Just imagine . . . there you are standing in front of a giant-size filing cabinet with six large drawers. Opening each, you find categories of files of every memory, experience, joy, heartache and all of the people you have known – everyone whoever influenced your life! As well as each and every miraculous, angelic intervention that saved you, guided you, and led you through incredible challenges and jaw-dropping feats!
Just picture yourself pulling up every creative thought you ever had, dreams or secret desires that came to pass, and why some didn’t? And how many drawers for all those misjudgments, or when you formed a wrong opinion of a situation or person, or didn’t heed that inner prompting to say “no.” But then . . .doesn’t good judgment come from learning from wrong ones?
Yes, indeed, my cabinet’s full of great loves, great losses, regrets, and great blessings. Unquestionably, most of my experiences these last three score and thirteen years that I’ve inhabited this planet, have fairly personified one of my favorite quotes, “Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.” -Vernon Law.
Welcome, dear reader, so pleased you stopped by. I’m delighted to meet you. My name is Sharon Fisher. Actually, it’s Sharon McClain Farrell Fisher. Although most of my adult years, I’ve lived in the South – Tennessee, Mississippi, and South Carolina, I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania with a population numbering less than a thousand. Half of those folks were my relatives. Quaint, charming and safe as it was, I spent every waking moment reading, planning, and dreaming of the day I would venture out into the world and be on my own.
I loved my extended family – especially my grandparents – who all lived close by. Their support, encouragement and concern with my interests and choices seemed at times rather smothering, but seeing their faces at my recitals, plays and programs meant the world to me. The bar was raised high though, and so were the expectations. “Be yourself,” “Remember who you represent,” my grandmother loved to chime, and at the end of every phone conversation, Dad added, “Be good.”
My father was a World War II veteran who drank beer to excess, could spot a phony a mile away and like many from that “greatest generation” who lived through the Depression, expressed his love by his actions, not by flowery sentiment. Dad and my younger brother hunted and fished for sport and to feed our family; raised Brittany Spaniels, a Border Collie – my dog – and an assortment of others. Dad’s vegetable gardens were flush every summer. But no TV, swimming or sometimes breakfast until those rows were weeded every day! I had some health issues when I was little but that never deterred Dad from teaching me how to work. The mantra I was raised with was “Work hard and vote Republican.” Dad wasn’t one to mince words . . . “If you were lazy, you were as useless as a side saddle on a boar hog.”
My mother’s disposition was more that of the biblical character, Abigail. She had a reserve of calmness that I’m still trying to acquire. Her finesse in handling situations was sheer artistry. One day, my ex-husband overheard a banter between my dad and her . . . he chuckled as he observed, “Your mother can tell somebody to go to heck (not his quote), and they’ll look forward to the trip.”
Mother played Hawaiian guitar professionally when she was young and thankfully her love of music was instilled in my sister and me. We played piano, organ, saxophone, and flute, and in the 60’s, my Motown music was blasting!
There were two churches in our town. We were dyed-in-the-wool Baptists – never missed church or Sunday School. My mother taught classes for years and served as church secretary / treasurer. Dad wasn’t a regular churchgoer but he never forgot to send his offering.
Throughout my youth, church was the nexus of our lives. Our devotions at home consisted mostly of grace before meals, and good-night prayers. I had heard sermons and sung hymns all my life, but until I was baptized at age 12, I hadn’t thought of having a relationship with Jesus. He was more of an historical figure to me. Certainly, he was the Son of God, perfect and holy, who died for my sins, but only He was perfect – I could never be like him. But because he died for me, it was my responsibility to try.
That Palm Sunday morning, six of us twelve year-olds were circled around the pastor as he began to pray for our taking this important step up to the baptismal to be immersed. This sacred act demonstrated our love and devotion to Jesus Christ as our Lord and Saviour. Just before the reverend said, “Amen”, a single shaft of bright light shone through the window above us and shined on my face. I heard a few gasps, then felt the pastor’s hand on my shoulder as he said, “This is a day you’ll never forget.” I remember the warm feeling from my head to my toes and a peacefulness that lingered for several minutes. I knew in that moment that Jesus was alive and as real as those standing next to me. And I believed he wanted me to know him.
My junior and senior high school years revolved around youth fellowship, band, singing in the chorus and a brief stint on the gymnastics team until I broke my arm. My favorite subjects were history, literature and geography – no wonder I ultimately wound up in the travel industry. My favorite pastimes were roller skating, ice skating, record hops, and Twist contests.
I hadn’t been allowed to date until I was sixteen and I had a curfew of 11:00. When my friend’s boyfriend brought his roommate from Annapolis home with him, I wasn’t sure Dad would give me permission to be his blind date. Thank God he did! That midshipman became the love of my life and we married five years later. Long distances and long times apart, but love prevailed. It was a fairy tale romance; he wasn’t just my prince charming – he was my whole world.
Our bliss multiplied when Sean was born. Everything was perfect . . . until it wasn’t. Sean was 13 weeks old the day of his father’s accident. It was a head-on collision, two people were instantly killed; Pat died two days later.
We were living in Mississippi. I had been a third grade Title One teacher; Pat was an engineer with a textile manufacturer. Because he had spoken to me before his surgery – which no one believed – I had every assurance he would recover. I prayed my heart out and although the surgery lasted eight hours and the prognosis didn’t look encouraging, I knew God heard my prayers. Throughout the night I was enveloped in that “familiar peace.” I knew he would come home. He did, but not with Sean and me.
The moment he died, I stormed out into the hospital parking lot. I raised my fist and cursed God. He had let me down and Sean, too. And worst of all, He misled me into thinking all was well. I was livid! Thankfully, I wasn’t struck by lightning. My anger quickly turned to remorse, and I thanked God profusely for forgiving my terrible tirade.
