Linda's Testimony

"YOU SHOWED ME THE FACE OF MY FATHER"

I want to tell a story about some wonderful people and our wonderful God. It is a story of healing and mercy and deliverance and compassion. It is all about love. It is my story and your story and God's story. I call it my testimony, but it is so much more than that. Heavenly Father, fill in betwen the lines and breathe Your life into my words. Let them carry Your love and communicate Your life. In Jesus' Name. Amen.

I am celebrating people. I am celebrating the way the Lord works through His people--through You and through me. I am celebrating the variety of ways Jesus reveals our Heavenly Father through your smile, your touch, your words. I discover His compassion through one person, His faithfulness through another, His patience through yet another. The longer I continue on this love walk with the Lord, the clearer the image of my Father becomes. Each of His people along the way amplifies my understanding of God's nature. I want to share with you some people who have revealed the face of my Father.

I first met Hattie when I was a little girl living on the California cost. My grandmother owned a 2400 acre ranch in the Ventana wilderness area of the Santa Lucia mountains. It was a cold and harsh environment and life was a tremendous struggle. We were often faced with life and death situations in our daily living. All of this was part of forming my nature. Everyone responds differently under hardships. My response was to hide and build walls. A coldness settled into my nature that was to become a continual area needing healing as the years progressed.

Dad operated a redwood lumber mill on that isolated ranch and had a regular procession of giant logging trucks barreling down the five miles of dirt road to the coast highway. His mill was a major source of lumber for Monterey County in the 1940's.

My sister, Cherrill, and I made the daily trek down the hill to a little country school on the coast. Hattie Smith was our teacher for most of the six years I went to Palo Colorado School. She had a priceless gift of seeing potential in others. She could see beyond the patched bib overalls and rough-hewn character to presidents, doctors and writers in training. She formed us all as teachers, in the one room that served s a classroom for 16 children from grades one to six. In that room the older taught the younger and the younger taught the youngest. Everyone had an opportunity to give.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above" (Jas 1:7).

I praise God for the gift of Hattie. She showed me the face of my Father.

It's funny how people come to mind. A few years ago (early 1980's) I began thinking of Hattie, and wondering if she could still be alive. Her hair was gray when I was a child. I did some detective work and discovered that she was living in a rest home in San Jose, five miles from my home. A short time after that discovery my mother arrived for a visit, and we made a little pilgrimage to the rest home. I rehearsed over and over in my mind what I was going to say to Hattie. I had a deep longing to communicate how much I valued her.

At the reception desk the nurse cautioned me that Hattie's mind was not clear. But I was sure she would know me. How could she forget? I recognized her in spite of the deeply etched lines in her face and her fragile, shrunken frame. I think it was the nine-year-old Linda who approached Hattie's wheelchair that morning. With love bordering on reverence I took her soft limp hands. "I'm Linda Vander Ploeg," I said, trying to pull recognition out of her. "Do you remember me?" There was no change in her far-away eyes. Mine began to water. "Well," I persisted, "I just want to tel you that you were my favorite teacher in all the world." Somewhere deep inside of Hattie the dedicated teacher still loved. Her back stiffened and she returned briefly from that distant place. Her voice was sharp, almost scolding. "You must ALWAYS tell the TRUTH!" The force of the words seemed to drain all of her energy and she rapidly slipped away again.

Mother and I cried as we prayed for Hattie that morning. We asked the Lord to return blessings for her years of planting seeds of hope in backward country kids. Two weeks later Hattie died.

I left Palo Colorado School in the seventh grade and went through a desolate wilderness of years. Our ranch was lost through a fire that burned the forest, the mill, some houses, and killed two people. We moved from one town to another as Dad struggled to earn a living in construction. I was an awkward country girl with no social skills, thrown into city schools and city ways. Relating to people was difficult, and every failure build another layer of ice around my heart.

One boy in high school liked me anyway. David sat next to me in French class for two years and against all reason, chose me as a sister. Through him I caught a glimpse of the brotherhood of Jesus.

"Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers" (Heb 2:11).

I thank the Lord for the gift of David. He showed me the face of my Father.

As a postscript, many years went by and I lost track of David, but the sense of his being my brother remained deeply rooted in my heart. Then I learned he had become a professor in a medical school, and that he had died. I wept for the loss of my brother, and had a longing to meet his grown son. The Lord answered my prayer.

