satan is alive in our country, causing such a divide of unsubstantiated enmity that I no longer watch the news. Who is telling the truth? Everything is debatable and tossed in the wind for answers. My answers come from the Lord, because He is the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2).

October is a month when demons really manifest themselves because Satan has claimed this as his season. Did you know that these demons are really out there? They come as angels of light until they take hold of your soul and convert and twist reality into something distorted. They are continually reminding you that there is nothing more important than yourself. Demons are self-serving workers of Satan and their assignment is to attack anything that is holy. One of Satan’s favorite targets is the youth, Why? Because they represent the future. Another of Satan’s plans is to cause division in the families, mother against daughter etc. There is NEVER peace when there is dissension, and that is the way Satan wants it. I have witnessed such atrocities on social media with the youth that it sickens me. Some young girls portray themselves in such perversion, and yet these are the same young women that march for women’s rights. What a paradox! Humility and the fear of God are absent in the hearts of many. This all leads to the fact that many of these young women have fallen for the lies of the world. How can you make the world equal if you are putting yourself out there as a sexual object?   Call it low self-esteem, but in reality they are just looking for love. I know from experience in serving the homeless for over 17 years that lost souls need God, and nothing will change their circumstances until they develop a true understanding of who God is. There are many that are homeless spiritually, just wondering because you have no peace. I am here to tell you that God is real and he does answer prayer, but the Devil would have you believe otherwise. Satan is working overtime, so that means that we have to work even harder in praying for our loved ones.

There are many entrapments, and this is an example of one of Satan’s favorite ways to lure you into sin, through pornography. These statistics are from the organization: Fight the New Drug.

11 Porn Industry Stats That Really Need To Change:

1. Porn sites receive more regular traffic than Netflix, Amazon, & Twitter combined each month. (HuffPost)

2. 35% of all internet downloads are porn-related. (WebRoot)

3. 34% of internet users have been exposed to unwanted porn via ads, pop-ups, etc. (WebRoot)

4. Porn increased marital infidelity by 300%. (WebRoot)

5. At least 30% of all data transferred across the internet is porn-related. (HuffPost)

6. The most common female role in porn is women in their 20’s portraying teenagers. (Jon Millward.) (In 2013, Millward conducted the largest personal research study on the Porn Industry in the U.S. He interviewed 10,000 porn stars about various aspects of the business.)

7. Recorded child sexual exploitation (known as “child porn”) is one of the fastest-growing online businesses. (IWF)

8. 624,000+ child porn traders have been discovered online in the U.S. (Innocent Justice)

9. Child porn is a $3 billion industry. (TopTenReviews)

10. Porn is a global, estimated $97 billion industry, with about $12 billion of that coming from the U.S. (NBC News)  

11. In 2016 alone, more than 4,599,000,000 hours of porn were watched on the world’s largest porn site. (PH Analytics)

12. Eleven pornography sites are among the world’s top 300 most popular Internet sites. The most popular such site, at number 18, outranks the likes of eBay, MSN, and Netflix. (SimilarWeb)

Viewing Stats That Are Hard To Believe (from NCOSE):

13. 64% of young people, ages 13–24, actively seek out pornography weekly or more often. [1]

14. Teenage girls and young women are significantly more likely to actively seek out porn than women 25 years old and above. [2]

15. A study of 14- to 19-year-olds found that females who watched pornographic videos were at a significantly greater likelihood of being victims of sexual harassment or sexual assault. [3]

16. A Swedish study of 18-year-old males found that frequent users of pornography were significantly more likely to have sold and bought sex than other boys of the same age. [4]

17. A 2015 meta-analysis of 22 studies from seven countries found that internationally the consumption of pornography was significantly associated with increases in verbal and physical aggression, among males and females alike. [5]

18. A recent UK survey found that 44% of males aged 11–16 who viewed pornography reported that online pornography gave them ideas about the type of sex they wanted to try. [6]

So I ask you, is it guns that are taking our country down? Or is it sin?