Well, here I was . . . on my own. The world now looked awfully gloomy and my heart was broken. But I had a son, and I was a survivor. And I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt God would never forsake us.
Sean and I moved back to PA for almost two years. I had kept in touch with our friends in Mississippi and we visited them often, especially after they moved to Tennessee. When I told them I was ready for a fresh start, they suggested we move there, too. Tennessee checked all the boxes, so I said to Sean, “Let’s try it for awhile.”
The next year I met my ex-husband. We were married for 14 years before we divorced. We had a son, Matthew and a daughter, Sarah. The quintessential, all-American family—just like I planned.
Kingsport, TN was an ideal city to raise a family. TN Eastman, a subsidiary of Eastman Kodak, employed nearly 20,000 from across the country and around the world. The school system was stellar, and the international students contributed greatly to my kid’s sphere of influence. The Baptist, Methodist and Presbyterian churches on Church Circle were the center of the community. The youth mission trips were outstanding opportunities for them and certainly light years from what I had known. I was a stay-at-home mom for 12 years, shuttling children to violin and piano lessons, orchestra, art classes, swim meets, soccer, football, scouts, science day camps . . . gas wasn’t as outrageous as it is now. I was active in Junior League and Community Concert Association, PTA, Suzuki and Youth Coordinator at the Methodist church we attended.
The marriage deteriorated just as my job opportunities increased. Again, God’s timing so precise and so perfect. The whirlwind pace seemed to suit me to a tee . . .there was always something new for my kids and me to become involved in. I had just landed a part-time job at a law firm, which I loved! I learned something new every day. Just as I was given more responsibility, the marriage collapsed.
The next decade was trying to say the least. If I hadn’t had God, my children and my friends, I never would have survived. I was diagnosed with cancer, my son’s trust fund for college was embezzled and depleted by an unscrupulous stock broker. While in the throes of a horrible custody battle, hanging by a thread, the locked door to my apartment blew open. God spoke audibly to me. There are no words to describe what a monumentally pivotal experience that was for me. No matter how bleak my life appeared, I knew from that visitation that I would get through this ordeal, and it would serve as a well from which I could always draw.
I’ve been happily divorced for 33 years. God has led me through and around numerous obstacles and hurdles. A vicious custody battle, resulting in a 16-year estrangement from my daughter, single parenting my sons, and too poor to pay attention. My friend stopped by to see me one evening. She opened the refrigerator door and saw my dinner: an ear of corn and a packet of Nabs crackers. I vowed that day . . . nobody will ever pity me again!
Throughout those tumultuous years, God opened doors professionally for me through my diverse network of friends who were rock solidly supporting me. Out of the blue, a sales and marketing opportunity with AOL Travel Channel emerged. I couldn’t imagine reaching 4 million people a day – which in 1995 seemed like the whole universe. Coincidentally, my son, Sean, was taking a hiatus from his engineering major at UT. The opportunity intrigued him too, so we launched Cybermarket. For the next 15 years, as Sales Director for Cruise Critic and The Independent Traveler, I cruised and traveled to a myriad of countries and continents, met and interviewed people that I couldn’t have dreamed or imagined as little girl in Picture Rocks, Pennsylvania.
Again, life is good. It’s a new year – 1998. I’m perched in Knoxville, TN, having just signed a plum contract with my new employer, singing in a 100-member choir in one of Knoxville’s mega-churches, attending weekly Bible study . . . but wait. Something was missing, there was a gap that no job, church or friends could fill.
April 1998, I boarded a plane in San Francisco. I was weary from calling on clients for ten days – just one more leg of this trip to go and then home. Just as I’m fastening my seat belt, a man in a flowered Hawaiian shirt kindly asks me to allow him to take the middle seat. That man was Reverend Kale F. Aluli. Over the next few hours, we not only became well acquainted, but he prophesied to me! And he didn’t mind my asking him questions about something I was always curious about … speaking in tongues. The prophesies all came true: he said a family crisis was impending, and that I would go to Israel and meet a Jewish doctor ‘who would know my name.’ He didn’t know that that going to Israel was one of my life-long dreams!
My mother was diagnosed with cancer three weeks later. I went to Israel the following August and although my mother died 11 months later, God again moved heaven and earth so that I could care for her the last six weeks of her life. That Jewish doctor happened to be our personal tour guide. He was Vice President of Sharon International Tours – truly he knew my name.
I’m bringing this epistle to a close. My filing cabinet is still quite full. But it would not be so if God hadn’t arranged everything. Dear reader, I hope and pray there is no doubt in your mind that God, our Father, Jesus, His Son and His Precious Holy Spirit can be trusted with every detail of your life. Nothing is random in His kingdom. Everything that happens fits into a pattern for good, to those who love Him. Don’t waste time trying to analyze the intricacies of the pattern, focus your energy on trusting Him, thanking Him at all times. Nothing is wasted when you walk close to Him. Even your mistakes and sins can be recycled into something good, through His transforming grace.
And finally, what about Reverend Kale F. Aluli? Did you remain friends? Where is the church he pastors?
Friends? More than that! He’s my pastor now, too, and my Shepherd, Counselor, and Mentor. I am privileged to be among the members of The Church Of Jesus Christ Forever. And honored to be called and ordained as a Minister of this holy church body which was founded by Kale’s wife, Rose M. Aluli in Oregon, Illinois. We also have a church headquartered in Kauai, Hawaii. We are small in number but powerful in love, spirit and devotion to Jesus Christ and bringing forth his kingdom. I marvel every day that God not only filled that gap, it’s overflowing. This is where I belong. Life is good at long last.
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