I thought I was seeing David again as I stood before his son in a kitchen in Southern California. He had his father's tall skinny frame, and the eyes and the crooked teeth were David's too. I looked into his eyes and said, "you know, your father was just like a brother to me." In that moment I revealed the brotherhood of Jesus and showed David's son the face of his Heavenly Father.

Between the ages of 19 and 23 I married and divorced twice. My life went into a fast moving downward spiral. I lived alone and went through a wild and reckless period. In that time I would send off pages of pain in airmail letters to my Aunt Ruth in Wisconsin. She lived an unconventional life as a writer and newspaper photographer, and was considered the family's black sheep. But she always read my letters, always listened, and always responded from her heart. It was through her that I began to know the God who listens.

"When he cries out to me, I will hear, for I am compassionate" (Ez 22:27).

I praise the Lord for Aunt Ruth. She showed me the face of my Father.

My grandma, "Danda," was a strong, forceful pioneer school teacher who traveled to California from Chicago in a covered wagon and settled on the Monterey coast. Her skills int ransforming the wild and unruly coast boys into responsible citizens became legendary in her day. Danda was the one who consistently stood beside me in those years and said "You can do it!!" Through her I met the God of possibilities.

"With God all things are possible" (Mt 19:26).

I thank the Lord for Danda. She showed me the face of my Father.

I had essentially no Christian training. Dad was an atheist raised by a father who was an atheist and a mother deeply into the occult. Mom had a personal encounter with Christ in college, then entered a wilderness experience in her marriage and was unable to share the Lord with her daughters. Yet while she was not talking to me about Jesus, she was regularly talking to Jesus about me. It is through my mother that I first met Jesus the Intercessor. I often tell people that Mom prayed for me for thirty years before the Lord finally broke through. That is probably an understatement.

"...He is able to save completely those who come to God through Him, because He always lives to intercede for them" (Heb 7:25).

As I look back over the years of desolation, I am reminded of the scripture in Deuteronomy 32:10:

"In a desert land He found him, in a barren and howling waste. He shielded him and cared for him; He guarded him as the apple of his eye."

I can see the Lord's protective hand upon my life in the midst of the pain, the suffering, and the devastating mistakes. I praise God for giving to me a mother who persevered in prayer for me. She showed me the face of my Father.

When I was 25 I married a man with four children, ranging in age from four to ten. When the children all came to live with us two years later, we all converted to the Catholic faith. It was not a heart conversion for me at the time, but rather an obedience to my husband's wishes. I did not have the warmth the children needed. I was still living in isolation, alone on my "inner mountain." In the midst of an active family and parish volunteer work, I remained cold and alone.

Our youngest, Ann, was a stormy child gripped with a lot of personal pain. Yet when she got around little defenseless animals a softness and gentleness emerged. She raised a little wild sparrow that had fallen from a nest before it could fly. He would often perch in her hair or on her finger while she was watching TV. One day she knew the time had come to set him free. As she stood in the patio and watched him fly away, she wondered if she would ever see him again. That night there was a violent storm and she tossed and turned all night, worrying about little Chipper. The next morning as she dressed for school she asked me if I thought he was all right. I couldn't answer.

We were standing in the front yard for a moment before she left for school when we heard a noise. We looked up and Chipper was perched, shivering, on a branch above Ann's head. She slowly and carefully reached out and after a moment's hesitation he flew down into her open hand. Nesting him carefully in both hands, she took him into the kitchen and fed him a soft ripe cherry. He devoured it with the eagerness of a child needing a treat after a difficult assignment.

Through her tender ministry to this little bird,I saw the God who deeply values all of life. Ann showed me the face of my Father.

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows" (Mt 10:29-31).

Our son Randy contracted cancer at age 17 and after a three year respite, entered a battle for his life. He died at 21. We cared for him at home and I was trained to give him morphine shots for pain. One morning about a week before he died, I was in his room preparing the needle. He looked up at me, helpless in his pain, and asked, "Mom, how do you feel about me?" My love was trapped inside and only the words came out. "You know I love you." We both knew it didn't satisfy. Through that empty dialogue I could feel the heart of God longing for communication with His children. Within that devastating lack, as strange as it seems, I discovered a God who desires communication. Randy showed me the face of my Father.

"Here I am. I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me" (Rev 3:20).