^” Thou art Lord of all, and there is none that can resist thy majesty.”  Esther 13:11

I have family in Louisiana who I visit at least once a year. My sister Jo fell in love with Frank,  a sailor on leave visiting a friend in California. Jo married this southern boy when she was only 19 years old. She and Frank had four boys. These boys bleed gulf water and love their fisherman’s paradise state. So when Frank, the eldest of the boys, now a man, invited me on a fishing venture, I knew it would be an unforgettable experience. This story is about one day in late June, 2003.

Frank

Frank owns his own fishing boat, and though that speaks volumes of his love of the sport, to him it is a passion.

The night before our adventure, Frank called me to inform me that he would pick me up at 4:00 A.M. The day before, my mind was running wild with thoughts of having to use the bathroom while on a small boat. What if I had to use the bathroom in the middle of nowhere?  I tossed and turned all night worrying about this bathroom issue. It was not until 6:30 A.M. that Frank finally pulled up.

Jo reminded me that this was going to be an all-day ordeal and asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. I did have second thoughts, but only because of the bathroom situation. However, I reluctantly said yes. My other nephew, Nick, was going with us as well, and they invited Resio, a friend of theirs.

Lesson One

The seatbelt had not yet been buckled when Frank turned to deliver his first official lesson in a voice of grave solemnity: “Now look, Aunt Lynda — one thing you have to remember is that a hook can take your eye out. You must be very careful when casting.” Duly noted.

It was seven o’clock by the time we stopped to gas up the boat. Frank announced, with the authority of a man who had made this mistake before, that this was the last call for a public restroom. Then we were back on the highway, rolling through the deep green Louisiana countryside.

By the time we pulled into Port Sulphur, nature had opinions again. Frank’s solution was immediate and unbothered: “Go in the bushes, Aunt Lynda.”

Absolutely not.

A quiet survey of the situation revealed that the truck, strategically positioned, could serve as adequate cover. “I can do this,” came the silent resolution — and it was done.

Meanwhile, Resio and Nick managed to accomplish something that seemed almost impossible: they let the boat get away from them. One moment of distraction, a brief panic, and the boat was drifting free. Fortunately, a quick lunge brought it back under control before the adventure ended before it began.

Lesson Two

Wind in the face, the boat skipping across the water, marsh grass threading through the horizon in every direction — this was the middle of nowhere, and it was exactly right. Frank knew precisely where he was going, and as the boat settled into its destination, he took up his second role of the morning: fishing instructor.

The first lesson was the cast. Getting the line to go where it was supposed to go proved harder than it looked. Time and again the cast fell short, landing closer to the boat than to any fish with self-respect. Frank walked through it patiently, again and again — each time closing with the same line, delivered with the same straight face: “This is the last time, Aunt Lynda.”

The bait was shrimp, and Frank’s instructions were precise: cut each shrimp into three pieces. What followed was one of the finer exercises in personal fortitude of the entire trip. A deeply unpleasant yellow substance oozed from the shrimp and worked its way under the fingernails, where it had no business being. Frank was not looking every moment, and when he was not, the whole shrimp went on the hook. When he caught this, he was direct: using that much bait would guarantee catching nothing. He was probably right.

Resio, for his part, used whole shrimp from the beginning and considered himself excused from the rule entirely — being, by his own account, a serious fisherman. What the day actually revealed was a man who spent more time adjusting his line and rummaging through the tackle box than fishing, offered no shortage of enormous fishing stories that strained credulity, and managed to insert himself into nearly every mishap of the afternoon. Frank tripped over Resio’s pole. Nick lost the big one because Resio’s line crossed with his at the worst possible moment. And when a tangle between Resio’s line and another nearly produced — according to Resio — a shark, blame was assigned without hesitation and without much basis in fact. The man was a big talker and a know-it-all, and nothing about the day changed that impression.

Through all of it, the sand flies were making their own contributions. Small, relentless, and apparently equipped with teeth, they found every exposed inch of skin and used it. Frank identified them without sympathy: sand flies. As if that explained everything, and perhaps it did.

Nick

Nick caught the most fish — and he did it quietly. There is no other explanation for it. His stillness on the water had a quality that seemed almost hypnotic, as though the redfish simply chose to cooperate with a man that calm.