About two weeks after Randy died, I opened that door. I turned on the 700 Club on TV, fell to my knees and prayed the sinner's prayer with Pat Robertson. The prayer went something like this: "Lord Jesus, I confess to You that I am a sinner. I believe You died for my sins. I ask Your forgiveness for all the ways I have not honored You. I turn away from my sins and turn to You. Please come into my heart and be my Savior and my Lord. Please fill me with Your Holy Spirit. Thank You Jesus. Amen."

I felt a tangible infusion of heavenly life. Joy and peace and overwhelming love washed through my body, mind and spirit, and settled in to take up residence. The gift of tongues was released that same day as I was driving down the freeway in our old Dodge passenger van. My spirit soared with the eagles. It was an awesome, unforgettable day. I praise the Lord for Pat Robertson. He showed me the face of my Father.

I woke up the next morning and the world was different. I remember thinking, almost in surprise, "I don't have any friends." My life had been so walled off, that I didn't even know something was missing. I was missing friends! I stood looking out the front door the first morning of my new life and cried out, "Lord, give me friends!"

This is why I have to share my testimony by celebrating people. He has answered that prayer a hundred-fold.

When Randy died I went into a resurrection experience while my family turned to ashes. My second son became schizophrenic and my husband had a nervous breakdown and was on disability for a long time. We moved from California to Northern Virginia and I fell into the arms of my first friend, Mary Augusta. She was the wife of a retired FBI agent with the warmth of Jesus in her smile. She opened her arms and I crawled in.

"As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus Himself came up and walked along with them" (Lk 24:15).

Through Mary Augusta I met the friendship of the Lord. Through her relationship with Jesus--His life coming through her nature--I touched Him on the level of friendship. Mary Augusta showed me the face of my Father.

Not long after our return to California the Lord sent Nancy into my life. She introduced me to balloons and ice cream and deep prayer. Her freedom and depth of spirituality helped to strip away some of the encrusted walls and barriers. She loosened me up. Whenever I was hurting, she would just appear at my door. T Through Nancy I came to experience the glorious freedom of the Holy Spirit. She showed me the face of my Father.

"Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom..." (2Co 3:17).

It was with Nancy that I developed a popular little produce called the "Free Hug Coupon." She challenged me to produce it one day when she saw a simple printed cared. She tossed it aside and said, "Linda, you're an artist, you can do better than that." I took up the challenge and my first amateurish version caught the fancy of the public. It took off like wildfire and went everywhere. I would get mail from all over the United States and several foreign countries. One day my daughter even found one on a hiking trail out in the wilderness. There were write-ups in newspapers and we wre featured on a local interest TV program in San Jose. People would send money and ask for the coupons. I would send them back their money with a master sheet and tell them to go and print their own. The hugs were not for sale!!

Isn't it the mercy of God at work? I cried out to Him to warm up my cold heart and He gave me hug coupons to use as vehicles for reaching out to others with warmth. The Lord wants us to get out and joyfully experience life. He loves to hug us and wants us to hug each other.

I met the forgiving Christ in an encounter with my first husband, twenty five years after our divorce. Traumatized by a train accident we were involved in, I ran away and left him at 20, after a year of marriage. Twenty five years later, two gray haired people sat in a restaurant over coffee and talked about that time in their lives. The healing power of forgiveness flowed freely. Through Bill I experienced the forgiveness of Jesus. He showed me the face of my Father.

"Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you" (Eph 4:32).

I met the God of love in a hospital one night. It was a funny, poignant time, the midnight hour when confession comes easily. A baby was about to be born, and a woman and I sat side by side, reminiscing about the big things of life. "I was a terrible mother," I proclaimed solemnly. "I really didn't know what to do when I got all those children, so I just became a drill sergeant to survive. Would you believe I never even read a book on raising children." The woman laughed. "Natural mothers aren't so perfect either. When I was changing the diaper of my first baby, I turned away for a moment and she rolled off the table onto the floor!"

It was an exposed, revealing moment between a Catholic convert and a Russian Jew. The bond between us grew even stronger when the doctor came to the door and announced, "It's a girl!" Her daughter and my oldest stepson had just become parents. And when I looked into the face of this baby I saw the miracle of my Father's love. Baby Joann showed me the face of my Father.

"...from everlasting to everlasting, the Lord's love is with those who fear Him, and His righteousness with their children's children" (Ps 103:17).

In 1984 I had a mastectomy for breast cancer. During my stay in the hospital I met a man named Terry. In the three days we shared an adjoining bath, I was constantly annoyed with him. I would find spills ont he floor and things strewn around. On my last night in the hospital I as preparing to go to sleep when the Lord said, "I want you to go in and pray for that man." I responded petulantly, "I'm annoyed with him, Lord. I don't want to pray. Send someone to pray for me instead." The Lord responded to my irritation by not letting me sleep. I tossed and turned and fussed. He spoke again, "I wsant you to pray for him." Finally I put on my robe and slippers and went to his door. He was a good looking man in his thirties with a bandage over his eyes. I tiptoed into his room and leaned over his bed. "The Lord sent me to pray for you," I whispered awkwardly. I could see tears sliding down his face. "Today I gave my life to the Lord and today I was told I would never see again. You have no idea how much your coming in here means to me."

"The sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces" (Isa 25:8).

Through Terry I met the God who wipes away the tears--Terry's for his blindness and my tears for my unknown future. I knew several women who died after having a mastectomy because the cancer raced uncontrolled throughout their bodies.

In the weeks and months after I left the hospital, I found myself stopping and assessing my life. I prayed, "Lord, I know You have a lot of things You want to do with me, and I don't believe this is the end. I want every purpose You have for my life to be fulfilled. I choose life, Lord, and I hold fast to Your life flowing through me."

"I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to His voice, and hold fast to Him. For the Lord is your life..." (Dt 30:19-20).

I met the God of courage through Mary. She is a gifted, multi-talented woman who was blinded and scarred in an auto accident, and then widowed a few months later. I was given a beautiful book she had written, and wrote to tell her how much I liked it. We became friends. She ministered to me when I was in the hospital recovering from the surgery. Her wonderful courage gave me the strength to press on.

"Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid; the Lord, the Lord, is my strength and my song; He has become my salvation" (Isa 12:2).

I thank the Lord for Mary. She showed me the face of my Father.

We need to get that courge from each other at times. We need to get close to someone who hs courage and let it rub off. We need to get close to people who are filled with faith and let that faith grow strong in us. WSe need to get around people who are saying "ys" to Jesus, ane make room for that "Yes" to take root in us.

I want to tell you about Edith and Martin. My schizophrenic stepson ended up wandering the streets of Ohio for four years, sleeping in shelters and eating in soup kitchens. For months at a time we would have no idea where he was staying. One year in early August when I was praying for him, the Lord said, "I'm bringing Malcolm home soon." About a week later the police picked him up for trying to direct traffic in downtown Columbus. They put him in a locked psychiatric facility and we were notified.

I flew to Columbus and, not knowing where to turn, I went to the local Catholic charismatic center. There I met Edith and Martin. "Come to our home," they invited. "Stay with us as long as you are in town. We will give you a key and you can come and go. Our home is open to you."

"...You have been a refuge for the poor; a refuge for the needy in distress; a shelter from the storm..." (Isa 25:4).

Through Edith and Martin, I met a God who is Refuge in a Storm. They showed me the face of my Father.

I celebrfate God's work through His people--through you, through me. We are His arms and His hands. We know Him directly in prayer and we know Him in the loving touch of each other.

It was through my earthly father that I met the God who heals. He was on his deathbed when he enountered Jesus the Healer. He had never been in church in his life except to walk up the aisle at the weddings of his two daughters. But one day while paralyzed in bed from a stroke, he called out to Mom, "I need help!" She responded, "Charlie, I'm doing all I can for you." He persisted, "you don't understand. I need help!"

God was doing something wonderful. My sister walked into the house a few minutes later and led him to the Lord. As the days and weeks went by they stood back silently and watched the Holy Spirit heal him. He started to move a little, then sat up, then used his walker, then his cne. Finally he walked on his own.

In the meantime the Lord was accomplishing something wonderful in their marriage. My parents were together more than fifty years, not always loving years. Mom used to pray, "Lord teach me to love. I don't know how to love. TGeach me." During the course of giving Dad extensive nursing care, the Lord released a fresh love into her heart.

"I am the Lord that healeth you" (Ex 15:26).

Through my dad I met Jesus the healer. For years my heart would cry whenever I would see a man pray. I had never known my father to kneel, or to pray. Butone time, when he was still an atheist, I pressed him to pray for me. We were in a car together, it was night, and I had a headache. I asked, "Dad, would you please put your hand on my head and ask Jesus to take away my headache?" He put his rough carpenter's hand on my head and said faithlessly, "Jesus, take away my headache." He didn't even say the words right, but my headache left. That's the only time he ever laid hands on me in prayer.