Resio, by contrast, announced his catch to the entire Gulf. He had hooked a stingray — loudly — and in the process of bringing it in, nearly succeeded in flipping the boat. Frank’s warning cut through the chaos without hesitation: “Man, be careful of that tail — it will really sting you!” Both Resio and Nick wanted nothing to do with the creature once it was aboard, and Frank, unsurprised, stepped in to free it. A quiet prayer went up that the stingray would make it.

Frank soon announced a change of location, and the three of us — Frank, Nick, and their aunt — wedged ourselves into the boat side by side in a configuration that could only be described as human canned sardines. Butt puzzles. Not even the largest wave could have separated us. It was, in its own way, perfect.

The new spot produced hardhead catfish — at least three dozen of them. Three came to this side of the boat. The hardhead is not an edible fish, which makes the catching of them a matter of sport rather than supper. Frank wrestled one particularly large specimen that refused to cooperate and, in a moment of pragmatic Gulf Coast justice, dealt with it against the side of the boat. Nick followed suit. Another quiet prayer went up — this time for the fish, and their hook wounds, and whatever peace awaits a hardhead catfish on the other side of a very bad afternoon.

By the last stretch of the trip, a quiet desperation had set in. Everyone on the boat had caught something — even Resio had landed a sizable trout — and I had not caught a single fish. Not one. Desperation has a way of producing prayer, and so I prayed, right out loud, without a trace of embarrassment.

When I opened my eyes, something was moving near the side of the boat. It had many arms and no business being that close. Frank identified it immediately: an octopus. His instructions followed just as fast — do not cast anywhere near it. I was fascinated by its long, reaching arms, but I’ll be honest — it looked far less like something from a nature documentary and far more like a giant tarantula. Unsettling and captivating all at once. I watched its every move.

The real turning point came not from prayer alone, but from a moment of clear-eyed observation. Nick had been catching fish all day, and when I finally looked closely at his situation, the reason was obvious. Nick had the best spot. Nick had the best pole. And Nick had the best excuse: from the moment we boarded, he had needed to use the bathroom, and his brother Frank had shown absolutely no mercy — never once pulling the boat over. Nick refused to take care of matters with me on board, and so he suffered in silence. Apparently, God took notice. Nick had been so abundantly blessed with fish that by this point he was too uncomfortable to even hold a pole.

His spot was now open. So was his pole. I claimed both without hesitation. The only adjustment was casting to the opposite side of the boat — because that octopus was still loitering right where the trout should have been.

The difference was immediate. My line cut through the thick, humid Gulf air with a clean, singing sound — the sound of a real fisherman’s cast. It seemed to reach the far edge of the sea. It was a perfect cast.

There were no fish.

“No more bait!” Frank called out. Time to pack it up.

The Patrol

The Fish and Wildlife patrol boats were docked as we pulled in. Frank, true to form, had one final lesson ready before the truck even stopped. “Remember, Aunt Lynda — you and Resio don’t have fishing licenses, so don’t talk to them.”

Really?

I talk to abandoned cats. There was no possible version of this moment where I was going to walk past uniformed officers without checking whether they needed Jesus in their lives. While the guys busied themselves hooking the boat up to the truck, I wandered over and made small talk.

One of the officers asked what we had caught. I wanted to tell him about all the hardheads and their hook wounds, but I held my tongue. Instead, I asked what their work actually involved. They explained that they were out there to make sure any fish caught were the legal size. I mentioned, helpfully, that we had measured everything we caught. Then I told them about the octopus.

There was a pause.

They informed me, with the kind of patience reserved for tourists, that there are no octopuses inshore in the Gulf.

I looked over at Nick. He was already smirking. It had been seaweed.

The Ride Home

On the ride home, my mind drifted to the disciples. Simon, Andrew, James and John — fishermen, every one of them. And it struck me how much this one day had quietly taught: you need the right equipment, you need patience, you need to stay still and stay quiet, and if you do all of that, there is a reward waiting at the end of the line. That is how they caught fish. And through that same training, they became fishers of men.

“Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” — Mark 1:17