Through an acquaintance of Dad I met the God who heals memories. It began on the day Dad was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. That morning, 500 miles from Dad, I met "by chance" an elderly couple named Paul and Edna, from Palm Springs. "Oh," I said, "Dad used to be a building contractor down there." Paul asked his name, and when I said, "Charlie Vander Ploeg," he began to ponder. "Did he ever live in Carson City, Nevada?" I replied, "Yes, when I was two or three years old." Paul smiled reflectively. "I owned a home in Carson City back then. When I need some very fine carpentry work, I checked all over town for the finest craftsman. A number of people recommended your father. He came to my home and did some beautiful cabinet work."

Dad was a tough old Dutchman who managed to embarrass me most of my life. He had an eighth grade education, was almost totally deaf, blind in one eye and walked with a limp from a logging accident that crushed his leg. He was rejected as a soldier in World War II because, among other things, he was missing his trigger finger. Time after time he went bankrupt, leaving Mom to pick up the pieces and go back to teaching school to support the family until he tried a new venture.

In that encounter with Paul, the Lord painted a new picture of Dad in my heart. I saw him not as an embarrassing failure, but as a creative, artistic man dedicated to quality work. Paul introduced me to the Healer of Memories. He showed me the face of my Father.

"You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by" (Job 11:16).

And so I press on to know and serve the Lord, encountering people along the way who make my God so visible and present. In 1985, at the encouragement of a friend, I started a prayer group in a Catholic Church in Santa Clara, California. Again it was someone reaching out and saying "You can do it!" We need more "You can do it ministries." Not "Watch me while I do it," but "^You can do it." Our prayer group was wonderful. We didn't have a lot of formal programs. We would sing, pray, praise, experiene a flow of gifts and allow the Lord to wash us in His love. We saw cancers diminishing and all kinds of pain leaving people's lives as they opened to experience His love and minister to one another.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of Compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all of our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God" (2Co 1:3).

We all want to give, but lots of times we just feel stuck and unable to give. One of the things that blocks us more than anything is unforgiveness. Once when I was leading a prayer team at a charismatic mass a woman with back pain came for prayer. When I asked the Lord for a word of diagnosis, He said, "Unforgiveness." I asked her, "Is there someone you need to forgive?" She answered, "My daughter." She made a choice to forgive, but there was no change. The Lord said, "My power is still blocked." I continued, "Is there someone else you need to forgive, maybe yourself?" She said "Yes." As she forgave herself a river of life began to flow into her. As the pain left her back I heard the Lord say, "Now there is a channel for my healing power to flow through." Oh, what a teaching!

Ask the Lord to bring to mind one person you are holding something against. Make a quality choice to forgive that person. "Lord, I choose to forgive. Send Your power through my choice. All I can do is choose, anyway, Lord, bcause all power to change belongs to You. I choose life, Lord. Empower my choice. I choose to love, Lord. Empower my choice. I can only love with Your love. I choose to be a gift to my brothers and sisters Lord, but it is only Your gifts coming through me that will have any power to change. In Jesus' Name. Amen."

For the longest time it was difficult for me to approach God as a loving Father because my relationship with my earthly father was not a good model. But I have been led through a process of love-bonding with my Heavenly Father, and now I relate to Him as my loving Father He is Daddy.

It is His love that I see reflected in the people who have touched my life so deeply. Hattie and David, Aunt Ruth, Danda and all the people I have shared with you, were all reflecting an aspect of God's love-nature. I praise the Lord for each of them. And I praise the Lord for you! You show me the face of my Father.

"Go out into all the world and preach the good news to all creation...God is love" (Mk 16:15, 1Jn 4:16).

Some reader responses:

"I felt warm all over when I read this book." (MS, Marysville CA)

"Your stirring testimony shows us God's unlimited way of manifesting His love...This is truly an inspiring revelation of the ways of divine love." (CN, Escondido, CA)

"It helped me to see the face of my Father throughout my life, reflected in those who stood by and loved me." (Michael, Santa Cruz CA)

"I want to cry when I think of the deep, powerful way the Lord is working in you, Linda. You have been through such a tremendous struggle." (Mom)

"I read it and wept half the day. Then my husband, who is an engineer, began to read it. He cried too." (Mia, Mt. View CA)

"When I finished reading your story, I went away with my thoughts on Jesus Christ, and not on Linda Schubert." (Judie, San Jose CA)

and Jesus said, "...anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father..." (Jn 14:9).